Rough & Raw (Notorious Devils Book 2) Read Free

might need more physical relief. I close my eyes and will myself to sleep, all I need is a few hours.
    What feels like minutes later, I crack my eyes open to find two arms slung over me. One across my chest and the other across my stomach. They belong to two separate women, and I cringe at the thought of letting them stay in my bed until morning. Not something I would ever do, normally. Last night I was beyond hammered; I don’t even remember everything that happened. I blacked out right after I fucked the cute little blonde’s ass.
    “Up,” I murmur as I throw their arms off of me, earning nothing but moans and groans.
    “Get your asses up,” I grunt a bit louder. I smack each of them on their bare asses, hard, watching the immediate handprints form on their skin.
    “What the hell?” blondie shrieks as she rubs her ass.
    “Up and out,” I bark, immediately regretting it. It makes my head pound.
    The girls grumble and mumble but eventually leave me alone. I sit on the edge of the bed, naked, with my head in my hands—not because of my screaming hangover, but because the memories all flood back.
    Brentlee—bruised. My guilt feels like a heavy brick in my gut. It’s all because of me. She’s being hurt because of me.
    Because I left her. I pushed her away.
    She won’t leave him. Women in those situations never do. I know. I tried to make my mom leave time after time, and she refused every single one. No matter how much she agreed that it wasn’t right, that he wasn’t right. Brentlee will be no different. She’ll either live her life barely surviving, or she’ll die by his hand, and there’s nothing I can do to save her.
    I can’t save anybody.
    All I do is destroy.
    I pick up the empty bottle of Jack and throw it across the room, watching it shatter against the wall—feeling nothing .

Present Day
     
    Brentlee
     
    I t’s time.
    There is no way around it. There is no more denying that my relationship is abusive and toxic. It will never improve. Last night was the last time. Scotty laid his hands on our daughter, and that shit will never— ever —happen again.
    I quickly throw some clothes into bags and make sure to pack Stella’s favorite toys and her sleep lovie blankee.
    Stella, my three-year-old, little, innocent girl, is watching Mickey Mouse, oblivious to what is about to happen. I call her name as I turn the television off, and she stands up and runs toward me as if she hasn’t seen me in years. I take her hand, wincing at the dark bruise that has formed on her arm.
    That asshole grabbed her and shook her so hard yesterday, I was afraid she’d have shaken baby syndrome. I stayed up with her all night, vigilantly waiting and watching for the slightest hint of trauma.
    “Where going, mama?” she asks, noticing our bags.
    One rolling suitcase for me and a duffle bag for her. Six years of my life has dwindled down to this . I couldn’t be happier, though. I don’t want anything he’s bought me. The small stack of cash in my purse is the only thing of monetary value that I’m bringing, and that is only because money is a need —not a want .
    “To see your Auntie Kentlee,” I announce. Her eyes widen.
    I have told my baby girl all about her beautiful Auntie and her big, strong uncle.
    I take her hand and we walk; we walk all the way to the bus stop. I refuse to take anything more from him than I need. A car is a luxury, and it is in his name anyway. I don’t need a damn thing from him, except our daughter.
    I’ve never been on public transportation before, but I would ride on the city bus for the rest of my life if it meant I wouldn’t have to see that asshole, Scotty, again.
    Stella fidgets beside me as the bus slows and stalls at each and every stop, regardless of if there are people waiting to get on or not. I watch as our small city disappears and we are let off at the edge of town.
    The last bus stop.
    It’s deserted out here, but I know what is at the end of the winding dirt