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"Got it," I agreed, nodding.
"Now you have to go do damage control. The last thing I fuckin' need is Charlie and his boys charging into my compound because their girl is traumatized."
Traumatized.
He clearly needed to get to know Peyton a little better.
"Will do," I agreed with a nod.
With that, we made our way back through the woods, me, Pagan, and Adler stopping to wash the blood off in a creek, before heading back toward town.
"Damnit!" Peyton's voice called, making me stop short as I walked in the door.
Because there she was. In the common room. With Reeve and Rey. Playing fucking Scattagories.
Scattagories.
After shooting a man.
"Ugh. You suck," she declared, looking at Reeve. "I never lose at this," she added, small-eyeing him. "Oh, honey, you're home!" she declared in a very nineteen-fifties housewife voice. "How was work? Did you get all the bodies buried?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rey jerk backward at that, looking stricken, making Reeve reach out and touch her hand.
"Figure maybe we should have this talk in my room," I suggested.
"Alright," she agreed, standing. "I demand a rematch. But next time, we play Dirty Scattagories. I know you'll go down in that," she said with a smirk as she fell into step with me. "Where are you going?"
"We both need to shower. And your clothes need to be washed," I added, going through the motions that were as rote to me as they were new to her.
It wasn't until our clothes were in a pile on the floor and we were both naked in the shower, our fronts touching in the small space, that a bit of the front fell.
Her gaze went up to me, eyes a little worried.
"Did I kill him?"
"No," I said immediately, truthfully.
"Did you?"
"Yes."
She nodded a bit at that, accepting it.
"If you hadn't, would I have?"
Too fucking smart for her own good, that was what she was.
"Yes," I told her because there was no reason to lie.
"But you didn't want me to be a killer," she guessed.
"Something like that," I agreed, my arm going around her lower back.
Then she did the damnedest thing.
She moved forward, put her arms around the back of my neck, leaned in, and fucking hugged me.
"Thank you," she said, voice soft. "I mean... I still plan on becoming a verifiable badass. But I'm okay with not having killed anyone. I will keep that for my books."
"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, following the urge that made me want to plant a kiss to the top of her multicolored head.
"I think we're going to be something special," she said.
It was a little comment.
Nothing really, to anyone else.
But for her, for me, for us?
It was the first time she used the term we to mean anything other than just to explain that there was more than one person involved.
It was her accepting us for what we were, for what we would become.
"Yeah, baby, can't disagree with that."EPILOGUEPeyton - 2 weeksIt was only a matter of time.
Before they all found out.
I really hadn't even been careful about it.
My car was parked at The Henchmen compound a few nights a week.
I was actually kind of shocked it took everyone this long to figure it out.
But there was no group of angry and concerned men at my door.
The information came as a phone call from Dusty.
"Ryan knows," she said, whispering because Ryan must have been in the apartment. "They're planning on having a talk with you on Sunday."
Then, the next afternoon, it was Helen blowing up my phone, insisting I bring Sugar with me to dinner.
"You'll be fine," I insisted when he seemed to go a little green at the idea.
"Says the one who isn't about to be castrated."
"They're really not that bad," I insisted, lying through my teeth. I imagined they could be exactly that bad if and when they wanted to be. "Besides, there will be all the girls on my side. Believe me, that is a formidable force of women. Helen especially. You'll be fine. And if you're not, you can just eat your feelings. American traditional tonight. All the stuffing, mashed potatoes, rolls, sweet potatoes, corn on the cob, and meat you can eat. Literally. She makes enough food for an entire army. Plus dessert." I didn't realize I made a moaning sound until he smiled at me.
"Always thinking with your stomach," he observed, knowing it was true. It was going to catch up with me someday. One day I would wake up and have the kind of metabolism that would make me gain ten pounds for looking at a donut. Until then, though, I was going to enjoy the one that let me stuff my face silly anytime I wanted, and only maybe left me with a teensy bit of padding that I needed to work off here and there.
