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“Are there bad people on the property?” Jolie asked me, a little worry lingering behind the thickness of her hair.
“Not unless Rothbart is home. His wife, Candee, might still be alive, but Remi killed their sons, Joseph and Llewrehtom.”
Everyone stilled. I guess they agreed with Remi about Candee’s name choice for her eldest.
“Fuck me. That name! It’s almost as bad as Hell Heaven, don’t you think?”
“Well, Hell isn’t his real name, is it, wise ass?” Jolie rolled her eyes.
“Well, it’s definitely on par with fucking Woodrow.” Declan nudged his brother, getting his revenge back, but unlike him, Woodrow didn’t almost fall off his feet. Declan did for the second time.
“Come on then, let’s get it over with.” Jolie trembled slightly. “I’ll get the keys to the shed.”
Woodrow didn’t allow her to break their connection, his bigger hand tightening around hers.
“No. I know what you’re thinking, Woodrow, and absolutely not. I’m going with you. Together, remember?”
He blinked twice again, following her to a bowl of keys on a table near the front door.
“How dangerous is Rothbart?” Declan asked.
I only remembered about a month or two of life with him, maybe a little more, but I hated it. I hated that every day, minute and second, was filled with torture.
“He’s the worst.”
“Woodrow!” Declan called, not waiting for an answer because he wouldn’t get one, before leaving the table. “I’ll get you a gun from Ollie’s cabinet.”
Chapter 17
Remi
As far as I knew, Woodrow was there rounding up the dogs with Ollie, no doubt Jolie, too.
I lay back, looking at the ceiling and thinking that the boring white paint that blended in with all four walls needed a little personality. Maybe paint it a darker color, add some stars, a moon.
If I had the time to spend here while the new wing was being built, it would be a different fucking color when the time came to instruct painters on what to do.
“How’s your eye feeling?”
Rodregez had already cleansed my eye, and given me some drops to take home.
“Okay. My vision is better.”
“Good. This looks angrier than yesterday,” Rodregez raised an eyebrow, curious about what had happened to the bright pink stitches that had ripped straight through my skin.
I followed his mouth carefully.
“Just another day at the office, Doc.”
“If that’s the case, I bet you’ll be glad to trade it for a stage.”
If looks could kill, I’d have no one to stitch me up right now. The other doctors were busy with survivors, as always.
“I take it that silent death threat means, no?”
“I don’t want to be on stage. I don’t want to be in front of the world.”
“It’s not stage fright?”
