KADE
6
I’d been reluctant to leave Sage at her ranch house, sensing she didn’t want to be there any more than I wanted to leave her. Every cell of my body wanted to stay and keep an eye on the bruised wildflower, but knowing the extent of damage control to be done, I forced myself to put Sage—and the incessant need to protect her—to the back of my mind.
Daylight is approaching fast. I need to cover my tracks, preferably without any witnesses if I want to avoid raising suspicion that I had anything to do with Toby’s disappearance. I made a quick pit stop back home to gather a few supplies, and while I was there, opted to swap out my new truck for the sunburnt Chevy Silverado we use as our ranch vehicle. It’s a rust bucket on wheels, banged up from years of abuse from hauling feed or transporting dead livestock. That makes it the perfect hearse for a pig like Johnson.
Gotta get that fucker outta his house and clean up any evidence of my misdeed. For the second time in a matter of hours, I find myself dodging potholes and kicking up the dust along the grass-centered lane that leads to Toby’s cabin. Not what I want to be doing at nearly four in the morning, but fuck it. And I don’t even have the comfort of my F-350, so my bones rattle against the bench seat of the Chevy that had once been my dad’s pride and joy.
Before long, I turn into Toby’s drive, back up as close to the porch steps as possible, and turn off the ignition. I play with the medallion in my hand, teasing it through my fingers over and over again, as I formulate a plan with one overriding thought. Make this fucking quick, Kade.
At ease with my course of action, I slide the chip into my front pocket and pull a pair of latex gloves over my callused hands. Forcing myself to relax, I exhale steadily, then exit the cab, ready to take care of the mess I left behind earlier.
The horizon is lit with orange bands of light signaling the awakening of the morning sun, and it prompts me to pick up my pace. It won’t be long until the local farmers get out of bed for their day’s work. I may be new to this whole murder thing, but I sure as fuck know enough to realize I need to be as far away from Toby’s so no one has a chance of spotting me or the Black River Ranch truck .
I make my way toward the back of the Chevy to collect the tarp and the bungee cords I’d tossed in the bed. Lowering the tailgate, I grab my supplies and hike them over my shoulder. Once I have what I need, my feet retrace their earlier path up the creaky porch steps, and I let myself inside. Everything looks exactly as I left it, but the scent of scalded flesh pollutes the air with a rancid stench. My face contorts into scrunched disgust as I scan the room. When my eyes fall to a slumped Toby, my lips quirk into a sadistic smile as I announce, “Honey… I’m home.”
An eerie silence greets me, knowing full well he can’t hear me in hell. Walking further into the space, I kick the door closed behind me and set the tarp and bungee cords down next to the couch. I run through my mental to-do list, and when my gaze catches on an empty beer case discarded by the door —perfect —I decide to get started by gathering up anything I think may belong to Sage.
Box in hand, I head toward the bathroom first. Within a few seconds, the handful of feminine products and toiletries that Sage had left behind are collected, and I move on to Toby’s makeshift bedroom. Starting with the dresser, I tease open the top drawer and rifle through the contents. When I find nothing but Toby’s things, a new thought enters my head. I stop my search, place the box on the bed, and survey the room for an overnight bag. It takes me a few minutes to locate one under the bed, but once I do, I toss a few of Toby’s clothes and toiletries into it. I need to make his sudden disappearance look like he just took off in the middle of the night after the public argument with his girlfriend.
Next, I rummage through the nightstands. The one on the left side of the bed is full of feminine things—a pair of tiny silk pj’s, a few clean pairs of lacy underwear and matching bra tops, and a book with a shirtless dude on the cover. As I toss everything—except for a hot-pink thong that I keep for myself—into the delegated box, I pray all this belongs to Sage and not some buckle bunny he’d been fucking. When I have that nightstand all but emptied, I round the bed and do the same on the other side, only this time I deposit a few of the findings into Toby’s bag instead. Spying his wallet and a phone charger plugged into the outlet, I tuck those in with his other belongings. Those are definitely coming with me. He wouldn’t have left without them. If I’m going to make this look believable, I need all the essentials he’d normally take if he were heading out on the road for a while.
“If I were Toby’s phone, where would I be?” My eyes fall to the messy bed, and I search through the pile of sheets, looking under the thin quilt, before I finally find what I’m looking for between two pillows. Phone in hand, I slide my latex-covered finger across the lock screen only to be greeted by thumbprint protection. Motherfucker. Spinning in place, I stalk toward Johnson. “Toby, I’m going to need your assistance for this. Suppose it’s a good thing you’re not an iPhone user because facial recognition is not an option, my friend.”
In a few strides, I cross the room to his slumped frame. He’s still perched on the chair where I left him, face resting against the stove. His arm is like a dead weight. Lifting it, I guide his thumb onto the phone screen and gain the access I need. It takes me no time at all to find the messages app, and once I’m in, Sage’s name is at the top.
As I read back over the last few texts he sent her, the anger I felt earlier barrels to the forefront of my mind. Craning my neck, my gaze sweeps over the piece of shit next to me. “Shame you’re already dead, ’cause I have the sudden urge to kill you all over again.”
I take my time, rereading the past messages he sent, watching for subtle turns of phrase or abbreviations he’d use. Satisfied I can pretend to be this dumbfuck, I tap against the text bar at the bottom and set the next step of my plan in motion.
I bombard her with text after text.
I’m sorry, baby.
Please don’t be mad at me.
I shouldn’t have touched you like that.
I was wrong for ever putting my hands on you.
But I was so mad about you disrespecting me in front of everyone .
I pause for a second to consider how I want to handle the situation of my earlier visit. Implicating myself further is a bad idea, so I opt to avoid it altogether, hoping Toby’s narcissistic gaslighting shines through enough that Sage does not question his avoidance of the little visit I paid him.
I’m really sorry, baby.
You know how much I love you.
One day, I will make it up to you.
I’m gonna go to California to visit some friends, give you some space.
One of my rodeo buddies is gonna drop me off at the bus station but before I go, I’ve packed up some of your things I thought you might want while I’m gone.
I’ll swing by the ranch on my way out and leave them on the doorstep for you.
I will make this up to you, baby.
Not today, but someday.
I’ll get help, I promise.
Feeling nauseous at the level of love bombing being delivered, I finally decide I’ve done enough to make Sage believe Toby took off of his own accord. I switch off the cell phone before I slide it into my back pocket and return to the task at hand.
It takes me a few minutes to load Toby’s and Sage’s belongings onto the bench seat of the Chevy, and when I’m satisfied with everything, I head back inside and set about removing the trash.
I cover an area of the floor with a large sheet of tarp, then extract the knife from my belt sheath and release Toby from his binds. He’s been dead for a little over two hours now, so even though his limbs have stiffened somewhat, rigor mortis hasn’t set in fully, making him easier to move than I’d thought.
Taking hold of the remnants of the plastic bag, I peel Toby’s face from the hot iron with a squelch. “Oopsie. Looks like you lost half your face. Thanks a lot. Do you have any idea how much of a bitch that’s gonna be to clean up? Even dead you’re a pain in my ass.”
Once I have him upright in the chair, I grasp the back and tip it forward, dumping him onto the tarp. He lands with a satisfying thud. With the toe of my boot, I shove him to the middle.
Now that he’s situated, I rearrange his posture by tucking his arms into his sides. With his legs straightened out, I roll him up, then secure the bungee cords around the outer layer to keep everything in place. “Snug as a bug in a rug.” I pause, smiling to myself. “No. A pig in a blanket.”
Unwilling to leave a single scrap of evidence behind, I head toward the kitchenette in search of some cleaning supplies. Bleach in hand, it takes me a little over an hour to scrub the cabin clean of any trace of my presence… and that includes scraping the remnants of Johnson’s face off the stove top. When everything is back to pristine condition, I discard the cloth into the fire to burn, destroying any DNA. Finally, I pull Toby’s phone out of my pocket and set about removing the SIM card. Flicking it into the flames, I watch it melt and curl into something unrecognizable. I figure I’ll get rid of the phone with his body, so I tuck it back into my pocket before peeling off the disposable gloves and tossing them into the wood stove.
Satisfied with the job, I hoist Toby’s lifeless corpse up and over my shoulder and carry him to my truck. I’m less than gentle when I toss him into the Chevy’s bed with a thump. But who cares, the motherfucker doesn’t deserve gentleness after the way he touched Sage. Slamming the tailgate, I conceal Toby by hiding him with the canvas bed cover. “Time for your final road trip, Johnson.”