Page 48

“You are going to a party.”

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”

He smiles, and even I can hear it, how it sounds like I’m teasing him, like I’m not actually annoyed. Well, I’m not that annoyed—that’s the irritating thing, actually.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” I finally say, turning to look out the window. Now that we’re lower down on the mountain face, the snow looks more like powdered sugar dusted across a cake. It really does feel like the storm hit us, and us alone.

My stomach knots up. I force myself to think about my car. I guess I figured it wasn’t salvageable, that it didn’t matter anyway. Me and Adrian, our whole plan was that we’d get arrested. Spend a few nights in the Clifwell jail and then connect with Adrian’s lawyer friend, David, to get us out. We aren’t committing any major crimes here, after all. Trespassing, maybe. Our thinking was that we’d generate enough of a shitshow for the Wolrath family that they’d settle privately. Adrian had the details worked out with David; my job was mostly just to show up and be moral support.

Now, despite all reason, I can feel myself pulling back on the idea. Maybe we shouldn’t sneak into the party as guests, like Adrian intended. Maybe we should disrupt it some other way—throw bricks through the window, light something on fire, then abscond into the night. Adrian could drive us up to the Gas and Go, and Victor would cover for us.

The idea startles me, but I know it’s true. When I glance back over at Victor, I feel it even stronger. He’d hide us. Get any cops off our ass, if they made it out there.

Of course, he might have cops on his ass for other reasons.

“You want me to come back,” I say carefully. “To your house. Don’t you?”

Something settles over Victor. He definitely squeezes the steering wheel a little tighter.

“I thought you might like to get your car.” He keeps his gaze firmly on the road. “It wouldn’t have ever been in Clifwell. You and your accomplice would have an easier time taking it across state lines.”

I laugh at that. “Accomplice? State lines? You know we aren’t doing Hunter shit, right?”

“You’re still breaking the law,” Victor says. “And a wealthy family like that—they’ll want you to pay, even if all you do is sneak into the party.”

I press against the door, the cold air bleeding through the glass of the window. It’s annoying that he isn’t incorrect.

“I do this sort of thing all the time,” I say. “It’s a protest, and we have a right to protest.”

Victor sweeps his gaze away from the road to give me a withering look.

“You killed someone less than twenty-four hours ago,” I snap. “If anything is going to fuck up my plans, it’s that.”

Victor immediately jerks his gaze back to the road. “There’s no record of you even staying at the motel,” he says. “You don’t need to worry about it.” He’s squeezing that steering wheel again. Strangling it. I have an idle thought about how many people he’s strangled. If he strangles people at all. Hunters usually have their preferred killing method, and I don’t know his.

Do not ask him about it, I tell myself, even if my curiosity is screaming for it. Because that’s an intimate kind of information. And I don’t need intimacy from him. Not normal intimacy, and not fucked-up Hunter intimacy, either.

“I’m happy to have your tires replaced,” Victor says. “Get the car fixed up for you. Maybe even⁠—”

He stops. The radio plays stupidly in the background. Not even a song, just the chatter of commercials. I reach over and switch it off.

“Maybe even what?” I ask.

“Wait for you,” he says. “In Clifwell.”

My head buzzes.

“I might be able to help you get out of town.” He’s not looking at me, and I don't think it’s out of a sense of road safety, either. “You and your friend, of course. That way, you won’t have the hassle of an arrest.”

My heart thumps. I am aware, vaguely, that there’s a sweetness to what he’s suggesting. A sense that he wouldn’t do this for anyone. That maybe this is his way of making up for killing someone back at the motel.

And part of me likes the idea. Part of me likes it a whole, whole lot, just like part of me likes the idea of going to his house again afterward. Having a few days or even a week where I can fuck him out of my system.

Because he’s definitely in my system.

“You don’t have to do that,” I finally say. It’s the right answer. I know it is.

But Victor doesn’t say anything.