With one more look at Cassie, he crossed the room, grabbing Ollie by his bound wrists and hauling him up hard enough to pull a ragged sound from him.
“Let’s you and I take a fuckin’ walk, shithead.”His grip tightened on Ollie’s wrists.“Crush—bring the gas.”
Ollie sagged in his grip, dead weight dragging as he hauled him across the cabin and into the cellar, his broken leg slamming against the steps on the way down.
By the time they hit the first cellar, Ollie was screaming.
Nash dropped him beside Maya’s body; he landed with a broken shriek, rolling onto his side, groaning as he tried to get his bearings.
“My old man had your number way back when,” Nash said.“Knew you were the type to stab a brother in the back if it meant linin’ your own damn pockets.”
Ollie blinked up at him, dazed.
He stepped in, grabbing a fistful of his blood-soaked shirt and wrenching him up just enough to meet his eyes.
“But you should’ve left Cassie out of it.”
He let him drop, grabbed the gas can from Crusher, and twisted the cap off.
“No—” Ollie rasped.“Na—”
He cut off with a gurgle as gas filled his mouth, choking him.
“No—no, wait—” Ollie choked and coughed, trying to roll, to get away, wrists useless behind him, his broken leg dragging across the dirt.“Nash—”
Nash didn’t look at him.He turned and headed back the way they came, Crusher trailing behind, pouring gas and whistling as they went.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cassie’scolorhadcomeback.
Well,mostly, she thought, staring at her reflection.
A few days ago, she’d looked a hell of a lot worse—
gray around the mouth, eyes dull, her skin clammy no matter how many blankets Nash had piled over her.Even now, if she let herself linger there too long, she could still feel it—that hollow, drifting weight in her limbs, the way every movement had lagged half a second behind what she wanted it to do.
Worse than that was the way her chest had struggled for air—like breathing was something she had to remember how to do.
Sighing, she reached for the faucet and splashed cold water over her face, dragging the water down slowly, as if she could take the last of it with her.The chill helped, grounding her to the present.
Here.
At Nash’s house.
Not…there.
She stayed at the sink a moment longer, water dripping from her chin, staring at her wrists wrapped in gauze, at her hands…and for a second, they didn’t feel like hers—
not after what they’d done to—
She shoved the thought away before it could finish forming, dried her face quickly, and stepped out into the hall.One palm trailed along the wall as she started down the stairs.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet, considering just yesterday it had still been full—boots on the floor, low voices carrying from one room to the next, doors opening and closing at all hours.Nash.Margie.Charlie.Sarge, too, she thought, her brows drawing together slightly.Had Luanne stopped by?She could almost remember talking to her…but whenever she tried to hold on to it, it slipped.
That had been happening more than she liked.
