Chapter Nine
Kira
Marshal’s lifeless hand swings loosely behind Jax’s back as he strides through the hills like he’s hauling lumber.
The ease with which he carries the body is both impressive and unsettling, and I have no idea how he’s doing it.
I’m drenched in a cold sweat, my throat raw from breathing so hard, and I’m only carrying the shovel.
Nix and Caleb don’t look much better—pink-cheeked and panting—but at least they’re not climbing on all fours like I am.
I’m using my hands to catch myself every other step.
It’s not lost on me that the ground is dry and hard and that I might have to rest before I can dig.
But I don’t complain. I know that the farther we go, the better our chances of Marshal never being found.
But fuck if I’m not regretting skipping that heated car-seat nap Caleb told me to take.
The part I can’t wrap my head around, though, is how we got here.
I don’t know what happened in the minutes I was passed out for Jax to go from pointing a gun at me and threatening to kill us to carrying the body for us, but I loathe to say I’m grateful.
I probably won’t feel the same tomorrow, but right now, I need all the help I can get.
I haven’t seen Jax in years. Cloverwick isn’t the smallest town, even if it’s just an hour’s drive from New York City, but I definitely would have noticed him.
How could I not? He’s everything you’d never find around here—jacked, inked, built like he’s carved from volcanic rock.
No shade to the never-made-it-out townies—because I am one—but Cloverwick doesn’t have anything close to the dark god who’s carrying a body through the woods like it weighs nothing.
He had to have been in the city, committing all sorts of criminal activity if his ease with a body is any indication.
After what feels like hours, but can’t be more than half of one, Jax finally stops.
With a careless motion, he dumps Marshal onto the ground like he’s a sack of bricks.
The clearing is more open here, as opposed to the dense foliage we trekked through, and moonlight slices through the branches to bathe us in a silvery glow.
It’s too bright for comfort, and with all our steps halted, my breathing takes up the silence.
Embarrassed, I swallow, trying not to seem like I’ve been struggling, and plant the shovel into the dirt to lean on.
My hair is plastered to my forehead, and when I push it back, my gritty fingers smear dirt across my skin.
I realize it too late but shrug it off. This isn’t a beauty pageant.
I just hiked two miles through hell, and I don’t care what Jax thinks of me.
“What the fuck is that?” He scowls at my shovel when he turns around.
God, he doesn’t even have a hair out of place. Show-off.
I blink. “What’s it look like?”
“It looks like you carried an extra five pounds for no reason.”
“No reason?” I snap, trying to straighten despite the ache in my back. “Are you planning to dig a grave with your bare hands?” I scoff, though I wouldn’t put it past him.
“No.” His eyes gleam as he grabs a canister I hadn’t noticed from Caleb. “I’m going to light a match.” His gaze shifts back to Caleb, his tone sharp. “Why’d you let her carry that up here?”
“She…” Caleb falters, glancing at me apologetically. “I thought it would make her feel better.”
“To carry something after having a heart attack…” Jax deadpans.
“No,” Caleb groans, dragging a hand over his face. “I just—she’s really attached to the idea of burying him,” he tries to whisper. “I didn’t want to upset her.”
“Upset me?!” My voice rises, but Jax doesn’t even glance my way.
“So you were afraid of her?” He keeps his focus on Caleb.
Caleb’s cheeks turn pink, and he looks at his shoes. “A little,” he mutters under his breath.
Jax’s gaze flicks between Nix and me, clearly comparing us. But the moment his attention snags on my hospital band, still snug around my wrist, I know where this is going. His smirk unfurls slowly, a maddening expression that makes my grip tighten on the shovel.
“I don’t think you need to be afraid of her right now,” he drawls just enough to make the statement even more condescending.
I roll my eyes and glance at Nix, hoping for backup. But the little traitor avoids my gaze, biting her lip like she’s fighting not to laugh.
“Bitch,” I hiss.
“Sorry,” she whines. “But you look like we might have to dig two graves.”
“Thanks,” I huff.
Not like I’m the one who left the safety of a hospital bed to help cover up her murder or anything. But by all means, let her side with the guy who had a gun to my head an hour ago.
Jax’s chuckle rumbles low, and my teeth grind. If I had any energy left, I’d clunk this shovel over his head just to shut him up.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I grumble.
“Unwrap him,” Jax orders, nodding toward Caleb.
“What?” My voice cracks, my breath catching in my throat. “No. We’ll just bury him in the blanket.”
“Did you miss the part about burning him?” His tone drips with impatience as he shakes the canister in his hand, the faint slosh of gasoline making my stomach churn. “We need to make sure he doesn’t have anything on him that won’t burn.”
“I…” My thoughts scatter, my mind racing for a valid excuse. “I don’t think we should light him on fire.”
Finding Marshal dead was one thing—horrifying, but manageable. Dragging his body out here was another, a line I had to reluctantly cross. But setting him on fire? Turning him into a human pyre? My stomach clenches painfully, nausea creeping up my throat.
Jax doesn’t miss a beat. “Good thing what you think doesn’t matter.”
My bottom lip falls, and I quickly snap it up. “I’m sorry, but this is my body, and I get to decide what we do with it.”
The lunacy of that statement isn’t lost on me, but I don’t back down.
Gripping the shovel, I pick it up and drive it into the dirt with more force than necessary, frustration bubbling to the surface.
The nerve of him to swoop in and take charge, like he’s some kind of authority on disposal methods.
Not to mention I don’t want Nix to have to watch a body burn.
She’s still young, still impressionable, even if she did just kill a guy. But that’s beside the point.
I barely manage a few pitiful scoops of dirt before the shovel is yanked from my hands. “Hey—”
Jax grabs me by the arm. In a blur, my back hits the rough bark of a tree, the cold snap of the night pressing into my spine. His towering frame looms over me, his voice low and edged with menace. “Have you ever killed anyone before?”
“No, but I—”
“Have you ever gotten rid of anyone before?” His eyes lock onto mine, blazing with something that should frighten me.
“No, but—”
“Do you have a master’s in forensic sciences?” His words come sharp and unyielding, slicing through my attempt to answer.
I snap my mouth shut, teeth grinding together. It’s clear he’s not interested in letting me answer. And I also don’t want him to think the rattle in my voice is from his proximity.
“Because I have killed,” he says, the words calm but laced with a cold certainty that prickles down my spine.
“I have gotten rid of bodies. And I do have a master’s in forensic sciences.
So when I tell you that unless you burn this body, you’ll spend the rest of your life rotting behind bars, I’m not fucking around. ”
I wrench my arm free from his grasp, his touch more irritating than painful, and glare up at him. “I thought you studied to be a lawyer.”
The moment the words leave my lips, I realize my mistake. His smirk unfurls slowly, that infuriating dimple making an appearance as he plants a hand on the tree above me. He leans in, his cocky confidence radiating its own heat.
“So…” he tilts his head, the mocking lilt in his voice impossible to miss, “you do remember me.”
“Ugh!” My hands find his chest, shoving him back with all the force I can muster. “Just burn the fucking thing.”