A dry laugh escapes me. What a track record.
I slide off the tailgate. Sluggishly, I trudge around Yolanda and climb into the cabin. Damn, I didn’t realize how exhausted I really am.
I lie down on the seat, tucking my arm under my head. As soon as I let go of the tension in my body, fatigue weighs me down and my eyes close.
I wake up in a panic.For a second, I don’t know where I am, but my pulse calms when I spot Rust by the weathered farmhouse, reaching for an old fashioned water hand pump.
If there was an official advert for getting a morally grey blue-collar husband, it would be a picture of Rust in his dusty, bloody jeans. Topless.
The glow of the orange sunset casts his long shadow on the parched earth. His skin glistens with sweat and his tan has darkened from an afternoon in the sun. Dirt streaks his face and chest like carefully placed arrows to accentuate his sharp jaw and toned abs. It’s like they mean to say, ‘Touch here.’
The muscles in his forearms flex as he works the hand pump, each pull smooth and long. Water spills from the spout and he sticks his head under the flow. Glittering drops cling to his hair as he comes up, running in shimmering trails down his neck.
I watch him wash himself until he picks up his clothes and his cap from the ground. Grinning, he swaggers toward the truck and opens the door.
“Saw you starin’ at me’,” he drawls.
“Was not…” I mumble.
There shouldn’t be a reason for me to fluster—not after everything he’s done to me—but he’s too goddamn hot. It’s a chemical reaction in my brain I can’t stop.
Rust leans into the truck. His scent fills the air, the aroma of earth and clean sweat making my head spin. It’s raw and grounding, so alluring and honest. So him. Sexier than any cologne.
He laughs and droplets of water fly from his hair, hitting my bare arms. “I put on a show for my wife and it’d be a pity if she didn’t enjoy it.” He bites his lip, taking in my red face. “Did she?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, tongue-tied.
“You’re sayin’ there’s a chance I might get some sugar tonight?” His brows rise suggestively.
I burst out giggling. “Haven’t you had enough yet?”
“I never get enough of you, Trouble. But I still gotta change out of these blood-stained jeans and take care of the mess in the stable.”
“Right. What are we gonna do about Wolfe’s DNA spattered all over?”
“While I was diggin’, I had time to think about that problem. Nothing a little electrical fire can’t fix.”
My head cocks. “You’re really getting a taste for arson, huh?”
“That fusebox in the stable is ancient. Prone to accidental sparks, if you know what I mean. And I reckon whoever owns this place might be able to collect a nice insurance payout as a bonus.” Rust kisses me. “Be right back.”
He changes into clean clothes from his bag on the truck bed and waves before he jogs to the stable, disappearinginside.
Minutes later, smoke streams through the cracks in the walls. Like lightning, Rust shoots out of the building and toward the car, jumping into the driver’s seat. The motor howls as he guns it toward the main road.
In the rearview mirror, I watch fire licking at the roof of the stable.
Rust is the real life version of a man who’d burn the world for the one he loves. With him, I truly believe that everything is going to be okay, even if I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel just yet.
48
RUST
I stopon a backroad to smash Wolfe’s gear with the biggest hammer in my toolbox. Then I send a text from his burner phone to Dalton, hoping it’ll buy us some time without arousing suspicion.
I opt for something straight forward and simply type ‘It’s done.’
The phone gets the hammer treatment as well and I throw the collection of destroyed tech into a nearby river.
