“That’s not—” Caleb starts.
“I don’t care!” I shriek. “That’s what we’re doing. End of discussion. Nix, get the kitchen gloves. And you,” I spin on the little shit that’s way too comfortable with murder, “go home and keep your mouth shut. Or Iwillfucking kill you.”
The way he pales tells me he believes me.
Good.
We just might survive this.
Chapter Four
Kira
Ithink I could have gone my whole life without realizing that blood flakes when it dries, or that moving limbs when rigor mortis has set in makes a crackling noise, or thatsqueamishruns in the family and that Nix and I retch almost identically.
“Did you just use the last of the mouthwash?” I gape at her as she swishes over the bathroom sink.
“Sowwy,” she speaks around the mouthful.
“Gimme that.” I snatch the empty bottle from her and fill it with water, mixing the last remnants together.
I do my best to swish with the diluted mixture and then go back into Nix’s bedroom.
The bloodstain is massive—even after using every towel we own to scrub it up. My knuckles are throbbing, and my back feels like it’s splitting in half. Marshal had the audacity to fall when Nix stabbed him, cracking his head on her nightstand. The asshole might have lived if he hadn’t fallen—not that I’m a doctor—but she only stabbed him in the leg. She recounted how he had surprised her in bed after slipping in through the unlocked front door, drunk and bumbling. She decked him in the jaw, just like I taught her, but instead of coming to his senses, the pervert started to undo his belt. She panicked andgrabbed the knife off a plate on her nightstand, driving it into the side of his thigh.
A desperate and worried part of me is obsessed with the notion that if she hadn’t forgotten to lock the front door, none of this would have happened. But that insinuates Nix has any blame in this, which she doesn’t. But I can’t help it. If the front door had been locked, Marshal would have pounded on it like he’s been doing these last couple months, to which Nix would have yelled at him to fuck off, like either of us usually do, and eventually, he would have.
And he wouldn’t be lying wrapped up in a pink galaxy comforter on the hallway floor.
“I can still see it,” Nix says, coming up behind me and staring pointedly at the stain.
“No shit,” I scoff.
The old wooden floor hasn’t been sealed in years and absorbed most of the blood, and the only thing I can think to do is pour bleach on it. But that’s just going to leave a very obvious bleach stain. And that doesn’t even cover what’s seeped below the boards.
“You can sleep in my room tonight,” I say. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Right now, we have to get rid of him.”
“You really think no one will see him in the bed of the truck?”
“We don’t really have a choice.”
I sidestep her and go to the living room, pulling my leather jacket from a chair. It’s mid-October, but the nights can get cold, and I don’t know how long it’s going to take to bury a body. Hours, probably, and I want to cry at the thought. I’m running on fumes. No, I’m out of fumes. I’m running on fear. The only thing keeping me from passing out is the image of Nix in an orange jumpsuit. My limbs are heavy, achy from being on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, and my back… Jesus, whendid I get old? I’m sure it’s not good for the tear in my artery, but as I just told Nix, there’s really no choice.
I pull open the fridge, intent on that last Red Bull that Nix was bluffing about drinking. It’s going to be the only thing that will get me through the night, tear in my artery or not, and I suppress the twinge of guilt. I’m going to get the meds the doctor sent, and it will be fine. But I’m not doing that with a body in the bed of my truck, so hopefully, I can get them tomorrow before my shift. Because Ican’tmiss work.
“Let’s go,” I holler, but it comes out more of a croak, and I freeze with my fingernail under the can’s tab. Jesus. I sound terrible. Maybe… maybe I should hold off a little longer.
In the truck, I stick the unopened can of Red Bull in the cup holder and check the rear view, angling it so I can see Marshal. We put some scraps of cardboard over him, but anyone with a brain cell will know it’s a body.
“Kira…” Nix’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“I know,” I sigh, rubbing my chest.
All it takes is one suspicious person to call in our plates, and we’ll be pulled over. It’s bad enough they’ll find a body. Even worse, that said body has a badge. But unless we want to bury him in our own backyard, we have to risk it.
“It’s fine,” I say and put the key into the ignition. “We’ll be—”
The Chevy’s engine sputters.
