He rolled his eyes. “Why?”
I stared at him until he pursed his lips.
“Why? Because your Daddy asked, that’s why,” I murmured.
He eyed me up but shrugged. “Roger Postman. He’s a bank teller. That was always his joke. He should’ve worked at the post office. I think because he saw people with real money all the time, he looked down on me extra hard for being poor.”
“Did he ever offer to help you move your mom and Ginny out of the trailer park?” My shoulders ached from the tension twisting through my body.
“Never.” His eyebrows shot up like he thought I was nuts to ask.
A ball of pure fury smoldered in my gut. “Then, he didn’t love you. Fuck him. You don’t have to think twice about any of the asinine shit that came out of his mouth. I can tell you one thing, he wasn’t better than you. Or anyone else.”
His eyebrows didn’t have anywhere to go, they were so high, but they danced down and back up. “You’re helping us.” He drew the words out slowly. “You’re helping me leave.”
Clearing my throat, I started up the stairs as my face flushed. He rested a hand on my back.
Giggling burbled out from my bedroom on the left. I had to laugh as I walked inside because Ginny was bouncing on my bed, and Bernadette was whining at her, as if telling her she wasn’t allowed.
“This room is big, big, big!” she shouted, then fell onto her back, kicking her legs.
“It’s also mine,” I said.
Keaton scooped her up.
We went down the hall to a room that was half of mine, but still a decent size.
“This one’s mine?” Ginny stared around. It was only a guest room, so it was bland, especially for a little girl. More like a hotel room than anything.
When I nodded, she shouted “Hurray!” and scrambled out of Keaton’s arms, almost sending them both to the floor in theprocess. Bernadette circled her, sniffing the room and generally checking that everything met her approval.
Anxiety corkscrewed in me as she giggled and whispered something to Keaton. How would I keep them away from my side hustle? I let out a long breath and decided to ignore the problem, even though a familiar urge was building in me, a fire I could contain as long as there was an outlet on the horizon.
I was going to kill again soon.
And unlike every other victim who had been on the receiving end of a death sentence from me, the next to die wouldn’t be a drug dealer.
Roger was living his last day.
“Ginny, do you want to do something fun?” I asked.
She nodded, and I went over to raise Keaton’s hand so he would put the ice pack back on his temple.
“Let’s go buy some nice things for your room. You can pick them out. Lights. A desk. A comforter. Oh, some books! Some toys? Perhaps a dollhouse? What do you think?”
I’d been expecting more of her contagious excitement, but instead her face crumpled. “Bubba, Mommy would’ve liked to pick out a dollhouse with me.”
The look he blasted me with was pure overwhelm. He didn’t hesitate, just lifted her in his arms while she sniffled.
“It’s been a big day. We can go some other time,” I said.
She shook her head and kicked her feet as if she was trying to swim away from such a terrible plan. “No, Bernadette will be sad if we don’t go. We didn’t bring her things, and she needs food and a bowl.”
“Of course,” I said, as seriously as I could. “If you trust me, I could take Ginny and you could rest.”
Keaton ran a hand over his face, and we exchanged a long look. “Who is going to watch her while I work?”
“Would Mrs. Carmine come here?”
