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My whole body grows cold.
If I had any doubts about Cassidy's character, I don’t anymore. Even under threat of death, she’s still ahorrible,horrible person. I open my mouth to say something, but I find I don’t have any words for her. Just gut-wrenching, hair-raising, bone-melting anger.
The syringe in my hand feels like lead. My fingers tighten around it, and her eyes flash to it. Fresh panic glimmers in them. Did she forget about it during her manic monologue? Maybe she thinks I won’t actually do it.
“I hear it’s hot where you’re going.” A humorless grin twists my lips. “Fuck you, Cassidy Coldwell.”
I jam the plunger down, watching as the brown substance disappears into her body. Cassidy is hysterical, trying to shake and claw her way out of the chair. But between Alexander’s grip on her and the duct tape, she can’t move much.
I don’t even try to stifle my laughter.
“Do you have more of these?” I ask Alexander.
He’s looking at me like he’s mesmerized, and I can’t help the blush that heats my cheeks at his attention. Heat gathers low in my abdomen. It takes him a few seconds to answer me.
“Two more,” he says. “In the box.”
I nod. The effects have already started to hit Cassidy. Her eyes have glazed over and her thrashing has stopped. She looks like she’s floating away on a cloud.
As I prep the next syringe, I ask Alexander, “So, we’re faking an overdose?”
There’s a slight smile on his face when he nods.
“What if she dies?” I ask, but I find that I don’t really care. There’s something about hearing Cassidy talk aboutmydeath so casually that makes me unconcerned with hers.
“People will think she did it to herself,” Alexander says with a shrug.
He lets go of her hair, moving to stand beside me. He wraps an arm around my waist. It sends a shiver through me that has me questioning my sanity. We’re here plotting someone’s death and my body has the time to behorny?
I’m not sure if it’s what we’re doing, him or a mix of the two.
I inject her. “How much is this anyway?”
Alexander shrugs. “I have no fucking clue,” he says. “Ezra did the math and it shouldn’t be enough to kill her, but there’s always a margin of error.”
I shrug, taking the last syringe. Cassidy’s gone loopy now. Her pupils have contracted to small points, and she’s as limp as a wet noodle. She’s looking at us both bizarrely, and though her mouth is moving no words come out.
From the looks of it, this last syringe will knock her into unconsciousness.
Once I’ve injected her, Alexander starts undoing the duct-tape. Just as I suspected, the moment she’s out of them, she falls to the floor in a mess of stinky limbs.
Neither of us move to pick her up. Folding my arms, I give her a long look.
“The empty syringes have no fingerprints on them,” I mumble, holding up a gloved hand.
Alexander gives me one of those knowing, lopsided smiles. “Nice catch. Let’s put hers on them.”
I nod. “Should we, like… set a scene? Maybe put her in the living room, pour a drink and make it seem more believable?”
Alexander laughs. “You’ve watched too much TV,” he chuckles.
“What?”
“She’s fine where she is."
Over the next hour, Alexander and I clean up the basement, including wiping it clean of any trace we were there. After putting her fingerprints on the syringes and scattering them around her, Alexander slips her fitness tracker back on. He edits the data to make it seem like she ran all the way to the cabin instead of taking a car ride.
On the off chance she remembers what happened here tonight, the evidence will work against her. Given her track record, nobody will believe her. The last thing Alexander does is turn her phone back on and leave it beside her.
