Page 71 of Dreadful

He leaned forward as much as the zip ties would allow, shoulders dropping into a practiced slope of concern. “Look, kid, there’s been some kind of misunderstanding here. Whatever you think I did—I didn’t.”

“What do you do for a living?”

He exhales through his nose. “I already told you: I used to run jobs with your ma back in the day. We had our own little crew.”

The itch starts at the back of my throat, the curiosity stretching toward the memories he has with her. There have been sleepless nights I stayed under the stars, my mind wandering to an alternate timeline where Coco taught me how to drive instead of how to properly dispose of a body for my fifteenth birthday.

What must her life been like before us to turn her into who is she today.

It matters little now. “And now?”

“Little of this, little of that.” He shrugs as much as he can in his restraints, his gaze darting over my shoulder.

Suspicion tiptoes up my spine, one vertebra at a time. “You still running jobs in Hollow Beach?”

His gaze flies back to mine. “What? No, of course not.”

“Who have you talked to about us?”

“No one,” he says, shaking his head.

I lean forward, my voice dropping. “What secrets have you been spilling, Troy?”

Another sigh. “Jesus Christ. I haven’t said shit to anyone about anything.”

I sit back in the chair and wait.

People hate silence. Give them enough of it, and eventually they'll start filling it just to make themselves more comfortable.

Troy lasts about twelve seconds.

He shifts against the zip ties, testing them again even though we both know they're staying exactly where they are.

“I've heard you people argue about everything from dinner to who drank the last beer.” He pauses, his eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he's sorting through two weeks' worth of memories. “I've heard your mother tell all of you what to do and watched you ignore her until you eventually do it anyway.”

“That all?”

“Aside from learning that you all apparently share a girlfriend who can be very fucking noisy somet⁠—”

I'm out of the chair before he finishes. The barrel of my gun lands against the center of his forehead hard enough to snap his head back.

His eyes widen.

“What do you think is gonna happen here if you disrespect my girl, hm?”

Troy audible swallows, sweat beading along his hairline. “Fuck. I'm sorry, man. I wasn't—I wasn't thinking.”

I press a little harder just to watch him squirm. “Start fucking thinking."

“Yeah.” His tongue drags over his bottom lip. “All right.”

I hold him there for another few seconds before backing away and retaking my seat. This time, I keep the gun aimed loosely in his direction. “Start from the top. How did you meet Coco?”

His gaze darts around the room, like he's expecting someone or looking for an exit. “I told you already. We go way back.” He shifts his weight in the chair again. “I don't know how happy she'll be about this, but you can cut me loose and my lips will stay sealed.”

I run my thumb along the stippling on the grip, watching his face. “Why are you staying at her house?”

“She told me to come over one night,” he says with a sigh.