“Well, I thought I should give you something special to look at in your last moments.” He grins, and I roll my eyes. “Okay, let’s get this over with. I have little kids who don’t care if I’ve been out all night disposing of bodies, who are going to want breakfast in a couple of hours.”
With Alex’s help, moving the bodies doesn’t take long. Once we’ve dropped the men approximately where they were when I first arrived earlier, I stretch my back. “I think I might be getting too old for this, too.”
Alex waves his hand at the corpses. “Is this how they were?”
“Close enough. We aren’t reenacting the crime scene. Just making it look somewhat believable so none of the clean-up crew talks.”
“Good point. I’ll make the call.” Alex pulls out his phone, and I pace further into the alley, sweeping the flashlight on my phone slowly from side to side. Leaving the shoes in the car was a mistake, and I need to make sure there is nothing else here that ties Sera to tonight.
Near the steps I see a glint, and when I crouch, I see the bedazzled back of a phone case with one of those stick-on card holders attached to the back. Only a foot or so away is an open tactical strap.
Fuck. What if I hadn’t come back tonight?
Scooping up both, I drop them in my pocket and straighten, aware that Alex is watching my every move.
I start to pace toward him when I see what’s left of the broken heel lying on its side. I add it to Sera’s other belongings. There’s no point in hiding the fact that I’m looking for evidence. Finding nothing else, I join him where he’s leaning casually on the car with an enigmatic look on his face.
“Whoever she is… I hope she’s worth it.”
My jaw clenches, but I don’t say a word.
Because if I do, the truth might slip out… and I’m terrified of what the truth might be.
6
SERA
I stand under the spray of the shower long past the point where the water is hot. It needles against my sore scalp, slides down the back of my neck, and traces the line of bruises along my ribs.
Images from the past couple of hours flicker behind my eyes in jagged, nauseating flashes—the two men fighting, brick scraping my cheek, the wet thud of a body hitting pavement, the metallic taste of fear.
My breath stutters, and I press my palms to the tile in front of me, dropping my forehead between them.
You survived,I tell myself.
That’s what matters. Isn’t that what my therapist always tells me?
If only it were that easy.
The fact is I killed him.
I’m not sorry, but I still feel... something?
I lower myself until I’m sitting on the floor, my knees drawn up to my chin, and tuck my shaking hands underneath, holding myself together.
The thing that disturbs me the most right now isn’t the dead bodies I helped move, or the near sexual assault and fight for my life. Though none are events I ever want to repeat.
It’s the fact that underneath the panic and the fear, I’d finally felt what I'd been desperately seeking for so long.
For the man whose father I just killed.
I am well and truly fucked up.
Likeseriouslyfucked in the head.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Liev. I know that. I should be searching my soul for remorse over what happened. But it’s not there. I think back to the things I saw my brother do last summer, the stories I’ve heard at work, and suspect I’m wired differently than the average person.
My traitorous body, completely indifferent to every man in its vicinity for almost two years, wasveryinterested sitting in that car with Liev—the tattoos moving on his corded throat when he swallowed, his long fingers flexing on the wheel.
