I pulled onto the road, the motel shrinking behind us.
“Why don’t you tell me yours first?” I asked.
Chapter 40
Dylan
Darkness pressed in on all sides as I stood completely still among the pitch-black trees of the forest. I’d parked my car on a gravel road about a mile away from Myers’ hut in the woods near the Seacoast Inn. A glimmer of light coming through the hut’s small window was proof that someone lived there.
Above me, the moon transformed everything around me into a painting of darkness and silver. It wasn’t enough to see well. If anything, it made things spookier. Turned it into the kind of place where people got lost and never came back.
From where I stood, the hut looked small. Isolated. Swallowed by the woods pressing in from all sides.
My eyes narrowed when the door opened and Lucy, the kind prostitute, stepped out of the hut.
Warm light spilled from behind her. The glow outlined her skinny body and the edge of her mouth, showing she was talking.
She hesitated just outside the doorway, and a second figure stepped out.
John Myers.
My stomach turned, and adrenaline exploded through me.
It was him! It was actually fucking him!
The light from inside caught him too. He blocked part of the glow by standing there.
His face stayed mostly dark, but the edge of his nose and the large scar on his forehead flashed into view when he leaned forward.
He looked thin. Almost small. Short.
They exchanged a few brief words. I couldn’t hear them, but suddenly Myers shoved her shoulder. Not hard enough toknock her down, but enough to make a point. Enough to remind her who had the power.
An argument.
I was about to bolt down and save her, when his arm moved again, reaching into his pocket. The light caught his hand as he pulled out money. He pressed it into her palm.
Lucy looked down at her hand, then turned and rushed off.
Her phone’s beam flickered as she made her way along the narrow path toward the Seacoast Inn. Soon she was gone.
The door to the hut slammed shut again.
My body stayed rooted where it was, eyes locked on the dark outline of the hut. The place where the man who’d destroyed our lives now hid behind old wooden logs.
Something shifted deep in my chest. It wasn’t the usual hot, explosive rage I felt whenever I thought about Myers. This was different. It was colder, quieter.
My breathing slowed. My shoulders relaxed, and my fingers hung loosely at my sides.
It surprised me how calm I was, considering how many times I’d replayed beating the shit out of him in my head. But standing here now, there was no sudden charge down the hill. No reckless rush over roots and slick stones to kick in the door and serve him some good old-fashioned justice.
For a moment, my hand moved toward my phone.
Detective Nolan had told me to call him the second Myers contacted me. And Nolan was only one tap away. I could call him right here, right now. Tell him I’d found Myers. Tell him it was over. That he could come get him and slap the cuffs on.
I left the phone in my pocket.
No.
