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He pulled the keys out of the ignition and pocketed them, turning on her. He was frustrated. He was pissed.
‘You should have told me,’ he said finally.
‘Told you what?’ she asked, but her expression said that she already knew what he was going to say.
‘You lied to me. You told me that photo was of your brother. I knew I was right. I knew he was your kid. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I meant to do when Dornan finds out? What do you want from me?’
Panic registered in her eyes. She freaked the fuck out and jumped out of the car again. Christ, it was like they were going in circles. Why couldn’t she just trust him?
She stood in front of the car again, looking left and right. Was she going to try and run? It seemed absurd, but he’d seen his fair share of runners before. When people panicked, they either froze, or they fled.
And judging by the way Mariana was twitching at the front of his car, she was getting ready to flee.
‘Fuck,’ John muttered under his breath, jumping out of the car and cutting her off before she could head into the thick trees. He reached for her wrists, found them, and used his body weight to press her against the hood of the pick-up. She was crying. He’d never seen her cry before tonight, not in all the years he’d known her, and now it was like she couldn’t stop. Killing someone for the first time would probably do that to you, he surmised grimly. He could barely remember anymore, he’d done it so many times.
‘There’s nowhere to run,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Never has been. You know that, Ana. Don’t be stupid.’
She whimpered against him, struggling against his grip before going limp.
‘Fuck you, John,’ she whispered weakly.
He wrapped his arms around her. ‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘We all go a little crazy the first time we kill somebody. You’re gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay.’
He didn’t believe that, of course, but he’d never tell her that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MARIANA
It was almost dawn when we finally got the call to go back to the apartment. I walked tentatively up the stairs, stopping short when I reached the door. John glanced around, checking out the surrounds. Weary, and still sporting mascara-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes from all the crying I’d been doing, I went straight to the scene of the crime, to find it . . . sparkling.
Seriously, the place was spotless. Someone had brought in a new mattress, made it with fresh sheets and a duvet I normally kept aside for winter nights. The pillows were plumped, new towels hung over the rail in the bathroom beyond.
They’d even sprayed air freshener – not too much, just enough to mask the cloying smell of congealed blood – and lit a scented candle on my dresser. I stared down at my new mattress, almost expecting to find a chocolate on my pillow or something, but it seemed the service stopped there. My heart lurched when I realised the photos of Luis had been hidden in the mattress. Fuck!
‘My photos,’ I muttered. ‘Shit!’ I started opening drawers randomly, praying that whoever had cleaned up had thought to put them somewhere instead of destroying them along with the mattress.
John entered the room, alarmed. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘You mean apart from the obvious?’ I replied, rummaging through sweatpants and pyjama shirts in my bottom drawer.
‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.
I closed the drawer and straightened, scanning the room as I tried to think of other potential hiding spots. ‘Photographs,’ I said quietly. ‘They were hidden in the mattress.’
John nodded, handing me an A4-sized envelope. I peered inside, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw the photos were all intact. ‘Thank you,’ I murmured.
‘Don’t mention it,’ John replied, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced into the bathroom. Oh yeah, the bathroom where we’d just groped each other like horny teenagers while a man lay dead six feet away. An awkward silence descended upon us, and I wasn’t sure where to look. Eventually, my eyes landed back on his lush lips.
‘I don’t feel anything,’ I blurted out, going to sit on the side of my new/old bed. ‘Shouldn’t I feel something?’ I put a hand to my chest and imagined the barren heart that beat beneath my ribcage. The heart of a killer now. And instead of feeling remorse, I was too busy imagining kissing Dornan’s best friend again. My life was a fucking mess.
‘I think all the feels happened in the car,’ he said, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that.
‘Right,’ I replied.
‘I was kidding,’ he added. ‘I’m sure if you killed someone you actually cared about, you’d be feeling something. But right now, based on your track record with Murphy, I’d be feeling pretty fucking relieved if I were you.’
I nodded. ‘You’re right. That must be it.’
