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“Get cleaned up,” she tells Billie and peels the vodka bottle out of her sweaty grip. “I’ll make us something to eat.”
Like a child, Billie pushes her lips out, a moody pout that traps in any argument. She doesn’t fight it, though. Ever the good soldier, she marches to the orders, and gets her ass into the shower.
She’s clean enough, after Preston (fuck, that heart twist again) washed her in the shower last night, but wearing the bloody jean-shorts made her feel grubby as hell, added in with their fuck and her walk in the heat before Trevor picked her up.
There’s something about a cool shower after sweaty sleeps and fights and booze and fucks and blood. Something that brightens her up better than coffee can.
She takes her time in the cramped bathroom, too. Blow-drying her hair, a glide of mascara, a touch of concealer around the dark circles marking her eyes, even a dab of color on her lips and cheeks.
Makes her feel better.
Like if she looks alive, she feels it—and that means she is.
As she kicks her way into her cluttered room, she snatches up the stray pieces of clean laundry strewn about—and ends up with a strappy red crop-top, a black skirt, and slip on platform sandals.
“You can wear my stuff,” Billie says as she clunks her way out of the bedroom in her heavy shoes. “I know you were wearing that outfit yesterday.”
“I’ll borrow something,” Kate says from the kitchen, just around the corner. “Eat, first.”
“We haven’t had vigils, you know.” Billie leans against the sink and scoops up her bowl of mac and cheese topped off with a hot pocket. She uses the fork to stab breathable holes in the hot pocket. “Fucking Cletus, of all people, got a vigil. But Gigi?” She stabs the hot pocket extra hard, the prongs of the fork squeaking over the bowl. “Carmine?”
Kate’s already halfway through her bowl. She stirs ketchup into the mac as she sighs, “It’s different now, that’s why. When it was Cletus, it wasonlyhim. Now it’s bodies piling up. People are scared, not sad.”
Billie’s answer is silence. She picks numbly at her shitty meal. The only food she bothers to buy—stuff that keeps in the pantry or the icebox.
“I texted Trevor,” Kate says, setting aside the bowl. “Said we’ll stay at his tonight. Pack a bag if you need anything.”
“Did you try Tonya?”
“Can’t get through.” Kate starts washing up. “She’s turned off her cell.”
“Doesn’t wanna hear from any of us,” Billie sighs, sliding her empty bowl across the counter towards Kate at the sink. “Don’t know if I can blame her, really.”
“I can.” Kate’s voice is firm. She snatches up a dishtowel and dries her hands. “We need to stick together through this.”
“I don’t get it, Kate. Like… Yeah, it’s all connected to what we did. But why Carmine? Why kill her and leavemethere, alive?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. Cletus first. He was only doing what he does. Histrade. Gigi second. She was hardest to convince that night. I half-expected her to go to the cops after we got rid of the body. Then Carmine…” She thins her lips for a beat. “All she did was stand by the car the whole time.”
“What’d you mean?”
“It’s an order, a sequence,” Kate says. “Someone working their way up a list of involvement. Cletus, Gigi, Carmine. Next would be Tonya. Then…”
Billie reaches for the pack of smokes on the counter. “Us.” She uses a match to light up. “Me and you, the last ones on the list.”
“The ones who did the most. You hit him with the car, killed him. It was my idea to go to Cletus. And we, you and me, cut him up took him out to the swamps and fed him to the gators. Whoever’s hunting us, Bee… they’re saving us ‘til last.”
“Fuck that.” She exhales a puff of smoke that chokes up the whole kitchen. “Shit. Kate, that’s nuts. Trevor says the guy attacks at night—and he does, right? And tonight…”
Kate’s mouth slants. “Will be Tonya.”
“If she’s not already dead.”
“Billie,” Kate whispers. “Either way, it’s us this Blood Hood killer is really after. So we’re staying at Trevor’s… at least until this whole thing…”
“Blows over?” Billie scoffs. “Better chance of the cops catching him first.”
Still, it’s better than sitting out in the open. Rich Hill, gated homes, security systems. Yeah, she sure feels safer up there, Blood Hood can’t get close to beat her ass again.
