Page 144 of Trailer Trash

His parole is a beautiful thing. Since he’s out, I don’t have to go to Meghan’s for drugs and risk seeing Nina.

I really need to tell River his fiancée cheated on him with two porn stars.

Or that I fucked her, too.

Brax sets out a plate. Thank God. Who wants to think about that heavy shit?

“Killian!” Frida fills the doorway, her eyes wild. Her big voice fills the small apartment. “No! You cannot be here!”

Oh, fuck. She found me already.

Her gaze drops to the butcher knife beside Brax’s cutting board. She snatches it and blocks the exit.

I brace myself, looking for an escape.

“Your mother called me,” Frida hisses. “Come home.”

“Nah.” I hold up a baggie of cocaine. “I’m done pretending I’m somebody I’m not.”

Her lips purse tightly, the rage behind them about to unleash.

Great. Another hysterical woman giving me a guilt trip.

I’ve had it. I swagger toward her, head cocked.

With the butcher knife gripped tightly in her hands, she raises it, ready to attack.

I bend at the waist, slow and taunting. I stop short, my face hovering just before the blade’s tip. My gaze shifts to her from under my brow, my eyes searing into hers. I hinge my jaw, opening my mouth widely.

She’s frozen.

Brax leans against the counter, watching like this is pay-per-view.

“Go ahead. Make both sides match,” I challenge.

“I mean it! I’ll hurt you,” she says, but I see the tremble in her hand.

Besides, I really don’t care if she does it.

The butcher knife falls, clattering onto the tile. I move fast, grappling her wrists. I pull out my pocketknife and shove it into her hands. I cup them tightly, making sure she can’t drop it.

“Do it,” I say in a low, haunting rasp.

Her maroon-tinted lips purse, and her eyebrows knit together. Suddenly, her shoulders lose their tension.

“Killian, you need help. Please let me help you.”

I narrow my eyes.

As if the words hurt to speak, she winces with every word. “I looked up Bobby online. He was in prison when you were attacked. You cut yourself, didn’t you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I searched the prison records!”

I scoff. She did a little Internet search and probably mixed-up Bobby’s. She’s never met him. She’s only heard my stories.

“Save it, Frida, and make yourself useful. Do the other side for me.”