Chapter 36
Ramsey
I've got blood under my fingernails and a body in my truck bed. Not exactly how I planned to spend my night, but ya know here we are.
My knuckles are white on the steering wheel as I scan the street for the hundredth time. Where the fuck is she? Reese should've rounded that corner five minutes ago. Every second she's out there alone, my skin crawls like there's fucking ants underneath it.
I check my watch again. Six minutes now.
"Fuck this," I mutter, reaching for the door handle when movement catches my eye.
There she is. Walking down the sidewalk like she didn't just cave some ballerina's skull in. My little fucking psychopath.
My dick's been half-hard since I walked in on her straddling that blonde bitch, hands slick with blood, eyes wild.
Never in a million years would I have expected Reese—my Reese—to snap like that.
All those years protecting her, thinking she was this fragile thing that needed sheltering, and then she goes and beats someone to death with her bare hands.
For me.
She said it was for me.
The thought makes me throb against my zipper. It's fucked up. I know it's fucked up. But seeing her like that, unleashed and violent, it's like she finally showed me the part of her that matches the darkness in me.
She slides into the passenger seat, cheeks flushed from the cold night air. "Hey."
"Hey? That's all you've got? Fucking 'hey'?" I snap, relief making me irritable.
She rolls her eyes. "What do you want me to say? Sorry I'm late for our body disposal date?"
I put the truck in drive, pulling away from the curb. "Yes. I was worried."
"I had to walk slow," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, for the cameras. Make it look normal."
I grunt in acknowledgment, impressed despite myself. She's thinking like a criminal already.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, the weight of what we're doing settling between us. I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She's staring out the window, oddly calm, like we're on a fucking road trip instead of a murder cleanup.
"You okay?" I finally ask.
She turns to me, those hazel eyes meeting mine. "You're the one with a body in your truck."
"I've had worse cargo," I say without thinking.
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Jesus, Ramsey."
I shrug. It's not like I can take it back now. "You should be freaking out more."
A small laugh escapes her throat. "Maybe I'm in shock."
"Or maybe you're just as fucked in the head as I am," I say, shooting her a sideways glance. "Which is fucking terrifying, by the way."
"Why? Scared I'll murder you in your sleep?" She's smirking now, the little shit.
"No, because if you're this calm about murder, I've wasted years protecting you from shit you could clearly handle yourself."
Reese stretches in her seat, and my eyes drop to where my hoodie rides up her thigh. Even with a body in the back, I can't stop thinking about getting between those legs.
"I don't know if I'm calm," she says, running a hand through her hair. "I just...don't feel bad. She deserved it. She was talking shit about you."
"So you said." I grip the steering wheel tighter. "What exactly did she say that made you decide to bash her fucking brains in?"
"That you fuck anything that moves. That you're weak and demonic or some shit." Her voice gets quieter. "Called you diseased."
My jaw clenches. "And that made you snap?"
"No one talks about you like that," she says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Not to me."
Christ, my dick gets harder every time she says shit like that. I shift in my seat, adjusting myself. Her eyes track the movement, and a flush creeps up her neck.
"So," she says, clearing her throat. "Where are we taking her?"
"Somewhere she'll never be found."
We drive for another twenty minutes, the city lights fading behind us as we hit the industrial outskirts. I take a series of turns down progressively shittier roads until we pull up to a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
Reese peers through the windshield. "A junkyard? Seriously?"
"You got a problem with my disposal site?" I ask, punching a code into the keypad at the gate. "We could always drive out to one of my family's old properties in the woods, dig a six-foot hole, and drop her off there. But that's less time for you to make it up to me."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Make it up to you?"
"For making me miss the chance to bend you over my tailgate." I smirk as the gate slides open. "Besides, West always does it right."
"West?" She frowns. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
I drive through the gate, following a dirt path between mountains of crushed cars and industrial waste. "He was Penn's favorite little cocksucker before your sister stole his heart and his balls."
"Oh, Weston?" Reese's eyes light up with recognition. "I knew the name sounded familiar. I didn’t realize he ran a junkyard."
"He doesn't work here. He owns it."
I honk twice, then cut the engine. The door to the building swings open, and West fucking saunters out like he's on a runway instead of standing in a pile of industrial garbage.
"Oh my god," Reese whispers beside me. "No one ever said he was a hot cowboy."
My head snaps toward her so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. West is walking toward us in his dark blue jeans, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing off his forearms, and that stupid fucking cowboy hat he insists on wearing everywhere.
"Put your eyeballs away," I growl at Reese. "He's not hot."
West reaches my window just as I roll it down, leaning his forearms on the frame and tipping his hat back to reveal a face that too many women have called handsome.
"Who's not hot?" he drawls, his eyes sliding from me to Reese. "Cause all I'm seeing is two hotties in this old fuck-ass truck." He tips his hat at Reese. "Ma'am."
"Don't 'ma'am' her," I snap. "And don't look at her like that either."
"Like what?" West asks innocently, but the fucker's smirking.
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth might crack. "I will fucking kill you myself, Holliday. Keep your eyes, hands, and literally your breath away from my woman. We've got a package for you."
West's eyes flick to the tarp in my truck bed, then back to me. His smile doesn't falter. "I can see that. And who's your pretty friend?"
"None of your business except she’s mine. Now, grab the bitch out of the back and dispose of her. She’s barely hanging on I think. She might have already bit the bullet."
Weston tips his hat back at Reese, and I swear to god I’m about to get out of this truck and throw him into the compactor with the other one at this rate.
I fucking knew bringing her here was going to cause my blood pressure to rise exponentially.
An hour later, I'm finally shoving my key into our door, Reese following in behind me.
West took care of the body without asking too many questions, though he couldn't stop staring at Reese like she was some kind of exotic animal.
Every time he called her little lady or darlin' in that fake-ass drawl, I wanted to rip his throat out.
The door slams behind us, and I'm already pulling Reese toward our bathroom, my fingers tugging at the hem of my hoodie she's wearing.
"Off," I growl, yanking it up and over her head. Her hair falls in a messy curtain around her shoulders, and she blinks up at me, lips parted.
"Demanding much?" she says, but she's smiling as she reaches for the waistband of her leggings, shimmying them down her hips.
I strip off my own shirt, tossing it aside. "Gotta get every bit of evidence off you," I say, nodding toward the flecks of dried crimson on her collarbone, her neck, even caught in her hair.
I kick off my jeans and underwear in one go, not missing how her eyes drop to my cock, still half-hard. "Shower."
She rolls her eyes but obeys, stepping out of her panties and pulling her sports bra off. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her naked body like it always does. All the lean muscle and soft curves that I've been fucking dreaming about for years.
I turn on the water, adjusting the temperature before pulling her in with me. The spray hits us both, and I watch as rivulets of pink-tinged water swirl down the drain. Blood washing away, evidence disappearing.
"You’re being awfully bossy," she says, tilting her head back to wet her hair.
I reach for the shampoo, squeezing a dollop into my palm. "Turn around," I order, and she does, presenting her back to me. I work the shampoo into her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp. "I'm always bossy. You're just usually too stubborn to listen."
She hums, leaning into my touch. "That feels amazing."
"Tilt your head back," I say, guiding her under the spray to rinse. The suds slide down her back, over the curve of her ass. I grab my net sponge and pour body wash onto it.
"Arms up," I command, and she raises them above her head, stretching like a cat.
I start with her shoulders, scrubbing in circles, watching as foam builds on her skin.
I work the sponge lower, watching suds cascade down the curve of her back. It's hypnotizing—the way the soap slides across her skin, revealing inch after inch of perfection. My cock stiffens fully as I trace the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips.
"Look at you," I murmur, running the sponge down her arms. "My little killer all covered in soap instead of blood."
She glances over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. "Little killer? Is that my new nickname?"
"Fits, doesn't it?" I kneel behind her, working the sponge over the backs of her thighs. "Never seen anything sexier than you straddling that bitch, hands in her hair."
Reese laughs, a sound that bounces off the shower walls. "You're so fucked up, Ramsey."
"You're just figuring that out now?" I squeeze more body wash onto the sponge, working it in circles over the perfect curve of her ass. "Turn around."