“Dodged a jar of what might’ve been okra and will live to see another day.”
“Patrick’s accomplice?”
“He’s fucking dead if I find him,” Giselle growls. Her face pops into view too. “Get the fuck out of there before he shows up and you have to see me do things you don’t want to see me do.”
“Is Patrick—is he dead?”
Davis smiles. “No. He’ll get everything you’ve wished for him and more.”
I sag to the dirt floor. “I really hit him?”
“Three times, actually,” Davis says. “First jar knocked him in the shoulder. Another one got him in the knee. That one tripped him, and he rolled over in time to see the jar of maybe beets land right on his forehead.”
“So fucking mad I didn’t see it.” Giselle’s seething.
Davis holds out another hand. “C’mon, Sloane. Let’s go finish the job.”
Finish the job.
Finish our time together.
Move on with our lives.
Me to put mine back together.
Him to—well, to do whatever the mysterious Davis Remington does.
I don’t ask if we can stay friends.
I know the answer.
He’ll disappear into the night, and that will be that.
An epic tale to tell my—my friends’ grandkids one day.
I reach up and take his hand, knowing this won’t be the last time—we are still getting fake-married tomorrow because I’ve earned it, dammit, but this will be close to the last time.
Unless I’m brave.
And unless he is too.
35
Davis
Cooper and Waverly’ssecurity detail wave us through as I steer Giselle’s SUV up the next driveway after Beck’s place. I left my motorcycle at the trailer with Giselle, who looked like she needed a long ride to work out some issues.
And who promised to not beat the shit out of Patrick Dixon before the authorities arrived to pick him up.
Vanessa didn’t promise the same.
She didn’t answer my text at all when I messaged to let her know that Patrick was currently hog-tied and secured to a beam under my camper.
Little bloody too.
Pretty sure that’s the only time in my life I’ll ever see Sloane look an injured man in the eye, tell him she hopes he gets a flesh-eating disease on his penis and scurvy and tetanus and that he has to spend the rest of his days shitting through his belly button, then walk away without treating his wounds.
Giselle knows first aid.
