Hunter hesitates, probably worried it’ll trigger some kind of mental break, but he hands it over. She stares at it for a long time, too long. Her throat bobs once, and she presses her lips together like she’s swallowing something down.
“She was pretty.”
I grunt, but yeah, she was. A DKS cutslut, but more importantly, she was dating the guy locked up for her murder. Ballsack. Poor fucking kid.
“Wait. What is that?”
“What’s what?” I take the photo back, squinting. Just looks like dirt and brush and the edge of something evil. “I don’t see anything.”
“Those sticks,” she says, pointing. “They’re arranged. Look–right there, by her leg.”
Hunter grabs the paper and angles the picture, eyes narrowing. His brain’s always working–gears and circuits, never emotions. The way he explained it, it’s like he’s programmed to see patterns and recognize pieces of a puzzle that fit together. Is that why the King chose him? To solve this puzzle? “You think that’s something? It kind of looks like a shape, but probably just the way they fell.”
I lean over, squinting. It’s nothing but a scatter of twigs near thegirl’s legs. But when she outlines it again with her finger, I see what she’s talking about–four branches making a rough diamond, one snapped clean in half like someone had pressed it there on purpose.
It’s not neat. It’s not art. It’s just… could it be deliberate?
“Looks like a couple of stoned kids killing time,” I mutter. “People leave weirder shit in the woods. Or, it could be just a coincidence. Sticks fall and break.”
She doesn’t respond right away. Her gaze stays fixed on the symbol, lips parting just slightly, like she’s listening to something we can’t hear.
Hunter glances between us, the picture, the empty woods beyond. The wind moves through the trees, and a few dry leaves skitter over the bridge. We get out of the truck, Arianette following out the passenger side. Her arms wrap around her body and she softly says, “Nothing out here is an accident.”
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, biting back the chill that runs down my spine. “Yeah,” I say, mostly to convince myself. “Whatever the hell that means.”
Arianette drifts toward the creek, staying within sight, but far enough that I can breathe without her scent clawing through me. Hunter’s boots scrape the gravel as he shifts beside me.
“You good, man?” he asks.
“Fine.”
He gives me that look–half disbelief, half concern. “You’re being pretty short with her. She’s just doing what we asked her to.” He nods toward the photo still in his hand. “Could be a real clue.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, jaw tightening. “Some kind of pagan symbol that leads right back to the Barons. That’s not going to help anyone.”
Hunter exhales through his nose. “Bro, I know you’re stressed, but it could be helpful. It’s not like we’ve got anything else to go on.”
I bark a laugh that doesn’t sound like me. “Stressed? I’m more than stressed.” The words come out low and bitter. “I’m still held together with glue and bandages from that fire. My body aches every time I breathe. And my fucking balls–” I stop myself and drag a handdown my face. “Doesn’t matter. The one girl I was supposed to have, the one Iearned, is a goddamn psycho. And even if I wanted to fuck her again, I wouldn’t. She doesn’t deserve my cock.”
Hunter doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, the way you watch someone teetering too close to the edge. Now I’m pissed off all over again. The smell of smoke still lives in my nostrils, and every time I look at her, I see her standing in that house, the flames surrounding her like a demon from hell. And here we are again, begging for scraps of her attention, trying to unscramble her broken mind.
Well, fuck it.
I stride toward her before I can stop myself. “Enough’s enough,” I snap. “Tell us what happened out here.”
Arianette’s eyes flash wide, frightened, but she doesn’t back away. “I don’t know. Ican’tremember.”
“Well, you need to remember,” I say, voice rising. “What would jog your memory?”
“I’ve told you everything I know. The rest is locked up. I can’t get to it–”
“Yeah, well, maybe we’ve been doing this wrong. Maybe we’ve been too nice. Too patient.” My teeth come down on the ring in my lip, and I tug on it. “You want me to chase you through the woods again? Hunt you down and play cat and mouse? Would that work?”
She shakes her head.
“Or maybe…” I continue, glancing toward the creek, the water murky from fallen leaves.
She follows my gaze, then our eyes meet. “Damon…”
