Free Exploited (The Dark Redemption Series) by Lane Hart Page B

from her whatever she gives me as a type of…atonement. But it’s more than that too. She needs someone to take care of her, and there’s still an innocence about her like she’s a lost little girl trapped inside a young woman’s body. So tonight, I’ll stay with her, sneaking off before the sunrise to make sure none of the neighbors see me. Then tomorrow, I’ll find out how much shit she’s in, whether or not I can get her out of it, and then keep tabs on her to make sure she stays the fuck out of trouble until I have what I need to nail her son of a bitch father.
    It all sounds fairly simple, but for some reason, I have a bad feeling in my gut, like all I’ve worked toward for years might just be getting ready to go to hell because of this one girl. She’s a complication that may end up ruining everything. But at the same time, having a witness is better than a mountain of evidence. I’m still not sure if having her testify is even feasible with her history, but it’s worth a shot.
    So, I’ll tell myself that I’m sticking around tonight and coming back tomorrow to look out for her and try to seal the deal in this case. But first, I need to figure out if she’s mentally stable enough to be of some use. What I did to her tonight isn’t exactly helpful since it’s crossing all sorts of lines and complicating the fuck out of the situation. But I can’t seem to help myself. 

Chapter Eight
     
    Brede
    I wake up to the sound of birds chirping, so close they could be making a nest in my hair. My back muscles scream in pain when I raise my head from the wooden picnic table, figuring I’ve probably got splinters in the side of my face.
    Well, I sure as fuck didn’t plan on spending the night in the park next to the neighborhood I grew up in. But after I reluctantly dropped Blair off and started drinking the Jack straight from the bottle and not the glass I stole from the local bar, I didn’t really have a choice. Too drunk to drive, I sat my ass down, drowned my sorrows, and instead of seeing the eyes of all the family members of the men I’ve killed in my nightmares, I saw just one set of eyes.
    Blue ones in the face of an angel.
    There was nothing innocent or spiritual about what I was doing to her in those fantasies, ones so damn intense that I vaguely remember jerking off to the vision of her sucking my cock again. After that, I dreamt about her tight little pussy clenching around my dick as she rode me so good, tits bouncing, lips swollen from sucking me off, screaming my name, right before a bullet pierced her forehead. By the time she fell forward onto my chest, she was already dead.
    I think I prefer the other nightmares.
    Reaching into my shirt pocket for a cigarette, I come up empty. The entire pack of Marlboros is missing. Vaguely I remember finishing the last stick in the pack while I was drinking last night, and swearing off them for some stupid reason. Oh yeah, because Blair wrinkled up her nose at the smell.
    What the fuck was I thinking? There’s no way I can go more than a day without lighting up again. After six years of the nasty habit, I’ll be shocked if I can last a fucking hour.
    Pulling out my phone from my coat pocket, I check the time and see a missed call from Jim. Fuck. It says he called around eleven last night. I call him back right then, for some reason thinking of the first time I met him and Paula. They were nothing but nice, and I was such a loud-mouthed, little asshole. Why they didn’t take me back to the children’s center after the first hour is beyond me. I was angry at the world and took it out on them, trying to get them to take me back to my brother. Jim and Paula promised me they would do everything they could to keep us together and had even set up bunk beds in my room for him. They knew from day one that we were the sons of a cold-blooded murderer, that killing was in our DNA, and yet they wanted us anyway.
    My foster parents did all they could, but after months