Chapter 9
EZRA
I spent all of Monday morning with Lucy. She’d begun teaching me the basics of sign language while Sam was at work, just like Bee promised she would. I wasn’t sure if she was going to show up, but she’d arrived at the front door with breakfast takeout and mimosas.
“Alcohol? At this time?” I’d asked with an amused grin.
“Trust me, we’re going to need it,” she’d responded in all seriousness with a dramatic swish of her long brown curls.
As noon passed and it hit four in the afternoon, my brain was full and I had signs to learn. I was still practicing “My name is Ezra” when Lucy turned to me from where she stood in the kitchen, the nearly empty carafe of mimosas clutched in her hand as she poured us another drink.
“I heard we’re going to kill your uncle.”
I froze, ice seeping into my veins. When Sam and I returned home yesterday, we didn’t talk about it again.
He made me food, and then we spent the rest of the afternoon and night binge watching Bridgerton, some romance TV show set in the regency period.
There were a few hot guys in it, and I couldn’t say no to wet shirts and steamy sex.
“What?” I dropped my hands into my lap and stared at her from where I sat at the dining table.
“Hmm?” She winked and brushed light brown curls away from her face.
Her lips were painted a deep red today and it suited her complexion.
“Sam called Bee last night and told her that we’re putting a hold on the rapist and killing your uncle first. Apparently, we’ve got four and a half weeks to plan it. The job’s on for Christmas Day.”
“I didn’t know that. He asked if I wanted him to die and I said yes, but he didn’t tell me we were doing it.” I frowned at her.
“You don’t want it to happen?” She grabbed the glasses of mimosas and strode back to the table, passing me one before she slid into the seat across from me.
“Because he’s pretty determined. Sam doesn’t usually kill people we know because there’s a higher chance of being caught, but he was adamant.
Bee’s pretty fucking scared about the idea.
Four and a half weeks isn’t long to plan, and if it’s not plotted precisely, things can go wrong. ”
I stared at the orange liquid in my glass, numbness overtaking me. “I don’t want to get him into trouble. He hasn’t told me we were doing it.”
“Well, when he says he’s going to kill someone, he doesn’t back down unless there’s a risk of being caught.” She ran her thumb around the rim of her mimosa glass thoughtfully. “But he seems different around you, like he’s not thinking it all through.”
“Why would you say that?” I frowned.
She laughed and it bounced off the walls.
Lucy was beautiful and after spending a full day with her, I’d decided I really did like her.
She was smart, funny, and honest. “Because he’s hungry to kill the people who hurt you.
Look at those college boys who beat you in his yard.
He could’ve ignored it, should’ve, actually, because you were a stranger, but he didn’t.
He protected you and killed them in his own home.
It’s dangerous and he’s playing with fire. Bee is worried for him.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” I took a sip of my drink to wet my dry throat. While the mimosa had been tasty before, now it felt heavy in my stomach as I swallowed.
“Just . . . be careful. Sam’s adamant your uncle’s our next target, says he’s a cruel man who abused you. We’re happy to end him for you, but we need to be prepared and make sure there’s no connection to you.” She tilted her head and smiled. “We don’t want to see you in prison, either.”
“Me?” I licked my lips, chasing the taste of the mimosa. “Am I helping?”
She shrugged. “Ask him. He told us we’re doing it on Christmas Day because you were invited and your uncle will be on his own. Something about your mother working a double?”
I nodded. “She did say that.”
She raised her glass. “And so, on Christmas, he shall die. Lucky fella.”
Lucy left half an hour later, leaving me to my thoughts for another twenty minutes before the front door opened and Sam walked over the threshold.
He made loud clomping noises with his feet, as though he wanted to alert me he was home, and threw down his keys on a side table in the hallway.
I heard it all from where I sat in the living room, legs spread out across the couch with my new phone in my hand.
Sam had set me up with social media last night, and while I was shocked at how trusting he was, I wasn’t going to make him regret it. I made a fake profile and searched for people I knew, stalking their posts to discover what they’d done with their lives. And truly, it was all very boring.
The one good friend I’d had, Xavier, had married a girl he hated in high school. With each photo I came across, my smile got wider because he looked distressed. Good. When I’d left Gary’s house, I’d gone to Xavier asking for help, and all he did was tell me he couldn’t and sent me on my way.
I hoped he was suffering.
Then there was Melody. Sweet, pretty Melody. Looked like she had the two kids and a dog already, but even through the pictures, I noted the tortured expression on her face. She’d been another who’d turned her back on me, and I hoped she was in as much pain as Xavier.
Sam crouched behind me and looked over my shoulder, and I tilted my chin back, pleasantly surprised when he placed a kiss on my mouth.
I hummed and pointed at my phone. “That’s Xavier, my former best friend. He’s an asshole and married a woman he clearly hates. I love that for him.”
Sam chuckled and patted my shoulder, and I moved to sit up for a moment, giving him a chance to rest on the couch before I lay back down, laying my head on his thigh.
I came across another profile of someone I knew, though it looked like he wasn’t on it much.
Tyler. I’d met him on the streets. He was smart and I liked him, and the moment he’d heard there was an opening at a local shelter, he’d gone for it.
He’d asked me to come, but I’d brushed him off.
Clearly, he was doing okay, enough that he was able to have a social media presence.
Good for him. Out of all the people I’d met, he deserved it.
His half-scarred face stared back at me, and I smiled gently.
We’d bonded over shit relatives. While I had my uncle, he’d had his stepfather.
At least Gary had never been stupid enough to permanently injure me like Tyler’s cop stepdad had done to him.
A lot of people that started on the streets as a teen had a shitty guardian of some type. It’s how we ended up homeless in the first place.
Maybe one day we’d meet again when we were both in better places.
Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I grinned up at Sam. “How was work?”
He held out his hand and rocked it side to side.
“Like that, huh?”
He nodded, flashing me a wide smile. He ran his fingers through my hair, nails scraping pleasantly over my scalp. I moaned and closed my eyes, dropping my phone onto my stomach.
“I talked to Lucy today. She came over with lunch.” I peeked at him, the lie slipping out easily. I didn’t want him to know she’d been over for most of the day and why. “She told me that you called last night and told them we were planning on killing Gary.”
The corners of his mouth tightened and he shifted slightly, reaching into the pocket of his pants to pull out his notepad. He wrote on the paper before passing it to me.
He deserves it. So yeah, I told Lucy and Bee that. I asked you if you wanted him to die, you said yes. So, I’m putting the plan into action.
“How?” I asked in a small voice, raising my eyes to him. “Lucy said something about me being invited over there on Christmas Day? If Mom knew I was there, which would be the case, she’d blame me.”
He winked.
Not if we leave a message on his voicemail saying that you couldn’t make it.
I frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, but if I’m there, how would that work?”
He held up a finger and began to write. Fuck. The sooner I learned sign language, the better. It’d only been one day and my head was full of hand gestures Lucy promised me would be worth something in the future, but I couldn’t see how right now.
He showed me the notepad.
We prerecord a message and choose a time, an hour or so before you kill him, to leave it. Bee or Lucy could do it. You distract him from his phone and turn it off so that when it rings, it goes to messages.
It made sense. “So that’s my alibi? I didn’t show up because of something else.”
He nodded.
You were at the farm with me, Dalton, Lucy, and Bee. We’re your witnesses. It’ll be helpful, especially because Bee is a detective.
I gritted my teeth and sat up to look at him. “But that would put you and your family on the radar.”
He shrugged and smiled, and I hated that he seemed okay with this. I hadn’t been with him for long, but I’d watched Sam carefully. He was precise and tidy.
He had no more than three drinking glasses and four mugs in his cupboards and they all went to the same place every time he was done washing them.
Everything in his house had its spot and when it wasn’t where it should be, he’d get an irritated line creasing his forehead as he moved it back.
He liked schedules and plans, and every morning, he’d wake up at the same time—6:00 a.m.—shower for ten minutes, and then make coffee. He was organized and careful.
Putting himself in the line of fire wasn’t in his character, and if Bee was seriously worried about him . . . .
No. I couldn’t let him take the risk.
I shook my head. “Forget I said anything. I don’t want him dead.”
He grabbed my hand and smoothed a thumb over the back, frowning. His gaze said he knew what I was doing, though, and it was easy to melt under his passionate stare.
He released my hand to write.
You do. We will do it. I’ve done this before and you said you wanted to help, right?