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“I suppose.” She smirks.
“Stop snickering,” I growl, shifting the car into drive. I’d swallowed some pills, and finally, the burning has subsided. Tearing into a packet of cookies with my spare hand, I shove one in my mouth. I’m fucking starving.
Holding up her hands, she covers her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m going to stop.” She’s been laughing ever since I came out of the bathroom in the dead guy’s clothes. Beige slacks that swing around my ankles, a checkered shirt, and a sweater vest. None of his shoes fit, so I had to settle for sand-type shoes Ruby calls Crocs. I want to shoot myself in the face every time she looks at me and bursts into a fit of laughter.
“So, where do these people vacation?” I ask, trying to move her past my attire and get information at the same time.
“Lily said they have a cabin near a lake.” She shrugs. “She’s been living with my brother for the past month.” Fidgeting with her hands, she pulls on a thread from a rip in her jeans.
“Did she not want to go with them?” Why is the sister lying? Or has she been told they went on holiday? Her sister is younger than her, and if she’s anything like Ruby, she’s not capable of killing two old people.
Looking out the window, she gives another lift of her shoulders. “I don’t think they offered. It was hard on them raising a teen, and I think she resented them in a way.”
“What about her parents?” I stuff another cookie into my mouth, surprised Ruby didn’t notice the shit in the fridge had gone bad and hadn’t been thrown out. Usually, people get rid of their perishables or take them with them when they leave for an extended amount of time.
“Her mom was young when she met our dad and into drugs and the party lifestyle. It didn’t end well for her.”
“A lot of that going around,” I scoff.
“What about you?” she asks, shifting in her seat, half facing me, half facing the windshield.
“What about me?” I don’t like talking about myself. There’s something different about her, though, like I know she’ll keep my secrets safe. It’s pathetic. Maybe the drugs are making me loopy.
“Tell me about your parents.” She leans over, taking a cookie from the packet between my legs. The action is innocent, but it allows me a view of her tits down the V-neck of her top. And she’s braless, so I get the rosy fucking nipple and all. It makes me hungry for more than just food. I want to eat her cookie.
“They were like yours, a fucking waste of life, so I killed them.” I tighten my hand on the steering wheel.
Coughing, a piece of the cookie she just bit into hits the dash before she can cover her mouth. “Oh my god, you’re kidding…right?” Her eyes study me, silence hanging between us. “You’re not kidding,” she murmurs, dumping the rest of her cookie in a small coin tray beneath the stereo.
“They were shit people. Don’t feel bad for them.” I turn off the road, parking a block away from her mother’s house.
“So, you’re a killer?” she asks, holding her arms around her waist.
Scoffing, I raise a brow. “How is that surprising to you? You know I’m a Royal Bastard.”
She pales, swallowing, jerking her head up and down. “All the brothers have killed people?”
“It’s who we are: criminals and killers with our own set of rules. I’m not a fucking hero in any story, Ruby. I’m the villain in little girls’ nightmares—your nightmares.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” She squares her shoulders, pursing her fat lips.
“Yes, you are.” I pull the switchblade from my pocket, flicking it open. She startles backwards, almost going through the car window, proving my point. “See?” I chuckle.
“You want me to be afraid of you?” Her tone is full of disbelief.
“It shows you have good sense. Now, are we doing this?” I check the colt again and slip some spare bullets into my pocket.
“Do I get a gun?” She holds her hand out, and I stare at it until she huffs and pulls it back.
“Are you ready to do this?” I ask again.
“Yes.” She states, refusing to look at me.
“How well do you know this place?” I ask, checking our surroundings, ignoring her attitude. It’s sexy as hell and makes me want to take her over my knee and redden her ass. I bet she’s a screamer.
“I lived here most of my life.”
“So, you’ll know the neighbors' cars and be able to point out any you don’t recognize?”
“Yes.” She jerks her head, checking down the street. “There’s a truck and a bike. They’re not even trying to hide it,” she breathes, a tremor rattling her voice.
“I’m going to get in position. I want you to wait one minute and then walk up to the house and call out for your mother.” The road is deserted. The house is spaced far enough from the other houses to give us enough privacy to sneak up.
