“If anyone says they knew Kel was coming to see you, you keep it simple. Tell them you talked, then he left after a few minutes. End of story. I’ll handle everything else.”
I turn to go, but her hand clutches at my arm like earlier, desperate to hold me back.
“Please. Don’t leave me alone. Let me come with you.”
“You can’t. This is serious. I have to take care of this.”
“Please,” she croaks, eyes still glassy. “I can’t be here alone. I can’t. Please, Silver.”
Fuck, I really can’t turn her down.
Not when she’s like this. Even if it’s a huge mistake. Some part of me recognizes she can’t be left alone right now. She’s in no head space to deal with this sitting alone in the same place where an hour ago she murdered a man. The same POS who hurt her.
“Alright,” I concede. “But you do exactly what I tell you. No questions.”
She nods eagerly, already rushing for the door.
This is a mistake. But it’s a mistake I’m willing to make if it means cleaning up this mess and protecting Solana.
We’ve got a body to bury and a murder to cover up.
Two hours outside Pulsboro, there’s nothing but flat Texas scrubland and the occasional mesquite tree. There’re no city lights to be found, and the only road out here is a dirt track that doesn’t lead to civilization for miles.
I’ve been out here before for club business. It’s one of our favorite spots because it’s a place where bodies stay buried.
I grab the shovel from my truck bed—always keep one on hand, along with rope, ammo, and other necessities of outlaw life.
Solana stands guard while I dig, though there’s nothing to keep watch against except coyotes and rattlesnakes.
The ground’s hard packed, each shovelful taking effort. Sweat soaks through my shirt despite the cool night air.
Six feet down, six feet long. Deep and wide enough that animals won’t dig him up.
I drag Kel’s wrapped body to the edge and drop him in. His body lands squarely in the grave I’ve dug for him, ready to be covered. It’s as I start heaping dirt over Kel’s body that she insists on helping.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” She’s grabbed the other shovel I keep on hand and scoops some dirt like she’s seen me do, tossing it into the deep grave.
We work like this for a while, breathing heavily and dripping sweat the longer it takes. It’s hard labor digging a grave, and by the time we’re done, our backs are aching and muscles twitching.
“Wait.”
Solana stares at the grave we’ve dug together with an empty expression I’ve never seen her wear before. It’s as if she’s finally processing what happened tonight and the fact that there’s no turning back.
“I’m not sorry,” she says. “Should I be sorry?”
“No. He made his choices. These are the consequences.”
She nods, clutching the shovel at her side with her gaze still fixed on his grave.
I scatter rocks and dead brush over the disturbed earth. In a week, you won’t be able to tell anything’s different. In a month, even I might have trouble finding the exact spot.
The drive back is quiet at first. Solana stares out the window at the darkness rushing past. Then, about an hour from Pulsboro, she speaks again.
“I don’t want to go home.”
“Solana—”
