Page 38 of Ridin’ Dirty

My stomach growled, distracting me from my thoughts while reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the breakfast sandwich Pistol tossed at me earlier. I wasn’t sure how late it was, but I decided it was time to wake my husband. The day wasn’t over. There was enough time to salvage what would always be our wedding day.

Wedding day.

I traced the ring with my thumb for the dozenth time, still trying to make the words make sense. Ignoring how odd it seemed, I pushed myself off the couch and padded my way on bare feet toward the hallway. I stopped short when I noticed his bedroom door was open. It looked dark inside. Unoccupied.

“Pistol?” I called softly, venturing across the hall.

As I suspected, the room was empty. I reached for the light switch and turned it on, brazenly taking in his space. He had a king-sized bed. Unlike his guest room, his mattress was lifted up off the floor on a bed frame—but he didn’t have a headboard or footboard, the bed merely pushed up against the wall. It was unmade, the sheets askew, showcasing he had, at some point, been there.

Where he was now was anyone’s guess.

His nightstand, a simple, black surface with a single drawer, had a phone charger on top, but his phone wasn’t there, either. One look at the floor around his bed, and I noticed aside from a pair of socks, it was notably neat. Glancing toward the far side of the room, I saw Reaper’s bed—also empty.

“Pistol?” I called again, louder this time, as I turned toward the kitchen.

I knew before I got there I wouldn’t find him.

“Pistol!” I yelled his name, thinking maybe he was in the basement, but I was met with nothing but the silence of an otherwise empty house.

I blew out a breath of defeat, disappointed as I was confused.

I wondered where he went.

I wondered why.

I wondered when he would be back.

Most of all, I wondered why I wasn’t relieved.

I was alone, but I wasn’t trapped.

I could leave, if I wanted.

I could go home. Shower. Brush my teeth.

Glancing at the back door, I remembered I didn’t have my car. I saw it parked at the compound. But the inconvenience of my situation wasn’t what kept me standing in the kitchen. I didn’t want to leave. What I wanted was to raid the fridge.

Not surprisingly, it was empty. Except for Reaper’s fancy dog food.

Most of the cupboards were bare, too.

I wondered if it was wishful thinking to imagine he left me to do a food run.

Peeking out the kitchen window, I noticed his truck was still parked in the driveway. This told me two things: wherever he went, he’d left on his hog; and chances were low his destination was the grocery store.

Folding my arms across my chest, I considered my options.

I wanted us to talk. To clear the air. Everything had been so intense since the moment I stepped out into the alley behind the diner until he shut me out of his bedroom to get some sleep. If we were going to do this—and it was hard to argue against the fact we already were—it would be nice to know a few things.

I didn’t want to live with a stranger, let alone be married to one.

What we’d done was crazy, and the only person who understood that as much as I did was him.

Remembering his charger and my dead phone, I decided I could wait him out until my battery had full power again. I went to plug it in and then wandered aimlessly around the quiet house. Eventually, I made myself comfortable at his dining room table and started sorting his mail, simply to have something to do. Most of it was junk. Even less of it was interesting.

After the heap was organized into three neat piles, I started to grow impatient. Pistol said he wanted me under his roof to keep tabs on me, but that was kind of hard to do if he wasn’t around.

I sat waiting for him to come back for as long as I could stand it. When I grew so hungry it felt like my stomach was going to go in on itself, I went to grab my phone. I found I had two new text messages from Maxine and one from Viv. I didn’t bother to open them, frustrated by the reminder I didn’t even have Pistol’s contact info.