Going by the state of their pupils, they’d all been drinking. All three swerved to face her, eyes wide. Not yet.Īs one of the boys raised a bat to the windscreen of her truck-motherfucker-she made a tsk sound. She slipped her hand into her pocket and threaded her fingers through the knuckle stun gun in her pocket, but she didn’t switch it on.
All three males were nineteen, but she couldn’t help thinking of them as boys, even though they were built like linebackers and had proved they were capable of seriously sick shit.Īpparently, they weren’t getting the message that they needed to keep their asses away from her damn house. She stuck to the thickening shadows as she crept closer to her home. Making as little noise as possible, she rose from the wooden swing and padded down the boardwalk that ran over the marsh, protecting her feet from the muddy soil and water pools.
She could hear their footsteps rustling the high grass as they muttered complaints about the scents of marsh gas, salty water, and humid air. Gwen Miller slammed her foot on the deck, bringing the swing to a halt.
