Chapter 23 There goes my life
THERE GOES MY LIFE
LEXI
Pierce looks down at me expectantly, like this should be an easy move to get us out of this situation. What he doesn’t know is that those files are the culmination of everything I’ve gone through in the last six years; I can’t just hand them over.
Even if I do, this man isn’t dumb enough to think it’ll be the only copy—they’re not.
I do have a copy here in the house, hidden in one of the many hiding spots Harlow left behind, but there’s another set at Silas’s, and another in a lock box downtown at the bank, and those are just the physical copies.
Call me paranoid, but I always knew this was a possibility. One doesn’t put the pieces together I have without creating a chip on their shoulder. I just never expected Evan to be clever enough to catch on and tell his father what I’d done.
“Come on, baby. Just tell me, and we can end this.”
I can’t help the slight shake of my head. It’s a reflex, my internal war pouring free. “I can’t, Pierce.” I choke on the words and the sting of the blade knicking my flesh.
A sharp line carves itself into his jaw as rage tightens his face at my pain.
Another crash and clatter crawls down the hall, making me flinch. The prospect of my stash being discovered seems more of a possibility with that glint in Pierce’s eye. The chaos in the other room shifts everyone’s attention for the slightest of seconds.
A gun goes off with a savage burst, deafening in its nearness. A brutal rip in the air that leaves my ears ringing, as the knife clatters to the ground and the man behind me slumps to the floor.
Pierce rounds on the mayor, protecting me like a human shield as the rushing of footsteps rounds the corner, only to be met with the second and third rounds of Pierce’s weapon.
My hands shake. My stomach roils, and I lean over, nearly avoiding my pants to throw up on my living room carpet. There are dead bodies in my house. Pierce just killed people in front of me. Not good people by any means, but killed them nonetheless.
He’s stock-still in front of me like a statue standing sentinel between me and the last threat in the house.
My mind whirls trying to make sense of what’s happening.
It’s hard to reconcile that the man who loses his shit when I get a tiny cut, just shot two men like this was any other Thursday for him.
“You can’t shoot me, I’m the May—”
The supercilious asshole’s words are cut off with another deafening pop that sounds throughout the small space. I don’t know how the neighbors haven’t called the cops. How there aren’t sirens wailing outside and police breaking down my front door.
Pierce pivots and drops to his knees in front of me, quickly cutting the zip ties from my ankles and moving to free my hands behind me.
The moment the pressure releases, I’m up and running for the bathroom. I’m going to be sick again.
As if two bodies weren’t bad enough, now there’s a third. A third that will be noticed missing and reported to the police, just like his son.
How could he do this to me? To us? It’s all going to end, and he’s going to go to prison. I’m going to have to raise our daughter on my own. I’ll have to sit down with her one day and explain that I loved her father, but he killed people and now he’s doing life in Huntsville for his crimes.
I slam the door shut behind me, but I know it won’t keep him out. My hands find the cool porcelain of the toilet, and my stomach contracts, gagging me on the vile taste of bile.
A warm hand rubs my back, and another piles my messy blonde locks up out of my face. I want to shove him away. But I’m helpless right now.
When I can finally peel myself away, Pierce hands me a wet washcloth and the small glass I keep next to the sink, full of water. The small ways he shows me he cares only hurt more now.
I let him help me from the ground, and when our eyes lock, mine well instantly with tears.
“Fuck, baby, come here.”
I don’t want to. I’m mad. I’m hurt. I’m so fucking confused, my brain can’t process anything more than his strong arms pulling me into his warm chest.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Lexi. This never should have happened. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
Raised voices sound from down the hall, and my blood turns to ice. This is it, the last moment before he’s hauled away in cuffs, and I lose the man I love for good.
My sobs only ratchet up from there, and Pierce’s hold tightens, his lips pressing against my hair. Soft soothing sounds try to calm me, but there’s no containing the emotions seizing my system.
“Hey, you good?”
It’s a quiet question, but that voice breaks through my panic. In the doorway, my brother takes us in with so much concern written across his weather-worn face, I collapse.
It’s not the police, not yet, at least. For another minute or two, I don’t have to face the reality beating down my door.
My body doesn’t hit the ground like I expect; instead, Pierce lifts me into his arms, pushing past my brother for my bedroom. He lays me down in bed like now’s the time for a nap, but after everything, I’m exhausted.
My body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I sink into the mattress.
The voices pick up again, Pierce sounding increasingly agitated and the other worried.
Their words don’t quite register, and the conversation fizzles out as my eyes get heavy.
Unconsciousness steals me away; maybe it’ll wash away the last twenty-four hours.
My body tilts and rolls. The movement jolts me awake, sending my heart thundering to life in my chest.
“Shh, it’s just me.” Harlow’s soft cadence is unexpected, but I’m glad it’s not Pierce right now as everything comes flooding back in.
I need space. I need time to process. But I still need to know what the hell is going on. I knocked out like someone stuck me with a blow dart sedative while dead bodies bled out on my hardwoods.
Dragging my sleep-heavy body from the depths of the covers, I sit against the headboard and turn to my best friend.
“You’re here.” My voice croaks, and my eyes stick from salty tears.
How long was I asleep?
“Pierce thought you could use a friendly face to wake up to. How are you handling everything?”
The scoff puffs past my lips. “Handling everything? Well, I threw up and basically passed out, so you could say I’m a regular Gemma Teller.” I throw her a look that conveys my honest feelings on the subject.
She laughs at my sarcasm and shakes her head.
“How long was I out?”
“A few hours. The guys got everything squared away. They’re just waiting for nightfall to move the bodies.”
I stiffen. How does she do it? Sounds so casual about everything, just like Pierce? Like it’s no big deal. I’m about to ask just that when my bedroom door swings open.
“Good, you’re awake.” His tone is gruff, and I’m not used to the jarring edge.
Pierce is soft for me. He might have a playful mean streak, but that’s all but faded now with our feelings on the table. This man, in the doorway, is someone my brain can’t perceive. His eyes are cold. His stance is rigid. Something more’s happened while I was out.
“We all need to talk. Come out to the living room.”
His command leaves little room for argument, especially when he turns on his heels and stomps down the hallway out of sight.
“Give me a couple of minutes to freshen up, and I’ll be out,” I tell Harlow, and she looks at me, her own unreadable thoughts etched on her beautiful face.
When I emerge begrudgingly into the living room, it looks like nothing happened. Some of the furniture is back in place. The bodies are somewhere, according to Harlow, but I can’t see them anywhere—that’s for the best. The blood’s been cleaned up, and I have a new carpet and accent chair.
There’s no way these three did all of that within a couple of hours, but they’re the only ones here now.
Pierce stands across the room with his back to me.
His eyes are cast out the front window, letting the darkening evening overtake the low light of the living room.
Silas is kicked back on the loveseat, like he’s over to catch up, but he’s busy with something on his phone.
Harlow’s the only one who moves when I step into the room. She brings me a mug, and the peppermint tea wafts up my nose, immediately relaxing my energy.
I make it two feet from the open seat I’m headed for when I spot the coffee table. The file folder is open, and the documents I spent years collecting are spread across the flat surface.
Dread eats through my stomach, and I stop dead in my tracks.