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Fiona
Boyd releases me almost immediately, and I sag against the side of his house, my skin clammy, my mind floating through a swampy fog of memories and present-day, struggling to discern which are which. I twitch under his perusal, aware that just a few hours ago he hung up on me.
“You need my help,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not giving you advice on how to fuck another guy, if that’s why you’re here.”
Fatigue surges through my veins, making me dizzy as I let out a short laugh. “Unless you have tips on fucking dead bodies, then I don’t need the advice, anyway.”
The air around us freezes, growing static as he absorbs what I’ve just said.
“What?” he hisses, reaching out to grasp my biceps. He hauls me up the wall, holding tight but not in a way that hurts, almost as if he’s using me to prop himself up. Joke’s on him, because the wobble in my knees says I could drop any second.
“He-he told me what he did to your sister,” I hiccup, regret and shame bubbling inside my chest, making it hard to breathe. “Boyd, I’m s-so sorry. I s-swear to you, I h-had no idea.”
Covering my mouth gently with his palm, he nods, shushing me. “Fiona, baby, I think you’re going into shock.”
My body trembles like a leaf as he stares into my eyes; I try to ground myself in him, try to imprint the feel of his body against mine just in case this is the last time I ever get to experience it, because it feels like my organs are shutting down with each labored breath that rattles from my lungs.
For a few moments, he just holds me in silence, trying to get me to settle even as I feel my nerves spiraling out of control, gearing toward an explosion.
And then, we hear the crackle of sticks breaking beneath the weight of someone’s footsteps. The air shifts again, this time to something sinister, something vile, and Boyd tenses, tilting his head to listen.
Snap. Some more shuffling. The wind picks up, carrying the sound toward us, along with the smell of bleach and tobacco.
Boyd’s voice drops to a whisper against the crown of my head. “You killed Romeo?”
I nod.
“Did he say anything to you tonight? Other than about Riley?”
Racking my brain, I nod again. “He said he was using me to lure you out, and that you owed him.” I glance up, my eyes searching his. “What do you owe him?”
“Nothing, baby. But my piece of shit mother probably promised him a body, and he was trying to collect on the one he didn’t get.” He presses a kiss to my temple, cursing under his breath as the steps get closer. “They’re working together, that’s why I couldn’t find him. Shit. I shouldn’t have left you with him.”
Pulling my head into his chest, he yanks me to the front door and bangs on it until it swings open, Riley’s tiny form appearing at the threshold. He tips my head up, plants a firm kiss to my mouth, and passes me off to her like I’m a rag doll or an injured animal.
“Lock yourselves inside, call her brother, and take her upstairs to get cleaned up. Do not come out of the bedroom until me or Kieran come to get you.” He pauses, gripping my chin. “Do you understand?”
“What’s going on?” Riley asks, wrapping one bony arm around my waist.
“Do you understand?” he snaps, making both of us flinch. “Christ, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on, but I just... I need you to do what I say and not ask questions. I’ll be up to get you soon.”
She nods, and there’s another brief pause in which Boyd hesitates, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from my face. I open my mouth, three words on the tip of my tongue that I should’ve said months ago or any of the dozens of times I thought them in-between, but he shakes his head with a wry smile.
“We’ll talk later,” he promises, breaking the spell and reaching to pull the door shut.
Riley and I stand there, stunned, for a minute before we hear his weight leave the porch, and then she springs into action. There are six deadbolts and a keypad that secure the front door, and I can’t remember if there were that many there the last time I was here, but I don’t have a chance to dwell on the added protection, because then she’s grabbing my hand and dragging me up the stairs.
Pushing me into the guest bedroom, Riley stalks into the attached bathroom and switches on the shower, her movements panicked but her face serene, as if this is a moment she’s been preparing for for ages, and she’s finally comfortable in this element.
“Take off your clothes and get in the shower,” she barks, bossy, just like her brother. I just stare at her for a moment, confused, and she gestures at my soaked clothing. “You’re covered in blood and guts, dude.”
If she’s surprised or grossed out, she doesn’t show it, just waits for me to disrobe. I pull my shirt over my head, kick off the sneakers that I’d had in my purse and slipped on before running here, then shimmy out of my jeans, stepping into the spray.
I close my eyes, letting the water wash over me, trying to will it to take my panic with it. Unfortunately, that’s written into my DNA, so it sticks to me like bubblegum, stretching out across my skin until I’m shaking all over again.
Pulling the curtain aside, I see Riley walk back into the room, some ginger ale, pretzels, and a thick book in her arms. She walks to the wicker dresser across from the queen-size bed with its leopard print sheets, grabs some pajamas from the top drawer, and comes back to the bathroom as I’m wrapping myself in a towel.
“Feel better?” she asks, and I shake my head no, my fingers trembling as I take the clothes she holds out. “Yeah. Been there.”
