No. Toward him.
“Get out of the car and get back. As far as you can,” Milo calls. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
But “Got this” involves standing right in the path of the still-speeding car and shooting through the windshield. Jesus, he’s going to get hit. He’s going to—
“Fuck.” At the last second, Milo fires and dives to the side. The car loses speed, rolling to a stop.
When I work up the nerve to look closer, I can see the driver slumped over the wheel. At least he’s alone, I guess.
“Jesus, Milo. Are you okay? Is he dead?”
“I’m fine. And he better fucking be.” Milo’s dusting himself off with one hand, still holding his gun in the other. There’s a leaf sticking out of his hair.
Eventually he seems to decide he can holster the weapon. I want to ask what we should do, but all that comes out is a weird throat noise.
We’re still standing there when another car slows down on the road and veers toward the field. There’s a moment that feels like forever where I’m too busy panicking to do anything but freeze. Is it a cop? What the hell do we say?
Then I realize the car is the vintage Mustang that Adam, Wes, and Troy left the B&B in this morning. They all climb out, Wes in the back even though he’s the biggest. He’s also looking the most put out by the entire situation.
Unlike me, they’re not frozen with their eyes wide like I am. They’re eyeballing the car with the dead guy like it’s an inconvenience and not, well, a dead guy. Is this normal for them or something?
“Saw you guys get rear-ended. This a road rage situation?” That’s Troy. He’s peering into the window of the car that hit us, as if this is any normal Sunday morning and he’s just curious about what the guy might be wearing.
Me, on the other hand? My lips are numb.
A motorcycle zooms by in the distance, and I can’t stop glancing around. We’re in a field with yet another body, or at least someone who’s severely injured. Anyone who looks too closely at the situation could find out.
Milo gestures at the man in the car. “Tried to run us off the road.” Then he ventures closer to check for a pulse, while I hold my breath.
Must be dead for sure, because Milo’s calm as he steps back to survey the damage.
Adam glances at the floor of the passenger seat. “Shit, this guy’s got a lot of firepower.”
“Didn’t do him much good.” That’s Wes, but if I’m not mistaken Milo looks awfully smug at his comment.
Troy slaps Milo on the shoulder. “Hurry and get him in your trunk. We’ve got a lake out back you can toss him in.”
Is this a normal thing people do? I’ve never once considered tossing a body in a lake in my life and now it’s twice in twenty-four hours.
Wes rubs his forehead, looking completely done. Maybe it’s a warm morning, but his face is a little red. “No dead bodies in the lake. We agreed.”
That’s…an odd thing to say. Right?
Troy gestures at the dead guy behind the wheel. “We can’t leave him here. There’ll be too many questions. And Rowan is family.”
That fast, my eyes are leaking. Nobody’s called me family in a very long time.
“Oh. Wow. Uh, thanks.” I’m embarrassed about how my chest is all gooey. To have these guys so willing—or at least, sort of willing—to help with an obviously fucked-up problem.
And they called me family.
Wes is still frowning, but I can see the moment he caves, and I’m wondering if hugging him would push him over the edge. Probably.
“Fine,” Wes says. “But hurry the fuck up. It’s the middle of the day. And for God’s sake, don’t let any of the other guests see you.”
At that point, I can’t stop myself from throwing my arms around him. “Thank you.”
All he does is sigh and shake his head while Milo backs our “borrowed” car up to the other one to make the transfer. It’s gross, seeing them un-wedge a body from the crumpled car, butthe whole thing doesn’t register the way it would have a few days ago.
