Dragging him to his feet, I keep his shirt fisted in my hand as I haul him toward the door and shove him out of it, his body going over when he trips over the dead man I left on the porch. He lets out a weak little squeak when he realizes I killed his man.
I keep Savannah behind my back, so she doesn’t see.
“Run, Adrien,” I warn, “I’ll count to five and if I get there, I’m taking back every word and slicing your throat to the bone.”
He scrambles, slipping in the puddle of blood beforehe frantically gets to the SUV and peels away from the sidewalk, tires skidding against the wet tarmac.
I look to the body, and I know I can’t leave it there, not in direct view of anyone on the street but Savannah… she needs me.
“Go inside, Tiny Dancer, sit down and wait for me.” I turn around, keeping the body blocked from her view and cradle her face, thumb swiping over the black streaks on her cheeks.
“Where are you going?” She panics.
“I’m right outside. I just need to handle this, okay? I will be right back.”
“Promise?” Her voice shakes and fuck, it feels like someone just stabbed me straight through my heart.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I vow, “Just go inside for me, okay?”
She nods mutely and her feet shuffle away as she turns into the kitchen. I close the door and glance around, trying to figure out a place to hide it while clean up arrive and handle it. There’s a small alley that stretches around the side of the house, a fence separating this property from next door. It will have to do though it isn’t ideal. Taking hold of the guy by the shoulders of his jacket, I drag him across the ground, grit and dirt scuffing under him and blood begins to stain my hands, making my grip tenuous. I tuck him around the corner and quickly run back to my car to grab a blanket I have stowed in the trunk and my bag before I jog back and throw it over him.
Before I go back inside though, I call in clean up, giving them instructions to be quick, thorough and silent. When that’s done, I go search for my girl, finding her sitting at her kitchen table, a full glass of wine on the table that she swirls using the long, thin stem.
Her watery eyes lift to mine. She’s still in her ripped clothing, her makeup smeared across her face, but I see a shadow forming along the left side of her jaw, a bruise.
“He hit you,” I state with a growl.
But she shakes her head and stares down into the wine, “When he grabbed my ankle, I fell and hit my chin on the top step. It aches but it isn’t awful.”
I’m regretting not killing him. I should have killed him.
Iamgoing to kill him.
I’m gentle as I curl my finger under her chin and lift it, turning her face toward the light so I can see the bruising better. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I’m barely holding onto my temper, my hands shaking with living rage thrashing beneath my skin.
“I think I’m a little bruised,” She whispers, but her voice is thick, shaking, “I – he ripped my clothes.”
Rolling my neck side to side, I slowly walk around to her, reaching for the hand still endlessly spinning the wine glass on the table. A puddle has formed beneath it where the liquid has spilled out, but still, she spins it.
“Come on, baby,” I gently coax, “Let’s get you changed.”
“I thought it was you.” She says quietly, “I heard someone come in and I thought it was you.”
The knife already in my heart pulls down, splitting it in half, “I’m sorry, Savannah.”
“It isn’t your fault,” She squeezes her eyes closed and accepts my hand to get up, holding it tighter than she has ever held it before. I walk her toward the stairs, tucking her into my side as we make our way up them. I need to clean up this place, remove the puddle of piss on the floor and bleach it but I’ll do that when she is settled. Beyond the windows I can hear rustling, the sound of feet so I know clean-up is here, but Savannah doesn’t react to it which means they’re doing their job as I asked them to.
I guide her into the bathroom and coax her toward the toilet, closing the lid so she can sit and then I turn and start running her a bath.
“Wait,” She blurts when I attempt to leave the room to grab her towels and clothes.
“It’s okay,” I soothe, “I’m just going to get towels.”
She blinks and dips her chin.
When I return only a few seconds later, she’s still looking toward her clasped hands atop her thighs.
