There’s too much to do. Clean up, change the tires, burn the whole place to the ground.
Get the fuck out of here before anyone stops by Colbert. It’s happened before, a small-town cop or a desperate family member.
So no, no time to fuck.
I take her throat instead, feel her pulse thrum under my palm. Proof she’s alive.
Proof she’s mine.
“I love you, Skylar.” My mouth brushes hers once.
Twice.
“Love you too.”
“Come on.” I drag her in for a kiss, then let go. “We’ve got to move.”
32
SKYLAR
There’s something wrong with Knox.
On the inside, that is.
On the outside, I’ve never seen anyone moreright.
I mean it. No one’s ever looked this hot, ever.
The morning sun slides across his unshaven jaw, catching on his hazel eyes until they glow almost golden. Every time he shifts gears, his pecs ripple under his T-shirt.
My stomach does a slow, traitorous flip whenever he squeezes the wheel and his forearms flex. His veins stand out like a map I want to trace. Or bite. Or lick.
Fire shoots through me at the sight of him raking a hand through his damp hair.
He’s raw, rugged.
Mine.
But these cracks in him…they break my heart.
The dip of his brows. That relentless clench and unclench of his jaw.
He’s locked inside his head, alone with dark thoughts he won’t share with me.
If I had to guess, he’s buckling beneath the weight of everything we’ve done. Of watching his brother’s assault, then his grandfather choking me.
Despite all that, he kept moving. Kept going straight to work.
After Reese died, he and I rolled the spare tires to the front of the house with me, changed the flats on the truck, and tossed the duffel in the backseat.
We grabbed my scalpel and the green charm from the farmhouse. After showering and changing, with his mask already in the duffel, we doused Colbert with gasoline and set it on fire.
The whole time, he was sweet. Silent and sweet. But even that sweetness is gone now, vanished somewhere I can’t reach.
He’s suffering.
The more I think about it, the more I ache for him.
