Her eyes slit, and she scowls at me. “You should stay here. You never know what we might find.”
“Not happening. You’ll never be alone again, not when it comes to this.”
She steps back from me, releasing her hold on my neck. “Did you read all my notes, Winger? The ones about Joel?”
I skimmed a few, but when I realized most of the notes were schedules and logs about comings and goings, I gave up reading everything. Iron was the one who told me everyone she had written about was dead, and we didn’t even discuss how she killed them in detail, other than him admiring how she was able to make a few of them look like accidents.
“Not all,” I admit. “What about Joel?” If she wants to tell me she cut off his dick or something and thinks it’s going to bother me, she’s wrong.
“He had a second place, a lot of them do, especially the ones with families.” She’s looking between my eyes, making sure I’m really paying attention.
I nod for her to continue.
“I’d been in the house a few times, scouting, and it was always empty, but the day I went to kill him, it wasn’t. He’d brought a girl there, to keep.” Her eyes are still on mine, watching me, so I keep my face calm and relaxed, even though tension is building with every word she says. “She was tied to a bed, naked and blindfolded, and that’s where I left her until he came home, because I couldn’t risk him realizing I was there before I could kill him.”
My deep inhale is the only sign I show that what she says bothers me in any way, but she still picks up on it and gets defensive.
“I talked to her, I told her I would let her go as soon as I killed him, and tried to explain that she would be okay, but she screamed and cried for hours until she lost her voice. I left her there the entire time, Winger, because I needed to kill him for both of us, but I needed to be smart about it too. If she had been gone, he would have known someone was in the house or thought she escaped, and he would have been able to defend himself, arm himself, or go on the run. I was alone and unwilling to lose the element of sur—”
I cut her off with my finger pressed to her lips, stopping whatever else she might say. “Max, you’re here, he’s not. That is what I care about.” She blinks up at me with guileless eyes, and after a few seconds, I remove my finger.
“I got her out after. When it was over, I took her to a place where she would get help,” she confesses.
I run my hand over her head and tuck her under my chin. “I’m glad you helped her. I wish I would have been there to help you.”
She accepts my embrace and returns it. “Sometimes, I think I can still hear her in my head,” she whispers against my neck.
I clench my teeth, wishing I could kill the fucker all over again, but she took care of it herself and protected others from him. I kiss the top of her head, because I don’t have any words to give her that will make what she went through better or lessen it in any way.
Eventually, she pulls away from me. I search her face, but she’s avoiding my gaze. “Max.” I call her name. “You’re here, he’s not. You endured. Whether it felt like it then or now, you saved that girl and who knows how many others.”
She lifts her eyes to mine. The blue depths are full of emotion, but there are no tears, which is such a relief, my entire body relaxes. “Are you sure you still want to go, even knowing what we could find?” she questions.
More sure than ever. “Absolutely. I need a shower first though. Maybe tonight, we can actually make it to the hot tub,” I offer, trying to lighten the mood.
“Maybe.” She smiles, though it feels a little forced.
MAXINE
“I would feel better if I had my things,” I tell him for the third time.
“Iron assured me there is no cable or Wi-Fi at the house,” he reminds me again.
“That doesn’t mean there’s no surveillance. It could be old-school, hardwired. I’m sure there’s an old phone line.”
“Max, you can wait in the car, or I can take you back to the loft.”
“No, I would just feel better—”
“With your things, noted,” he retorts dryly.
“Wait, you must have passed it.” I look at the number on the mailbox along the tree lined road.
“Shit.” He looks in the rearview mirror to check behind us before slamming on the brakes, but it’s not necessary. There haven’t been more than a few cars on the road for the past three miles. Hell, it’s the first mailbox I’ve even seen in the last mile.
“It must have been that turnoff back there.” I look behind us, but the road all looks the same from here. Winger does a quick U-turn and drives much slower until we come across a two-track road that leads into the woods. It looks more like a trail than a driveway.
“Are you sure you want to take this car back there?” I think about how low the BMW is to the ground and wonder how much damage the dirt road ruts will do to the undercarriage.
