Wayne stops mid-step, his forehead crumpled, his fists clenched. “This is a fucking mess, Calder. A mess. We’ve got blood everywhere, a witness, and?—”
“Don’t fucking worry about it. I took care of the witness. Now we just need to dispose of the bodies,” I interject, stopping him before he can go on a full downward spiral.
His gaze darts to the blanket that Saint is wrapped in, and I grit my teeth to stop myself from lashing out at him.
Can he tell she’s alive?If he calls my bluff, I’ll have to do something drastic. Like actually kill her.Or him.
“What did you do to her?”
“Does it matter?”
He scratches at the back of his head. “No, but I need to know so I can send someone to clean the house, if necessary.”
“Seriously, Wayne.” I shake my head at him. Sometimes I wonder how he’s made it so far in life. “I didn’t slit her throat. She’s five pounds soaking wet. I just snapped her neck.”
It’s clear he’s as overwhelmed by the situation as I am, but overthinking it doesn’t change what we need to do. “Jesus Christ, Calder. Martin slipping loose, the girl, and now two things we need to take care of. Roman’s gonna?—”
“Relax.” That’s all I say.
Wayne stares incredulously. “Are you kidding me? There’s no time to relax. We’re fucked.”
“I said to relax, and I fucking mean it.” My words cut sharp, and he halts mid-step toward me. I shift the bundle in my arms and layer the famous Bishop temper into my tone. “It’s fucking done. Now we clean this shit up and get back to ranch business.”
We both know my father is going to lose it when he finds out what happened. I’ll be dead, especially if he discovers that Saintlynisn’tdead. But the sharp edge to my tone and the way I take charge seem to motivate him, and after a moment, Wayne settles a bit.
“Right.” He nods, though I can tell he doesn’t necessarily agree with me. “I can go back and get the truck, and we can load up the bodies and toss ‘em in the hole.”
“Normally, I would agree, but we aren’t doing it that way this time,” I bite out. “We’re not putting both of them in the same truck. Too easy to tie together. Too fucking sloppy. Call in a second vehicle.”
Wayne objects. “That’s not protocol. It’s one truck, one hole. Always been that way.”
I cross the space separating us and get right in his face, or as close as I can while holding a body. “That would make sense if it were one body, but it’s not. We’ve got two bodies, which means two opportunities to connect us to the crime. Now you can either listen to me, or I can let my father know you defied an order, then we can see just how much better your night gets.” I let the threat hang between us.
His lips press into a thin line, and he looks away. Not because he trusts me but because fear is easier than defiance. Even if he disagrees, he won’t disobey me.
Inside, my pulse hammers hard. Not just because he’s right—this is messy, loud, dangerous—but because the quilt in my arms shifts with the faint rise and fall of her breath. If he listens too close, if he looks too long, the truth is right there waiting to bury me.
“Fine, I’ll make the call.” He mutters, and I damn near sigh in relief.
The night swallows the preacher’s house in the rearview, a black silhouette against a darker sky. Martin’s body was loaded into the bed of another hand, Ezra’s truck, and Wayne rides shotgunto make sure it disappears the way it’s supposed to. After that, Ezra will scrub what he can off the porch before dawn, and get rid of the boot prints. I don’t give a shit how he does it, as long as it gets done, and they aren’t paying close attention to me—us.
I told Wayne I’d take the girl elsewhere. Said it like it was a chore. Like her weight in my arms wasn’t already burning through my skin. Now she’s curled in the passenger seat of my truck, wrapped tight in that quilt, head tipped against the glass.
A bundle of silence. Too still.
The wheel creaks under my grip as I take the turnoff, heading north where the road forgets people exist. Pines crowd close, their spines jagged against the sky, the headlights carving tunnels through their shadows. Frost rims the fences, glittering like broken glass in the beams.
As I thought about where I could take her, the first place to jump out at me was the cabin. It’s my space, a hidden sanctuary that I don’t get to escape to often. No one will find her there, and if she somehow manages to escape the cabin then she would have to walk miles before she would come across anyone willing to help her.
The muscles in my jaw ache, and I realize I’m clenching everything without meaning to. Fuck, tonight was bad. I hadn’t handled a job this badly since I started.
Being sloppy gets you killed…It’s one of my father’s never ending pet peeves. I resettle my ever-tightening grip on the steering wheel until my knuckles crack.
How the fuck did I get here? I had one job, one fucking job, and I couldn’t even do that right. She should be dead, not sitting in the seat next to me, her soft breaths grinding over every single one of my nerve endings. Saving Saint is a mistake I can’t undo, but one I can’t bring myself to fix either. That little snippet of truth is what twists the knife deeper than any consequence or threat from my father.
I focus on the sound of dirt chewing under the tires, letting my thoughts go.
Out here there are no houses. No eyes. Just the dark swallowing you whole.
