Execution Style Read online

  “Well,” my mother said. “Oh, dear.”

  I looked out the window to find my dad and Miller in a...hug.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, standing up in alarm.

  My mother stood beside me, and we watched as Miller got the shit hugged out of him.

  My father had gripped him in a hug so ferocious that it was turning Miller’s face red. Not that he pulled away. He stayed there, eyes locked on me through the window, as he took the pounding on the back that my dad was giving him.

  “So… do you think he’s happy?” My mother teased.

  I’d been the one to tell my mother, while Miller had taken my father outside to tell him.

  I’d just told my mother. I’d always felt that news, good or bad, was worth telling. It was like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  Miller had obviously done a little explaining with his news, that’s why he had taken so long.

  “Honey,” my mother’s voice called to me.

  I turned to find her staring at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  She studied my face for a long second before she said what was on her mind.

  “Don’t use him. I don’t know if you’re with him now because of what happened to you, or because you really want to be. No matter what the reason, you need to evaluate that before you take this relationship I see growing in his eyes, any further. Okay?” She asked softly.

  I nodded.

  “I’ve thought about that,” I explained. “In the beginning, I think that was what I was doing. However, over the past few weeks, as I’ve gotten to know him, I feel such a connection with him. I feel like we’ve known each other forever. And the way he treats me makes me all warm inside. What he and I have…I can’t even explain it. It’s something like you and daddy have. Maybe even something more.”

  She looked at me for a few more seconds, then nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go make some dinner.”

  ***

  “Next weekend you’re going to your parents?” My mother asked.

  Miller nodded. “Yep. Vegas, baby.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “I’ve never been to Vegas before. I’ve also never been on a plane before.”

  “You’ve been on a plane before. You just don’t remember it,” my mother said, scooping up a dollop of mashed potatoes and handing the bowl to my dad.

  My dad took it, but chose not to comment on our usual argument.

  “I think she’s smoking something,” I said to Miller. “My sister was the one who was on the plane. I,” I said, turning my gaze to my mom. “Have never been on a plane.”

  “Just because you don’t remember it, doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen,” she laughed.

  My father snorted. “That’s what she said when I allowed her to stop her birth control pills. I don’t remember it. She says I said it. She’s been using that argument for thirty years.”

  I choked on my chicken, and Miller pounded me on the back.

  “Thanks,” I coughed. “Let’s not talk about that at the dinner table. I just finally got my appetite back after you told me about how hot dogs were made.”

  “Well, they’re all ground up noses and assholes. There’s no pussyfooting around that. Just because you like hotdogs doesn’t make them what you want them to be,” he laughed.

  I turned to Miller. “Are you sure you want to be a part of this family?”

  I said it teasingly, but he took the question seriously. “Yes. It’s not any worse than mine. You’ll see that in a week’s time.”

  I patted his thigh.

  I could feel his keys through his jeans pocket, as well as something else circular towards the bottom. When I started to trace the outline of it, he captured my hand, flattening it so it rested on the hard muscle of his thigh.

  Wondering what that was all about, I tried out the whole ‘show him I want sex’ thing. Yet when I started to move my hand towards his crotch, and had just gotten to where my fingertips were on the seam of his zipper, the dog started to bark at me.

  I looked down to see my mother’s Boston Terrier, Hiccup, at my feet.

  Hiccup was an asshole.

  He was such a cock blocker. He did it to my parents, too, so their gazes followed my hand, taking in the fact that I didn’t have my hand in my own lap.

  My mother said, “You know, dear. If you wanted to feel him up, at least put the damn dog outside.”

  My face flamed.

  Miller’s confused, “What?” was drowned out by Hiccup’s incessant barking.

  I tried to move my hand away, but Miller not understanding what was going on, moved my hand closer to his lower belly, pulling me in close.

  “What’s he barking for?” Miller asked, looking down at the dog who kept nudging my arm to get me to let go of Miller.

  Hiccup probably would’ve kept barking, too, if Miller’s pager hadn’t gone off.

  “On that note,” I said, standing up from the table. “It’s time for us to go.”

  “Actually,” Miller said, looking at the readout. “I’ve got to go straight from here. Do you mind staying here? I’ll come back for you once I’m done.”

  “We can take her home,” my father said, standing up, too.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back.”

  Something seemed to be said silently between my father and Miller, because my father nodded instead of pursuing it any further.

  Giving me a quick kiss on the top of my head, he said his goodbye’s, and was gone in the next moment.

  My father sat back down and continued eating his dinner as if nothing had happened.

  Although he’d had to deal with being called out in the middle of dinner so many times that he’d probably lost count, this was new for me.

  Having to worry.

  I’d done it a lot when my father was a firefighter; however, my father was currently stuffing his face with his low-salt meal. It was different to worry about someone else.

  That meant that Miller meant a whole lot more to me than just a casual acquaintance.

  To worry was to care.

  And right now, I was a mess of nerves thinking about him being out there with guns pointing at his pretty face.

  ***

  Two hours later, my mother and I were glued to the TV as we watched the scene in front of us unfold.

  I popped yet another piece of popcorn into my mouth, so beyond full that I didn’t know why I still had the bowl in my hand.

  “Do you think he’ll jump?” I asked my mother.

  She shook he head. “Hell no. He’s too chicken shit to do it.”

  I snorted, but agreed.

  Devon Higgins, the same man who’d been responsible for Foster’s stitches and beard failure, was threatening to jump off the highest building in the city of Kilgore.

  “Even if he did jump, he wouldn’t die,” my father rumbled from behind us.

  We both turned and stared at him in confusion. “Really?”

  He shook his head. “Dead serious.”

  “What would happen to him?” I asked curiously, turning back to the news station that was playing the live news.

  “Broken back. A lot of broken bones…if he’s lucky,” Dad said.

  “Hmm,” was my reply.

  “Is that him?” My mother asked excitedly.

  I moved to the edge of my seat to look at the screen more closely. “No. That’s his brother.”

  “How do you know?” Dad asked.

  I got up and pointed at the screen.

  “That,” I said indicating the bald spot on his beard. “This is where he had to have his beard shaved for his stiches.”

  “Why didn’t he shave it all off?” Mom asked.

  I shrugged and took my place back on the seat. “I’ve asked this question myself. It all boils down to the fact that the brothers have a bet, and whoever is the first one to shave their face has to pay for their beer for a year.”

 
My father snorted. “Now that’s a bet.”

  I secretly agreed, but I was staying out of it. Seemed the Spurlock boys played dirty when it came to their bets, and they weren’t going to spare their ‘women’ if push came to shove. All was fair in a love and war, and all that bullshit.

  “That’s him,” I said, pointing to the screen.

  Miller was approaching Devon from behind, moving slowly so as not to draw attention to himself.

  It was good that he was there, too, because the moment Miller reached the edge of the building, Devon jumped.

  Miller only had enough time to grab a hold of Devon’s belt.

  Devon’s shift in body weight took Miller down to the base of the ledge, hard, slamming him so roughly against the brick that I was sure he’d be able to hold on.

  My mother and I both gasped as we sat forward in our seats.

  Devon was dangling like a small child by his belt, but he was anything but a child.

  The camera zoomed in on the two men, and I focused in on Miller’s face. What little I could see of it was beat red, and veins popped out all along his neck and forehead.

  The muscles in his arms bulged as he tried desperately to hold on.

  People underneath scrambled.

  I half expected them to do what those clowns in circuses do by putting out the trampoline. Yet, there was none of that going on. They all just moved out of the way.

  Miller’s hand and arm was bursting with veins, and it wasn’t helping that Devon was flailing around like a fish out of water.

  He was saying something, yelling it really, and Miller was yelling something back.

  Then I fell, sliding off the couch to my knees as Devon lifted something out of his pants pocket, pointing whatever it was at Miller.

  Miller visibly recoiled, but kept a hold of the belt as he tried in vain to hide his head from whatever Devon had.

  Then the gun came into view as Devon put the gun up to his chin, and then pulled the trigger.

  The violence of the shot threw the rest of Devon’s body backwards, and Miller dropped him.

  That was the second time I saw someone’s head blown to pieces in less than two months.

  I barely made it to the bathroom in time to heave about five pounds of popcorn, as well as dinner, spew out of my stomach in a rush.

  “Jesus Christ,” my father growled, dropping down to his knees to smooth my hair away from my face. “Get it all up, baby.”

  I did, and then some.

  “Daddy,” I gasped into the toilet bowl. “Why’d you let me eat so much popcorn?”

  He snorted. “Because you don’t know how to listen.”

  Chapter 13

  Shut your 3.1415926 hole.

  -T-shirt

  Mercy

  “Alright boys,” I said to the crew. “Wrap it up so we can go home. Remember we have a three day weekend to celebrate Easter, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Brock laughed. “Don’t forget we have that meeting with the realtors on Tuesday, okay?”

  I nodded, gave him a thumb’s up, and said my goodbyes.

  I walked out of the freshly painted house that we were building, waved to Maine, and moved quickly to my car.

  The drive to my place was short, and I was thankful because I was exhausted.

  This pregnancy shit ain’t no joke.

  Add in painting an entire living room on top of that, and it equaled out to one very tired Mercy.

  Miller was waiting for me when I pulled into my driveway.

  I lived in a small, middle class home in one of the older neighborhoods in Kilgore.

  The outside of my house was painted a dark gray, while the shutters on the sides of the window accented with a deep red. The front of my house had flowerbeds that begged for weeding; yet, I just hadn’t had the time.

  I had a large oak tree with a wooden swing attached to one low hanging branch, and that was where Miller was currently sitting, pushing off lazily with one foot planted on the floor, while the other planted on the seat of the swing.

  He was wearing blue jeans, brown cowboy boots, a white t-shirt, and a black SWAT hat.

  He looked better today than he had last night.

  Last night he’d just come to get me, and then had taken me to his place.

  His only reason had been that he hadn’t wanted to leave Foster alone.

  I hadn’t argued, and I’d gone to bed with a very silent Miller at my side. He hadn’t explained, and I hadn’t asked. I didn’t want to push him, but I had hoped he’d have at least told me what was going on.

  When I’d woken up, he’d been gone and at work for over an hour, and Foster had been there to take me home.

  I’d learned in a news conference, put on by Downy, that Devon’s fingerprints had been linked to a long standing case that had happened three years ago, of a woman who’d been raped, then murdered. Her body had been found in the Sabine River, and the only thing they had to go on, evidence wise, had been a fingerprint.

  Since it hadn’t matched anybody’s that’d been in the system, there was nothing they could do.

  His prints had been scanned the day he’d been taken to jail, but his lawyer had been there to bail Sarah, as well as Devon, out the moment they’d walked into the police station.

  So he hadn’t been there long before he was out again.

  The prints had pinged about two hours later, and that’s when the arrest warrant had been served. However, Devon had known that he’d be pinged for it since the murder had been broadcasted far and wide throughout the region.

  He’d been in hiding at a friend’s place when he’d been found.

  Law enforcement officials had chased him all the way to the bank, where he’d climbed the outside emergency ladder that had been on the side of the building. That was when the standoff had occurred, leading to the SWAT team’s arrival.

  I pulled into my drive and parked underneath the awning.

  Miller didn’t move from his spot, causing me to frown.

  He’d never once failed to meet me at my door if he was aware that I’d arrive. Never once.

  I knew he’d seen me pull in; I’d watched his head follow my progression down the street from a quarter mile away. Hell, he’d heard me, too.

  Grabbing my purse, I exited the car and started to walk slowly over to him.

  “Hey,” I said once I was close enough.

  I noticed that he had bags under his eyes. Those baby blues didn’t shine like they usually did; they were hard and wary. Not that it was a surprise that he’d be tired; he’d been gone half the night with that call and he had to be on shift at six this morning after that.

  “Hey,” he said in his deep, rumbly voice.

  I tried to sit down on the swing beside him, but he caught me around the hips and directed my ass at his lap.

  I took the direction easily, sitting on his lap and pulling my feet up onto the wooden bench.

  His arms encircled my upper body and he pulled me in close, resting his head on the top of mine.

  This was new for us.

  Although we were affectionate, and he kissed me every once in a while, he was always respectful of my personal space. Which got to be a bit annoying at times. Sometimes I just wanted him to be him and me to be me.

  I wanted him to grab me from behind and try to scare me like I saw him do James’ wife, Shiloh, the other day while we’d been eating out with them.

  I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and kiss me desperately.

  I wanted him to be the man he wanted to be, without gauging his desires beforehand. He was always careful not to do something that he thought might scare me and, although I was grateful, I wanted to be normal.

  To have normal with him.

  And this, sitting in his lap, felt normal.

  It felt right.

  “We’re waiting on Foster, then we can go,” he rumbled.

  His voice even sounded tired. Poor
guy.

  “Do you want me to drive? Didn’t you both have to work today?” I asked softly.

  He shook his head. “Yeah, we both had to work. But we can handle it.”

  “Hmm,” I said, not agreeing nor disagreeing with him.

  I’d found that Miller did what he wanted, regardless of his limitations.

  For instance, he’d fixed the sink in my house.

  When I didn’t have the right tools, he’d improvised. Mostly by using his brute strength rather than letting me go buy a new tool that could’ve saved him a lot of trouble and time.

  I found it easier just to let him do what he was going to do.

  “How was your day?” He asked, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

  I smiled, resting my head against his collarbone.

  “It was great,” I yawned. “But I’m so tired I could sleep for hours.”

  He chuckled, causing me to bounce up and down on his chest.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “I know the feeling. How were you going to drive if you were tired, though?”

  I shrugged, jostling his head that was still resting on the top of mine.

  “I’d have stayed awake,” I mumbled to him.

  Maybe. Probably.

  “Hmm,” he said. “Everybody left you alone?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t go anywhere out in public but out to lunch with the guys. They’re like a human fortress, though. Nobody got within ten feet of me except for the waitress, and she was new in town, so she didn’t know me.”

  “Good,” he said, sounding pleased that the guys had taken care of me.

  Although I found it nice that they were doing that, they couldn’t be there forever.

  When my belly started to grow, and I couldn’t hide my pregnancy anymore, I was sure the gossip mills would start running full force.

  “How was work?” I asked, running my palm up and down his chest.

  “Long. It was fun, though. Foster got to help deliver a baby with the paramedic today,” Miller laughed.

  I smiled. “How’d that go over for him?”

  Foster, from what I could tell, was baby-phobic.

  He liked his nieces and nephews, don’t get me wrong, but there was just something about the small ones that freaked him out.