June 7, 2:49 p.m.
Copper. Bright. Bursting on my tongue.
Troy’s blood is in my mouth.
Thick. Wet. Sliding in chunky drips down my cheek.
Troy’s blood is all over me.
Weight. Suffocating. Pressing down on my chest.
Troy’s body is on top of me.
Voices. Yelling. Coming into focus in a rush.
Cooper and Buck are shouting—“Son of a bitch, you fucker, what the fuck were you thinking, shooting so close to her?” “Fuck you, he was skimming off the top!”—their guns drawn and on each other. Wayne’s got his hand on his hip at Cooper’s side, seconds away from drawing that machete.
They’re all gonna kill each other.
I push, gasping as the back of Troy’s head drags against my cheek, and I twist under the weight until I’ve rolled out from under his body. Dazed, I struggle to my feet, my ears still ringing from the gunshots.
“Hey!” I call out, blinking hard, trying to focus. There’s so much blood. I wipe at my face, and my hand’s just red, so much red. Busy’s barking like crazy in my truck, her paws scraping frantically at the glass. “Hey!” I yell this time, loud and clear.
They don’t even look at me; just keep yelling while Troy’s blood puddles at my feet.
I look down at his body.
What are Sarah and the boys going to do?
Fuck.
This is my fault.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
My focus narrows.
Think, then react, Harley-girl.
I grab the Glock from my waistband. The second it’s in my hand, I stop shaking.
The second I aim, I’m calm.
No one.
Bang, right between Buck’s legs.
Was supposed to.
Bang, right over Wayne’s shoulder.
Get hurt.
Bang, right above Cooper’s head.
“Guns down!” I shout.
They’re frozen, their full attention on me now, and it’d almost be funny except I’m spattered in Troy’s blood and bits of his brain and skull, and I’m fully willing to add to the mess if I have to.
I shoot in the air and then point the barrel down to aim at them. “Now!”
One.
Two.
Three guns tossed on the ground in front of me.
I scrub at my forehead with my shirtsleeve. It just smears more blood on me. My stomach turns. I’ve never wanted to get clean so bad in my life.
I take a deep breath. I want to tremble. Break. Sink so deep into the ground I’ll come out changed, with new growth. I want to be the kind of woman who can’t handle this. Who doesn’t know how.
But this is what I was raised for.
A remote location, bleach, and tarp, Harley-girl, and you’re golden.
“Wayne, there’s a tarp and rope in the bed of my truck. Put on the gloves that are in the toolbox before you handle them,” I tell him. “Cooper, back your truck up so we can put him in the bed. Buck.” I look at him long and hard, until the sweat springs up on his forehead. “Get out of here before I change my mind about shooting you.”
He huffs out an indignant breath, opening his mouth to protest.
In a few strides, I close the space between them and me, and I level my Glock at Buck. “I have three bullets left,” I tell him. “I’ll put the first one in your foot. The second in your dick. And the third right here.” I press the barrel against his forehead. “Go home. Don’t leave.”
“I—” Buck starts.
“You heard her, Buck,” says a voice behind me. “Go.”
It’s not Cooper, though. It’s Wayne.
His hand’s on the machete he keeps strapped to his leg. I’ve seen him gut a deer with that thing, cut through tendons and joints like they’re butter. And I know Buck has, too.
Cooper wears his threats tattooed on his face. Wayne keeps his voice and his violence to himself, because when he lets go, when he does what he does best, there are no survivors. Just rumors.
Buck’s face pales as he looks back and forth at the three of us.
There’s a beat, a moment where I’m afraid the ego that made him pull the gun on me earlier will get the better of him. But this time I’m not alone. Cooper and Wayne flank me like guards, and I feel safe, like it’s the way it should be. Like it’s what Duke always imagined for me. The queen and her knights.
“Fuck this,” Buck snarls. “Call me when you’re ready to fucking do something about Springfield.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t even move. I just keep my gun on him as he backs up, gets in his truck, and drives off, spraying dirt and pine needles everywhere.
As soon as it’s safe, I crumple to my knees. As soon as he’s out of sight. The gun falls from my hands, and I stare at them as they start to shake again.
“Harley, honey.” Cooper crouches down next to me.
But I can’t. My hands are speckled in Troy’s blood. All of me’s spattered in Troy’s blood. I need to get it off. I rub my hands together frantically, trying to get it off, but all that does is make the blood that’s starting to dry peel up all over my skin.
There’s this whimpering sound, and I realize it’s me, and then Cooper’s grabbing both my hands in his and going, “Okay, calm down, honey. Calm down.”
I look up at him. His pale blue eyes—they’re usually icy, but now they’re kind.
I want to tell him. Duke’s his best friend. If I don’t tell, Cooper won’t get to say goodbye. But if I do, he’ll stop me. I can’t let that happen.
Everything’s already gone wrong. I promised myself no one would get hurt.
I lied to myself. I knew the cost. I was just pretending it wouldn’t happen.
Now two little boys don’t have a father and Sarah is a widow and she doesn’t even know it yet. She won’t even get a body to bury. Cooper will get rid of him. Put him somewhere no one can find him. Because that’s what Cooper does.
Because that’s what we do.
Because that’s what my plan has wrought.
I have two choices. Crumble or rise.
My legs wobble as I get to my feet. The front of my shirt sticks wetly to my stomach. I stare down at myself. I look like I’ve butchered a deer and botched the job.
“I need a jacket,” I say, pulling off my flannel shirt and handing it to Cooper. The tank top underneath it is black, so it’s not as bad, but my arms are streaked with blood.
Wayne thrusts a jug of water and some napkins at me, and I use them to wash off my arms and hands and face.
“Is everything in my truck?”
Cooper nods.
I look over at Troy. He’s half on his side, his face in the dirt. I can’t leave him like that. I go over, crouching down, and roll him over on his back.
A good chunk of his skull’s missing. I grit my teeth against the swell of sick that ripples inside me.
I reach out, hesitating, and then I press my hand to his chest. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. I’ll take care of Sarah and the boys. I promise. They’ll never need anything. They’ll have a good life.”
They’d have a better life if he was still alive.
I get to my feet and look at Cooper. “We need to get rid of him.”
“I know,” Cooper says. “Wayne and I will take care of it. You go lock up the product. Don’t stop for anything.”
“Sarah…”
“We can’t tell her yet,” Wayne says. His voice is always gravelly. I’m not sure if it’s just that way or if it’s because he barely uses it.
I know this, but it’s still like a knife against my skin. “She’ll get worried when he doesn’t come home.”
“I’ll call her,” Cooper says. “I want you to go home. Lock the gates and doors.”
“Do you think he’ll come for me?” I ask.
“I think we need your father,” Cooper says. “We don’t have just a Springfield problem. We have a Buck problem. He doesn’t know his place. Never has.”
“Tell me about it,” I say.
“But we need to get this done first,” Cooper says. “So go.” He nudges my shoulder. “Be safe.”
I get in my truck and make my way out of the clearing. Right before the final turn onto the road, I pause, turning back. Wayne’s already got a tarp spread out next to Troy. Cooper’s got an ax.
He swings it high.
I floor the gas pedal.