He couldn’t imagine she would want to return a second time since Media was almost four hours from home. That would be a hell of a haul for a few more knickknacks.
Reilly also wanted to empty the storage unit today and turn in the key so Reese was no longer obligated to pay that monthly bill.
“I didn’t have much since my apartment came furnished. Some of the stuff I might be able to sell at the consignment shop back home to get a little extra cash to give to Reese, but there’s no point in hauling things home if they need to be thrown out.”
It would help if they got a system in place. “How ‘bout you go through each box, then tell me to either load it up or take it out to the dumpster?”
She considered the stacked boxes and nodded slightly. “Okay.”
He stepped in front of her, forcing her to look up at him. He grabbed her hands and held them to his chest. “Babe… Let’s just get it done and over with, then once we shut that door, it’s fuckin’ shut for the final time, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
She nodded again; her face paler than normal. “I do.”
“If it’s easier, I can throw all this shit out and you don’t have to touch any of it.”
She glanced past him into the unit. “No, I have clothes and boots… My books and electronics… Stuff I’ve been without for the past year.”
“But you’ve borrowed or bought other shit. You’ve done without anythin’ in this unit for the last year.”
“Not by choice. I won’t let that dead douchebag steal anything else from me. And by dumping everything I own, that’s what he’d be doing. Even from beyond the grave.”
Rev didn’t want to remind her that the asshole didn’t have a grave. He’d been plowed into the dirt and the only thing left of him was her memories.
He turned and considered the contents of the unit. “Any clothes you’re keepin’, right?”
“Yes, as long as I still fit in them.” She sighed. “I might not.”
“Ain’t gonna try everythin’ on now. Any clothes you find, we’ll take. If we run outta room, we’ll get pickier. Yeah?”
She nodded. “I can always donate the clothes to a shelter after we get home.”
He clapped his hands together sharply once just like Trip sometimes did to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, let’s do this. Wanna stop at the house on the way back to the motel later. Check on that fucker’s progress.”
Matthew was supposed to text him if things seemed close to the end, but Rev didn’t trust the man to do it now that his uncle knew why Rev had come home.
He probably regretted ever tracking Rev down.
They made fast work of the boxes at the front of the unit. Reilly was moving quickly, opening and digging through them, pulling out shit she could toss and even combining some boxes.
She would finish with one and say “toss” or “keep” and he’d either take the shit to the dumpster or his Bronco. His Ford had a decent amount of space, but not as much as a full-sized pickup and the cargo room it did have was filling up fast.
Fitting the boxes inside the back was like a fucking puzzle. He found a spot for a box of kitchen shit, then turned, “Babe, you gotta be more selective, gonna run out of space.”
With her face ghost white, she was squatting next to an open box at the back of the unit, staring inside.
What the fuck?
“Reilly,” he called out as he zig-zagged through the remaining boxes in the unit to get to her. Stepping up to her back, he glanced down and just about lost his fucking shit. “What the fuck! Your sister didn’t make sure that stuff was thrown the fuck out?”
“She told them to pack everything but the furniture. She was too busy taking care of me… Like normal,” she said in a flat whisper.
With boxes blocking him, he couldn’t get around her to block her view of the contents, so he leaned over, grabbed her under her arm pits, hauled her to her feet and pinned her to his chest. Without releasing her, he took a few steps backward until they could no longer see the bloody items in the box. Shit that had been splattered with her blood during the beating had been tossed into a box instead of being cleaned or thrown away.
She was stiff in his arms as he held her with one arm supporting her just below her breasts and the other across her belly to make sure she didn’t collapse.
Reilly was a strong woman, but having that reminder thrown in her face, especially when she wasn’t expecting it, had to fuck with her head.
“Let’s go,” he whispered, backing out of the unit, careful not to trip.
“We’re not done.” Again, her voice sounded flat. Lost.
He turned her around in his arms and saw her eyes were just as dead as her tone.
“You’re done here,” he insisted.
“No—”
“Yes, Reilly, you’re fuckin’ done.” He had no idea how many more boxes had bloody items in them, or even if one contained the object Warren used to create that scar, whatever fucking knickknack he used in an attempt to bash in her brains.
For all he knew, it could’ve been more than one object.
No matter how many boxes contained tainted items—even if only that one—she would not be forced to go through them. He’d do it on his own. Fuck that shit.
“Let’s go.” He shuffled her out of the unit and into the passenger seat of the Bronco. He leaned in and latched her seatbelt for her, slammed her door shut and ran to the rear of the Bronco to secure both it and the unit before getting her the fuck out of there.
Then they drove the forty minutes back to the motel with only road noise, the rumble of the engine and the satellite radio playing rock filling the Ford’s interior.
The whole way, he kept sneaking glances at her, but she had her face turned toward the passenger side window, watching the landscape pass by as he took the roads leading back to their motel.
It was early enough that he could drop her back off at the room and head back down to the unit to finish. If he threw out shit she needed, oh fucking well, she could buy new shit. Putting her through the trauma of her seeing her own damn blood on her own damn possessions was completely un-fucking-necessary. He’d deal with it and spare her that.
It was too bad that motherfucker was already dead, because he really wanted to fucking kill him. He’d squeezed the steering wheel tightly, wishing it was Warren’s throat. He couldn’t stop imagining him being the one to punch the man unconscious that day at the garage instead of Deacon.
Deacon had struck Warren using his right hand for what he’d done to Reese and his left for what he’d done to Reilly. It wasn’t until Warren was unconscious and Deke’s hands were a raw, bloody mess that he stopped.
Rev had missed most of that since he had been inside the garage with Reese and Reilly, keeping them from going out back, getting in the middle of it and killing Warren themselves.
But, in the end, Reilly had been Warren’s judge, jury and executioner instead of Deacon. Rightfully so, since the bastard had broken her arm and nose, cracked open her face and head, plus left behind a permanent reminder she had to see in the mirror every damn day.
That was enough to make her just a bit pissed about it.
Only right now, she wasn’t pissed. She was being swallowed up by the past. He knew it bothered her that she had allowed a piece of shit like Warren into her life and let him take advantage of her when she was not that type of woman.