Through the Storm (The Montclair Brothers) by Terri Marie Read Free Book Online Page B

understand that you can't hide me anymore. Two innocent people almost lost their lives, because the psychopath was trying to get to me."
    "Listen to me! I'm not letting you go off by yourself. It's not happening, Renee. I'm not budging on this." Tyler's gut twisted at the mere thought of her out there alone and being hunted.
    Renee lay silent for a minute. "We can't escape him forever. He'll come for us again, Tyler. He's not done."
    "No, we're not going to run. I'll put you guys in hiding until this is over. Vincent is hiring investigators to find Robert. If the police don't get to him before I do, he's a dead man." Tyler meant every word he said.
     
    ∞  ∞  ∞  ∞
     
    Robert was livid. The stupid doctor hadn't even fixed his arm. The bastard . What the hell good were they anyway? "I'm a big fat doctor and I'll charge too much money not to fix shit!" he yelled out loud. It felt good to finally be able to make some noise. His damn wife sure was causing him a shitload of work. He could be in his apartment, watching ESPN, but noooo . His useless wife had decided to walk out on him, all because he asked her to go pick up some beer and snacks for poker night. What the hell? Now his arm was busted, and he needed to find out who'd knocked him out… Who drove that big ass van .
    The girly designed doctor's office was going to open up soon, and then his little stupid patients would see their dead hero. Robert could just picture Dr. Viva Las Vegas reaching for that metal bowl so he wouldn't mess up that clean floor. He laughed at images of the hole in the doctor's throat. It was the same size as the pansy's eyes.
    He'd checked upstairs to dig around and see if the doc had anything clean he could put on. But the stupid Ripoff Doctor was a puny, boney-faced man. Was . Robert laughed. The fridge was stocked though, and Robert could smell the baked chicken and beans he'd heated up in the microwave. Even though he was starving, Robert had to get out of dodge before someone showed up. He wasn't scared of the stupid hick folks, and he knew he had plenty of bullets in his rifle, but Robert hated to waste them on anyone other than his prey. That's me, King of the Jungle ! He laughed out loud, causing his swollen arm to hurt.
    Not that it creeped him out or anything, but he didn't want the bone that was sticking out to get caught on anything. It was still bleeding some, so Robert had found some gauze and dressing, and wrapped up his arm. "That'll be sixty bucks!" Robert couldn't help but mock the doctor again. His arm wouldn't be very useful in this condition. Hell, he'd had trouble lifting the beauty to shoot the idiot. In a way it was worth it. Now he had a great story for his next poker night. "So this one night, I got hit with a bowl…" He'd never been hit with a bowl before. Who the hell swings a bowl ? Robert was tempted to get off on an exit, just to tell the patients at that stupid wanna-be doctor's office, how ignorant the man was. Yep, go ahead and pay the Bowl Slinger. Robert busted out laughing so hard, it was difficult to keep the car on the road.
    Robert's stomach was growling loudly, and that chicken he'd wrapped up and placed in the backseat, smelled better and better by the second. He'd have to find a place to pull over soon. The next exit was to Maryville. As he came to a red light, he was tempted to pick up his rifle and blow the brains out of that stupid blonde who was giving him dirty looks in the next lane, shaking her head, and rolling her eyes. Who does that Stupid Bitch think she is ? I'm a killer. Who makes fun of a killer ? The freakin' King of the Jungle !
    Instead of shooting the twit, Robert pulled into a shopping plaza parking lot and got his meal out of the backseat. He wasn't very happy that it was no longer warm, but it tasted good. He cooks like a girl. Robert giggled and stuffed his mouth full with chicken and beans. When he was done eating, he wiped his hands on his jeans and then tossed the empty