27 Weeks

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. 27 Weeks Copyright 2023 © hj stallard ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Please be advised this book is not meant for everyone. Neither one of the main characters is working with a fully functioning, sound frame of mind, so to speak. They are not “relationship goals,” by a long shot. Still, everyone deserves love. Even a man capable of murdering, raping, and holding someone hostage at gunpoint. I mean, at least in the fictional world, that is. In the name of smutty romance novels, everyone deserves love. He just needs to find the right kind of woman to match his dysfunction and that’s exactly what happens. Sometimes, all it takes is one person to see the man past the mistakes and tame the crazy. And, I do believe this is enough warning for triggers. If you’re still intrigued, read on and enjoy. If not, this is probably going to be a DNF, so I wouldn’t bother. If you make it to twenty-seven weeks, look up I'll Never Love Again by Lady Gaga, the song that inspired this love story that seems so impossible. Love is strange, it is hard, it is rare. No one needs to understand, it just needs to make sense to you. If you have the chance to find a match or two, embrace it and run. Don’t ever look back. Cherish every minute, for nothing lasts forever. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 1 Sweat dripping into my eyes, I squeezed the lids against the burn, my arm folded over my stomach. The pain intensifying, I was gulping air into my aching lungs, my breath forming clouds on the chilly air. Confusion muddling my brain, I staggered through the trees, my muscles momentarily buckling. I fell against one, a grunt knocking from my chest. Taking a moment to rest, my forehead leaning on the bark, my free arm wrapped around the trunk, the gun still firmly gripped. My hand shaking from the agony, I peeled it away from the side of my abdomen, cursing at the thick blood dripping from the wound. I needed somewhere to sit and tend to this, or I was going to bleed to death. Hissing through gritted teeth, I shoved off the tree and stumbled through the woods once more. Exhausted and having lost far too much blood, my sight was blurring, everything appearing warbled. The sun setting, it was getting harder and harder to cling to coherency. I was running out of time. Just when I was about to give up, sit down, and die, I smelled smoke burning in the distance. My heart skipped a beat, and I got a second wind with a burst of adrenaline. Speeding up as best I could, I continually collided against one trunk after another, adding scrapes and bruises to my battered body. The forestry thinning, I spotted a log cabin a few hundred yards away, the siding stained an odd blue tone. Relieved, I forced myself to a jog, panting heavily. Falling against a tree on the edge of the clearing, I scoped the area, looking for any sign of life. Clearly, someone was here, because the chimney had a healthy smoke billowing from the top. Staring at what looked to be the rear, my focus roamed the two-story bay window jutting from the side. A few feet away, was an opened, covered shed with chopped wood on one side and gardening tools on the other. Snarling, I shoved off the tree and ran as quickly as possible in that direction. As soon as I was under the roof, I collapsed against the stack of wood, my energy spent. Crumbling to the ground, a few logs toppled over, spilling around me. Too weak to care about the noise I made, I slumped against the stack, the hole in my stomach throbbing. It wasn’t exactly a safe haven, but being on the cusp of winter in Montana, it was better than the elements. It would do for the time being. What now? I still had this gaping wound that needed medical attention, and I still had cops out looking for me. Fuck, I should turn myself in. At least then I could go to the hospital. Hatred boiling my blood, I pinched the bridge of my nose. I would rather die than go to jail for that bitch. The screened door on the back porch squeaked open, sending a surge of panic through my system. Choking in my breath to hold it, I dug the heels of my boots into the dirt and pushed myself further into the logs, only to knock a couple more over. One rolled out the shed and I cursed. “Henry? Is that you?” called out a feminine but husky, raspy tone. “Henry.” My heart thudding at my throat, I could actually feel the veins at my temples pulsating with each one, making me very aware