Page 287 of What We Burn

For a second I consider lying. Sticking to the cover story because I’ve said it so often it feels like truth now. But instead, I take a breath and meet her eyes.

“I killed him,” I say.

SEVENTY-FOUR

SAGE

The words sit between us. Amy doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t look away.

“On the beach,” I continue. “The night of the party. He attacked me and I stabbed him. He died on that beach. The guys were there. They helped me cover it up. Made it look like he left town.”

“What were the guys doing there?”

I brace my palms on the counter behind me.

The old instinct is to deflect. To shave the truth down until it’s safe to hold. But Amy’s looking at me like she already knows this is the hinge. The thing everything else swings on.

“They were following Brock,” I say.

Her brows pull together. “Why?”

I close my eyes and steel myself—there is no clean on-ramp to this.

“Because the men I’m living with,” I say, pausing to get the wording right, “they aren’t regular guys.”

Amy gives me a look. “I gathered that much.”

My mouth twists a little—somewhat of a smile.

“They hunt people,” I say. “Specific people. Men who hurt others. Rapists. Predators. Pedophiles. They kill the ones who get away with it.”

She doesn’t move.

I keep going before I lose my nerve.

“They’d been watching Brock for a while. They had evidence. Not enough to make anything stick through the police, but enough to know what he was.”

Amy’s fingers tighten around her mug.

“They were going to kill him?”

There it is. No dramatic gasp. No stagger backward. Just the clean, horrifying conclusion set gently on the table between us.

“Yes.”

Amy nods slowly. “But you killed him first.”

I nod.

She stares at me for a long second, then laughs once—short and disbelieving. “Okay. Wow. Jesus Christ.” She drags a hand down her face and then freezes in shock. “Oh my God. I just realized I practically begged you to walk home with a rapist!”

“What?” I pull my head back, then remember the moment at the party when I said I wanted to go. “No, Ames. No. You can’t put that on yourself. You had no idea. He seemed . . . charming, right? And technically, you wanted to leave with me, remember? Tyler was the one who convinced you to stay. That’s when Brock swooped in.”

She lets out a gasp. “Oh my God,” she says again. “Do you think they were working together? Do you think Tyler knew? Is that why he wouldn’t let it go? And why he tried to kill you?”

“I think so. The pieces came together pretty slowly. But it looks like that whole group had a thing for assaulting women.”

“Oh my God!” Amy gasps, horrified. “I was dating a rapist?” She gasps again. “My God. I was. That shit he was doing—the way he— Holy fuck, Sage.”