“Yep,” he said, too exhausted to embellish and grateful that his body seemed to have run out of tears.
Charlie puffed up her cheeks and then let out a big sigh. “Like, way to commit to a plan.”
Robby blinked at her. “What?”
“Getting Calder to guard your body,” Charlie said as if reminding him they were part of some conspiracy. “I just thought you should make up a stalker, but you literally killed a dude. That’s some Shepherd levels of commitment. I’m impressed.”
“Charlie,” Wyatt warned before looking at Robby. “What happened?”
Robby woodenly told the story for the second time that day. Or maybe it was the third. He honestly couldn’t remember. Everything was running together except for the feel of the knife penetrating that guy’s skin and the wet sound it made and the feel of hot blood running over his hands and the stink of a million copper pennies still stuck in his nostrils, making him shudder.
“Holy shit,” was Wyatt’s only reply.
Charlie shrugged, tossing her chestnut hair over her shoulder. “I mean, it’s extreme, but it worked.”
“He didn’t kill a home invader to get laid,” Wyatt exclaimed before asking, “Did you?”
Robby sighed. “Seriously?”
Wyatt held up both hands. “I was just asking. But why call Calder and not the police?”
Robby’s cheeks flushed. “I did call the police.”
“After Calder told you too. What made you call him first?”
Robby swallowed the lump in his throat. What was he supposed to say? Because he literally had nobody else? Because he was scared and somehow knew if he called, Calder would answer. That Calder wouldn’t leave him alone to face any of this. That, more than anything, Robby was sick of being alone?
That was just way too pathetic.
Instead, he just shrugged. “I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking clearly. There was a guy bleeding out on my living room floor. I have no idea why I called him.” But he was glad he had. He liked having Calder by his side. He felt safe. Something he rarely felt when he was alone.
“What do they know about the guy who broke in?” Wyatt asked.
“Nothing much, yet. I think my dad sent him after me.”
Charlie leaned forward until Robby was sure she was going to fall from the table. “Like a hit?”
He shook his head. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I think he was trying to take me back to the compound.”
“Your dad wanted to kidnap you and take you to a compound. Is that code for like a conversion therapy program or something?” Wyatt asked.
“My dad doesn’t believe in conversion therapy so much as there’s no behavior that can’t be beaten out of a person. He saw me kissing that girl in the paper, so it’s possible he thinks he can somehow persuade me I’m straight or at least that I’m straight enough to marry some girl and tithe all my money to his creepy cult.”
Charlie rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists, her eyes wide. “Cult? I thought your dad was a preacher? Not that I don’t think most religions are just cults anyway.”
Robby could lie but why bother? If it was all over the news, the world was bound to find out the truth soon enough anyway. “My dad is the head of Magnus Dei.”
“Holy shit,” Wyatt whispered. “They make Jonestown look like Disneyland. No offense.”
“None taken,” Robby muttered.
He was so tired. He wanted a shower and food and to sleep for at least a year. He’d settle for showering. He felt dirty in a way he’d never be able to explain, like killing somebody had left a permanent stain on his skin. One he’d never be able to wash away.
“Do you think your father will try to snatch you again?” Charlie asked.
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
Wyatt shook his head. “We can do better than hope. You need to hire Elite to protect you. That way Calder is duty-bound to guard your hot little body all day and all night. He could barely keep his hands off you after one car ride alone together. Twenty-four hours a day? He’ll be in love with you in no time at all. It’s perfect.”
