Page 124 of Hot As Ice

“Thanks, man. I owe you.”

He nods, still staring at Joe’s unconscious figure on the floor. “So, what’re you two psychos gonna do?”

“We have a plan,” Ryder says, in a tone that says end of discussion.

Jamie glances at him then at me then back at Joe. “I didn’t see a thing.” With that, he turns around and goes to Stevie’s side.

Ryder eyes me. “You ready?”

“Let’s fucking go.”

TWO HOURS LATER, we’re deep in the woods behind Ryder’s family’s estate.

We dumped Joe’s body in a cart Ryder had in the garage and rolled him into the forest. Vast improvement over having to carry his dead weight the whole way. Coach would kill us if we got injured before a game. And the fucker’s at least 200 pounds.

He’s still unconscious, but Ryder has the chloroform-soaked gauze ready to go in case Joe wakes up.

“Still trying to figure out why you dug a bunch of graves on your own property,” I say as we near our destination.

“It’s only four or five of them, relax. It’s not a whole cemetery’s worth.”

“Okay. Why though?”

“Sometimes I gotta do some dirty shit for my dad, alright? Enough questions.”

“Got it.”

After what feels like forever of dragging Joe over roots and uneven ground, Ryder signals for us to stop. “It’s over there,” he says, pointing. I don’t see anything until he flashes his flashlight over the area. A dark green tarp covers what I assume is the grave. A mound of dirt is beside it.

Ryder cuts me a look. “Here’s the easy part. We dump him in there and shovel the dirt over him. Nobody will ever find him. Plus, it’s forecast to snow tomorrow.”

“You’re a maniac.”

“Hey, you’re welcome.”

I grin. “I owe you my firstborn child.”

“Keep it. I’d rather babysit occasionally, but I don’t want an infant in my life. Ever.”

I snort. “Whatever you want, man.”

It doesn’t take long to do everything. Maybe 20-30 minutes later, Joe is six feet under, still duct-taped and restrained. Ryder pats the covered grave with the back of the shovel a few times. But once snow comes to cover it, I’m not going to worry about whether we did a good job of covering it up.

I don’t even care. Rapists deserve to die. He tried to kill the love of my life. I’m not sparing him another thought as long as I live.

“You good?” Ryder asks.

“Never better.”

“I know you don’t, but I need a fucking drink.”

“I gotta get home to Stevie.”

“Yeah, you do that. See you at practice in two days.”

We walk back to Ryder’s childhood home and take off in separate cars. I can’t wait to see Stevie and hold her tight in my arms and go to sleep.

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