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He hated what he did. Despised it.
Still. There were worse things. At least he didn’t have to have any part with those poor fucking girls they trucked across the country—
‘John,’ Ana said, breaking his thoughts.
‘Yeah?’ he replied gruffly, pulling out of the county morgue parking lot and making a sharp turn onto the service road.
‘What happens now?’
He glanced over at her. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her arms were covered in goosebumps. ‘Here,’ he said, tossing his leather jacket at her, still a little damp from the shower. ‘Put this over yourself. You’re shaking.’
She took the jacket wordlessly and draped it across the front of her like a blanket.
‘What happens now,’ John repeated, watching as headlights whizzed past in an endless succession. Before he knew it, he’d pulled onto the I-5 and they were racing down the freeway.
‘What happens now is that we kill some time until they get all that pesky blood out of your apartment.’
‘My bed—’ Mariana started.
John held up a hand. ‘Trust me. When we get back in a few hours, you won’t be able to tell the difference.’
She settled back in the seat. John saw the exit he was looking for up ahead, the one that would take them to a secluded spot where he liked to go and sit when he didn’t want to be bothered. As he pulled off the road and up a narrow, unpaved track, Mariana tensed beside him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to kill you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
MARIANA
John stopped the car in a small clearing of trees and cut the engine. In front of us was a small man-made lake. It was nothing special, and it looked neglected and overgrown, but it was deserted out here, and that was the whole point.
My mind was struggling to catch up after the night’s events. What the fuck had just happened? I’d killed Murphy.
Murphy was dead.
I was freaked the fuck out, but I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t also feeling victorious in some strange way. He’d committed the ultimate sin when he killed my family, and I’d returned the favour in all its bloody glory. He’d died vulnerable and afraid, and that brought me a small measure of relief, knowing the way my parents and siblings had endured their final moments.
‘So,’ John said, his hand resting on the steering wheel, ‘I think you owe me an explanation.’
It was the least I could give him.
‘How do I know I can trust you?’ I asked softly.
John laughed. ‘I think we’re beyond that, don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘I suppose so. But it’s a long story.’
He turned to me and smiled, his perfect teeth glinting in the weak moonlight. ‘Honey, I’ve got all night.’
I licked my lips and rearranged the leather jacket so it was covering every bit of my exposed flesh.
‘Have you got a cigarette?’ I asked suddenly.
John nodded, pointing at the glove compartment. I opened it, took out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, and lit up. The smoke burned my chest, and I had to resist the urge to cough. But I liked the feeling. It reminded me that I was alive.
I wound my window down a few inches and blew the smoke out.
‘I can’t tell you,’ I protested, but I was tired and my words lacked conviction.
