Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
After taking the body out to the property where the barn stood, they fed it into an old incinerator to be destroyed. No ceremony. No hesitation. Just another mess that had to disappear.
Razor and Truck stepped out of the clothes they’d been wearing, tossing everything into a burn barrel to erase any trace of the scene.
When that was done, they were hosed down from head to toe, making damn sure nothing came back with them—not blood, not residue, not a single piece of evidence.
Truck grabbed a duffel from the back of his truck and tossed Razor a clean set of clothes and boots. “Sorry you had to burn your boots,” he said.
“Yeah, Razor muttered, catching them. “Me, too.” He glanced down, brow furrowing as he held one up. “Really?” He looked at Truck flatly. “Hiking boots?”
Truck snorted. “Hemlock never complains when he’s gotta wear a pair.”
“That’s Hemlock.” Razor shoved his feet into them anyway. “Man’s got no style.”
Truck laughed as he dressed, tugging on a clean pair of jeans. “You’re girl’s alive. I’d call that a win and let the boots slide.”
Razor nodded as he dressed, Truck had a good point.
* * *
Slipping into the room, Razor moved carefully, trying not to wake Lottie. But when he turned toward the bed, he found her propped against the pillows, fast asleep.
Quietly, he kicked off his boots and stripped out of his clothes, setting everything off to the side before climbing into bed. Pulling the blanket over them, he reached for her, giving her a gentle tug. Her eyes fluttered open.
“C’mere,” he murmured, opening his arms where she could curl into him.
Lottie shifted toward him automatically, settling into the space he made for her. The second she moved close, Razor wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest.
It was almost too close, to tight. Like he needed proof she was still breathing.
“You okay?” she mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah.”
The lie sat between them. Lottie stayed quiet for a minute, listening. His breathing was off. Slowly, she tipped her head back enough to look at him. The soft glow from the lamp spilled across the bed, catching the hard line of his jaw.
“You’re not okay.”
Razor stared at the ceiling for a long moment before scrubbing a hand over his face. “I keep seeing it.”
Her stomach tightened. “Seeing what?”
His jaw flexed. “Walking through the door.” His voice came out rough, scraped raw around the edges. “Seeing her standing over you with that gun.”
Lottie stayed still, not wanting to interrupt him.
“I was almost too damn late,” he muttered.
“You weren’t,” she reminded him.
“I heard the shot as I was headed up the stairs.” His arm tightened around her unconsciously. “Thought I lost you.”
The confession settled heavy, raw, unfiltered. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Lottie shifted carefully, ignoring the ache in her face she pressed closer, resting a hand against his chest. “But you didn’t,” she said quietly.
Razor let out a humorless breath. “Doesn’t change the fact I put a bullet in someone tonight. I’m supposed to save people not kill them.”
Lottie was quiet for a second before brushing her fingers lightly against his ribs. “You saved me.”
His throat worked. “Still killed somebody,” he whispered against her head. “I don’t regret it.” He finally looked at her then, something unsettled moving behind his eyes.
“You killed someone who was about to kill me,” she reminded him.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you,” he admitted in the quiet of the room.
Lottie reached up, brushing her fingers through his short hair. “You didn’t,” she whispered. “I’m still here.”
For the first time since climbing into bed, some of the tension left his body. Enough that when she settled back against him, Razor dropped his face into her hair and held her tighter.
After a few minutes, his hand drifted carefully to her face, thumb brushing lightly beneath the swelling around her eye.
“Hell of a bruise,” he muttered, voice low.
Lottie huffed a tired laugh. “You saying I look terrible?”
His mouth twitched. “Baby,” he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead, “you could look like you lost a bar fight with a freight train and still be the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
A sleepy smile tugged at her mouth. “That’s quiet the vision.
Razor leaned down and kissed her forehead first. Then her temple. Then her mouth, slow this time, lingering. Slow, lingering, nothing desperate about it. Just relief.
When he pulled back, he tucked her closer, one hand resting against her back while the other stayed tangled with hers beneath the blanket. “Get some sleep,” he murmured into her hair.
“You need to get some sleep, too.”
“Eventually, I just wanna watch you for a little while longer.”
Lottie shifted until she could rest her head over his heart. “You should sleep,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Something in him eased. He pressed one last kiss to the top of her head, holding her a little tighter as the room finally settled around them. And sometime before dawn, with her breathing slow and steady against his chest, Razor finally let himself sleep.
THE END