Chapter Sixteen
Happy Endings For Everyone
Charlotte
I rock back and forth on my heels, grinning up at Silas.
He's standing beside me looking like he’s about to have an aneurysm, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at his uptight expression.
The old light flickers above us on my mom's back porch, casting shadows across his face that make his scowl even more dramatic as he clutches the bucket of fried chicken.
"Was this really necessary?" His jaw ticks in that familiar way I've come to recognize as his 'I'm trying really hard not to lose my patience' tell.
"Yeah, you know, the whole last meal thing." I innocently shrug my shoulders.
"Jesus Christ." He closes his eyes and tips his head back, the muscle in his jaw twitching again as he exhales slowly through his nose.
I can practically see him counting to ten in his head, but that only makes this whole situation more amusing to me.
"That's in prison, Char. You don't bring a bucket of chicken and fucking biscuits to kill someone. "
"How am I supposed to know bringing dinner isn't standard procedure?
" I pretend to be serious, watching his expression grow increasingly exasperated.
"Maybe if someone would have just agreed to teach me instead of making me jump through hoops like I'm trying out for the Olympic murder team, you could have covered proper etiquette by now.
Really, when you think about it, this whole thing is entirely your fault. "
"I'm in hell," he mutters, staring up at the moth-covered porch light like it might offer him some kind of salvation. "That's the only explanation. I must have died somewhere along the way without realizing it and woken up in my own personal hell with the Kentucky Fried Killer."
"Don't be so dramatic," I chide, deliberately rustling through the plastic bag dangling from his other hand. The familiar smell of warm biscuits wafts up, making my stomach growl. "Did they remember to put jelly in the bag? Biscuits are so good with jelly on them."
"I cannot believe I'm actually having this conversation. Stop digging in the bag. You're not actually eating any of this." He shifts the bag to his other hand.
"Oh yes I am, I'm hungry." I pull a packet of grape jelly from the bag before it's out of my reach. "Ta-da! Besides, what's the point of bringing food if we're not going to eat it?"
"There isn't supposed to be a point because we weren't supposed to bring food!" His whisper comes out as a harsh, frustrated hiss, his breath warm against my ear as he leans closer. "This isn't a goddamn picnic. We're here for a very specific reason, and it doesn't involve a family dinner."
"Hey, you get to deliver your justice any way you want.
With your perfect little crime scenes and fancy plans.
" I wave the jelly packet in front of his face teasingly, watching his whiskey-colored eyes track the movement.
"You said this was my show, so that means I get to deliver my justice however I want.
Mine just happens to come with eleven different herbs and spices, a side of coleslaw, and some of those honey butter biscuits you pretend not to like but always finish first."
He lets out a long-suffering sigh that sounds more like a growl, but I catch the slight upturn of his lips.
He's trying not to show he is actually amused by me.
His fingers drum against the side of the cardboard bucket as he shakes his head.
"You really are going to be the death of me, you know that? "
"Nah, that's impossible." I reach up and straighten the collar of his navy dress shirt, letting my fingers linger. "This is hell, remember? You're already dead."
"Last chance to back out," he whispers.
I shake my head. "Not a chance." I gesture to the chicken. "I’m starving."
He opens his mouth to respond but freezes as we hear movement inside the house.
"Show time," I whisper, holding up the bag with the liquor inside. "Want to rock-paper-scissors for who gets to give her the first drink?"
"I hate you so much right now," he deadpans.
"No, you don't." I flash him my sweetest smile. "You bought me chicken."
The lock clicks and Silas mutters under his breath, "Next time, I'm working alone."
The door creaks open, and my mother's gaunt face peaks through the opening. Her expression shifts from annoyance to confusion when her eyes land on me, her daughter who she was never expecting to come back standing on her porch with fast food at almost midnight.
"Charlotte? Why the hell are—"
"Hi, Mom, bet you didn't expect to see me again," I chirp, snatching the bucket from Silas's hands. "Hope you're hungry. We brought dinner."
Silas lets out a sigh behind me, as I push past my mother into the house. I hear him mutter under his breath following me through the house and into the kitchen, "This is not how I pictured this going."
"Life's full of surprises," I whisper back over my shoulder.
"Like finding out your mother traded you to pay off a drug debt. Or meeting a serial killer with OCD and impossibly high standards.” I pull a biscuit out of one of the boxes and a few of the little condiment packets from the bottom of the bag, “Or discovering that delivering justice tastes better with a thick layer of jelly on it. You just have to roll with it.”
“What are you doing here?" My mother's dry, raspy voice carries from the hallway before she walks into the kitchen.
The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling on exposed electrical wire highlights the track marks on her arms. "You've been gone for months.
Heard you took off with Corey to be his little whore.
" The words slither out between her cracked lips, dripping with the same venom she's always reserved just for me.
I feel Silas tense beside me, his muscles coiling like a predator ready to strike.
Without looking, I reach out and grab his forearm, my fingers wrapping around the spot where I know his scales of justice tattoo is inked on his skin.
The irony isn't lost on me. Here I am, restraining a killer who wants nothing more than to go to war for me.
When months ago, living in this house, I would have given anything for someone to stand up for me and help me.
I can practically feel the rage at her comment rolling off of him; we both know exactly how I ended up in Corey's clutches.
I meet her bloodshot eyes, refusing to flinch away and cower like I used to at her words.
I give her the sweetest smile I can manage, "Well, Mom, that didn't work out too well for Corey, did it?
" I catch the slight widening of her eyes at my words then continue unpacking everything from the bags we carried in.
"I'm sure you know that since you're his best customer.
What a shame that you had to find a new dealer recently. "
She falls silent for a minute before changing the subject. "That still doesn't explain why you're darkening my doorstep now." Her words slur slightly, her eyes dart back and forth between Silas and me like we are a riddle she can't quite solve.
"I heard through the grapevine you were moving soon," I say, keeping my voice light and casual even though my heart is thundering in my chest. "I didn't want to miss my chance to say goodbye properly and introduce you to my boyfriend.
" I slide under Silas's arm, pressing myself against his body and wrapping my arms around his waist. I can feel the tension in every muscle under my fingertips.
I know letting me do this my way and handle the situation with my mother is taking every ounce of self-control he possesses.
To my surprise, Silas's arm wraps around me protectively, his large hand coming to rest on my hip with a possessive grip that is both gentle and firm, making me feel safe in a home where I never thought having a feeling like that was possible.
His thumb traces small circles against my skin, a gesture that could seem loving to an observer, but I know is actually him distracting himself, keeping his darker impulses in check.
"Your boyfriend?" she repeats slowly like she doesn't believe a thing I just said. She sways slightly and the familiar scent of cheap vodka and cigarettes wafts toward us.
"Yes," Silas’s deep voice states matter-of-factly before I can respond. "Her boyfriend." His grip tightens on my hip as he pulls me closer against him, subtly positioning himself so that his body shields most of mine from her view. "Is that a problem?"
"You just seem a little high class to be with someone like that.
" She sneers, giving me a dismissive once-over.
The same look she's given me my entire life, like I'm something disgusting she found stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
Her yellowed fingers clutch the doorframe as her gaze rakes over Silas's expensive clothes and perfectly styled hair.
"Someone like what?" His voice drops dangerously low, but I squeeze his arm before he can say more.
"A cheap little slut that shakes her tits and plays with herself for anyone willing to throw a dollar her way on the internet.
" She says each word with vicious satisfaction; her glazed over eyes locked on mine as her thin lips curl into a cruel smile.
She thinks she is so clever, exposing what she believes is my dirty secret.
Dropping a bomb that will send Silas running.
The smug look on her face says she's certain he'll want nothing to do with me once he knows about the cam work .
"You're right, Mom. He is a real classy guy and a very respected detective in the sheriff's department.
" I keep my voice sweet as honey while reaching for the bottle of vodka we brought and a paper cup.
"He's way too good for someone like me. But here's the funny thing, he knows exactly what I am and what I have done.
And more importantly, he knows exactly what you are too. "