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“Twenty minutes.”
“Fine.” She lowers herself onto the couch in the living room with a wince.
I watch her from the kitchen. “Did you eat dinner?”
“Yeah. I had a burger with Mike.”
I bristle at her calling him that. Odds are, he would’ve killed her, even if we hadn’t shown up and spooked him.
“You can leave,” she says.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“You’re not staying here. Go help them with the body or whatever and then leave me the fuck alone.”
“Seriously? You almost died, Athelia. You’re not scared?”
I know she is. She’s still shaking, and she’s always been anxious.
“I’ll be fine. What are the odds of there being two serial killers hanging out in the woods on the same night? I don’t want you guys here.”
“Well, too bad.” I cross my arms and lean against the counter. “Maybe I would’ve been able to convince Wes to leave if he didn’tjust shoot a man to save you, but there’s no way he’s letting you out of his sight now.”
Athelia groans. “I hate you all.”
Even though I know they shouldn’t, her words sting. I turn away with a sigh. “We’re trying tohelpyou, Athelia.”
“Maybe I don’t want your help.”
Goddammit.
I know I deserve her anger. Fuck, I deserve worse than this. But it doesn’t change that she’s pissing me the fuck off.
Without another word, I head outside. I can’t go far—Wes would kill me if I left her alone—so I haul myself onto the porch railing and stare off into the night.
Unease creeps into my mind even though I try to bat it away. I don’t want to acknowledge what I’m worried will be our outcome.
She’s never going to forgive us.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Athelia
It takes what feels like hours for Wes and Kellan to come inside. Cal follows them, his expression as cold as it was when he stormed out. I don’t feel bad. I wanted space, and here they are invading it.
Again.
Both Kellan and Wes have blood on their clothes. They take turns in the bathroom, each coming out showered and with clean outfits that I’m assuming were in their backpacks.
“So you just kill people?” I ask when none of them make a move to explain anything to me. “How often? How many people have you shot like that?”
They said Michael is a serial killer, but they knew how to “deal” with the body, whatever that means. It sounds like they have experience killing people, too.
Wes pins me with a lethal stare from across the room. “Careful how harshly you judge us, Athelia. You can’t be horrified that we’re murderers and also want us to kill for you.”
My stomach turns. “That’s different.”
“Is it? Michael was the villain in plenty of people’s stories.”
