Page 120 of What We Become

Sage steps back. Her chest rises and falls in controlled breaths, eyes moving over the damage. For a moment I think she’s done. Then Freely makes a gurgling sound, and she pounces, the knife going in again, and again, and again.

Like the little savage she is.

Dean is ready when we arrive at the crematorium. Amy is in the kitchen.

Sage walks in—black clothes, blood under her nails, and a look on her face that I’m learning means fed. Amy takes one look at her and crosses the kitchen in four steps.

The hug is fierce. Amy’s arms locked around Sage like she’s holding her together, and maybe she is, because Sage makes a sound against Amy’s shoulder that I’ve never heard from her. Something in between a sob and a laugh.

“You’re back,” Amy whispers. “Oh my God, you’re back. I’ve been so worried. Dean told me what happened with Jamie—I mean, Stephen—and I⁠—”

“I’m okay,” Sage says. “I’m okay, Ames. I’m sorry I left and didn’t tell you.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for disappearing after what he did. Don’t you dare.”

They hold each other in the staff kitchen while Knox helps Dean get the body in the retort. The others are busy clearing the scene back at Freely’s place.

I stay by the door and watch the two women hug and cry and babble at each other until Knox appears beside me.

“She good?” he asks.

I watch Sage, teary but smiling in Amy’s arms, and I nod.

“Yeah,” I say. “She’s good.”

A Hangman. A monster. My little savage. Knox’s Fury. Holden’s wildcat, Milo’s murder kitten, and Micah’s baby girl.

Ours.

“I think she’s great, actually.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

MILO

The hot water drums against my skull while I hum something that’s either Vivaldi or the theme from Dexter—hard to tell, both are appropriate—and let this glorious night wash off me in slow, satisfying increments. Latex residue from the gloves. The faint chemical memory of industrial plastic sheeting. The last of the adrenaline that’s been running under my skin since Sage raised that knife above her head and became the most terrifying thing I’ve ever loved.

What a night!

Eli took Sage and Knox to Dean’s for the disposal. Holden, Micah, and I handled the cleanup at Freely’s—plastic sheeting folded and bagged, duct tape residue wiped, surfaces bleached, the chair back in its original position at the dining table. Holden worked with his usual intense focus while I narrated the process like a home renovation show, which he tolerated for approximately seven minutes before saying, “Milo, if you say ‘open concept living’ one more time, I will tape your mouth shut.”

Micah and I headed home while Holden detoured to our favorite back alley to burn all the evidence. I left Micah downstairs watching TV while I came upstairs because the shower was calling me with the urgency of a lover who’s been neglected.

So that’s where I am. Wet. Warm. Humming. Happy in that morally complicated way that follows a clean operation where justice was served and nobody got caught and our girlfriend stabbed a pedo while looking fabulous.

Life is strange and beautiful: I’m in love with five people, and the water pressure in this house is magnificent.

I tip my head back, letting the spray hit my chest, and close my eyes.

The shower door opens behind me.

Steam shifts. Cool air licks my back for half a second, and then Holden steps through it like he owns not just the bathroom but the molecules currently occupying it.

Well.

Hello.

His hands land on my hips first, firm and unapologetic, pulling me back against the solid heat of him as the shower door clicks shut. I don’t turn around—don’t need to—because I can feel it in the way his fingers dig in just enough to say he has something very specific in mind.