The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,112
I’ve scrounged. The girl will tell me what I need to know, and if I happen to be feeling charitable, at some point, perhaps I’ll enlighten her. Until then, she can read her book to pass the time and piece the clues herself.
Pulling the sheet back over her body, I leave her to sleep. On my way to the armoire across the room, I slide my tie from around my neck and unbutton my damp shirt, before peeling it from my body. Donning a tank and sweats, I head to the workout room to burn off the tension blazing inside of me like an untamed wildfire.
An hour-long work out, pushing my muscles to the brink of fatigue, and I still can’t shake the need to fuck something.
A cold shower only brings to mind earlier, when I had my hands on her. Futile as it is to battle the urges still pulsing through me like a bad ecstasy trip, I rest my forehead against the tiles and, cock in hand, imagine Céleste trussed by her wrists, helpless to every one of my depraved impulses. That alone offers quick relief, and with my balls settling back to normal size, I rinse the cum off the tiles and my hand, before exiting the shower.
Back in the kitchen, I stand amid the thick of a disaster, and I exhale an exasperated breath as I swipe up my plate of food and empty it into the trash. In all honesty, the shrimp tasted like she battered it in lava and dipped it in hellfire, perhaps the worst attempt at Valir cooking I’ve ever had, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. Because as bad as it may have been, no one, aside from my mother, has ever gone out of their way to cook for me, either.
For the next half hour, I clean up the mess she left behind, silently cursing her at the same time as she mentally fucks me. With everything as clean as before, I throw on a fresh T-shirt and jeans, slip on my boots, grab my gun and a flashlight, along with her bag of pills from the nightstand, and head out to the woods.
Where the trees are thickest, I toss the bag of pills into the darkness, hearing them land with a plink in a stretch of boggy vegetation about a hundred yards off. Could be a mistake, getting rid of them, but I saw her pound four of those damn things at once. It only gets worse from there. I know firsthand, as I watched my own mother succumb to them.
Depression.
Anxiety.
Paranoia.
She might as well have gone through the withdrawals that terrified her, for all the symptoms she suffered staying on them so long.
A fifteen-minute walk brings me to a clearing, where a rundown shack marks the home of the Boudreauxs. Its exterior clings to its tired frame like wrinkled skin. Abandoned cars and tools, rusted and weathered, lie scattered over the yard. The penned animals in a small barn stir and flap about, as if they suddenly sense a predator. With a caustic irritation running through my blood, I stride up to the door and knock.
A few seconds later, the door swings open to a tall, but gaunt man, aiming a shotgun at my forehead, which he quickly lowers. “Oh, hey dere, Mr. Bergeron. Sorry, all I seen was da flashlight in da dark.”
“Evening, Hal. Sorry to disturb you so late.”
A sound that reminds me of a squealing pig interrupts me, and Hal snaps his attention to the left, his gray, bushy brows furrowing. “Hush, boy! Can’ you see we got company?”
“As I said, I’m sorry to disturb you. Seems Jo wandered onto my boat this afternoon. Gave my friend a scare.”
Lips stretching around brown, neglected teeth, he scratches his jaw. “Heard you got yaself a jolie fille. My ole’ lady says she into some voodoo.”
“I can assure you she isn’t. I can also assure that if your old lady sets foot on my property again, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
The mood quickly shifts, the humor in his eyes fading to something more serious. “I understand, Mr. Bergeron. Won’t happen again, I promise you dat, me.”
“Excellent. I’d hate for some bad blood to ruin our neighborly goodwill toward one another.”
“Absolutely not. You an’ us is on good terms, Mr. Bergeron, and we fully intend to keep it dat way.”