“Answer it and hold it up to my ear for me.”
I watch the kid for a second, afraid if I get too close, I’ll somehow mess this up—ruining things is my specialty, after all, but he goes lax in McCrae’s arms long enough that I relax a fraction. I dial Mateo back, putting him on speaker.
“Boss?” McCrae huffs.
“Gus was in a bad barn fire. He and Stetson were rushed to the hospital with what sounded like severe burns—I don’t know more than that. Sounds like they were attacked, or did the attacking, I’m honestly not sure. Might want to head to the hospital.”
My heart drops in time with the blood draining from McCrae’s face. He goes instantly white, his voice shaking. “Wait, what?”
“McCrae, do something for someone else in your miserable life. I know you don’t get along with your brother, or approve of his life, but if he dies, the last conversation you had with him will be the last memory you have. Do you really want that?”
I bite my tongue to keep from screaming at Mateo. If only he knew McCrae—if only he knew how big his heart really was, he wouldn’t be saying these horrible things. But Mateo doesn’t give anyone the time of day—he’s too important.
“No.” McCrae tips his chin at me to hang up, and I do so without waiting to hear more. McCrae stands frozen a moment, and fear begins to creep up my spine at the vacant look in his eyes.Is he having a heart attack? What does a heart attack look like? Isn’t forty young for heart attacks?
All of a sudden, the kid rips from McCrae’s grip, bolting toward me. Petrified, I remain rooted to my spot like a statue, my feet no longer working.
McCrae grumbles before reaching out, grabbing the kid’s arm and yanking him back. But instead of falling toward him, the boy slips, falling to the floor. Everything feels like it’s movingin slow motion. One moment, the boy’s face is full of triumph as he races toward me; the next, he’s falling.
A sickening crunch fills the space a second before deathly silence.I’d know the sound anywhere.
“Oh God, he’s bleeding.” My voice trembles as I watch the pool grow around his head, unable to move, as if I’m in some kind of horror movie. McCrae shakes his head, staring at the boy, but his gaze is far away.
“He just slipped. People slip all the time.” He turns, patting his pockets like he’s looking for something. Terror consumes me as the pool continues to crawl toward my anchored feet. “I don’t have time for this, V. I need to get to Moztecha.”
“McCrae—” My voice is a shattered whisper.
“Let’s go, fucker. Time to get you back to your brothers so you can be their problem, and I can go deal with my own.” He tries pulling him up, but he’s like a bag of rocks—the boys head lulls to the side, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
“Fuck me.” The words wheeze from McCrae’s throat, and I gasp around a sob.
His face is white, a gash across his forehead smeared in dark crimson. The blood continues to pump out of the wound, running down the sides of his face and into his ears. But it’s his eyes, wide open and staring, that’ll haunt me forever.
“He’s dead.” I gag, but McCrae just continues to stare at him.
To my horror, McCrae drops to his knees, falling directly into a pool of quickly spreading blood as he lifts the boy’s face off the ground.
He can’t die—he’s too young, too full of fight, to die.
“I need to get help.” I gasp, moving toward the stairs.
“You can’t.” His voice is sad, hard. I freeze but don’t turn around to look at him.
“What are you talking about?”
“No one will believe us that it was an accident. We were holding him fucking hostage, for fuck’s sake. And I can’t go to jail, not right now—not when Gus is in the hospital—” His words teeter off.
It’s not a good excuse. We should be punished for what we’ve done, accident or not. But the thought of being alone—of losing McCrae?It’s more than I can bear.
“You can’t go to jail,” I parrot, steeling my spine as I reluctantly turn around, taking in the sight befitting a horror film.
“I have to clean this up, and you need to go find a computer and figure out his brother’s phone number or something. We can’t give the brothers his body—that’ll be giving them too much evidence—but I can’t not give them something…”
I nod vigorously in understanding.If this was Mateo—bile crawls up my throat at the thought; I won’t think like that—I can’t.
“I’ll be right back.”
We stare in strangled silence at the giant rock, its edge cutting from the ground like a knife. The sky’s turned to grey above us, the thick smell of rain in the air.
