Chapter 42
RUE
My teeth chatter. My arms wrap around my body so tightly, I can’t breathe. I’m crushing my lungs.
Noah’s shoulders are flexed beneath the moonlight, his shirt discarded on the fence a few feet from the foot of the windmill and above my little menace’s body wrapped in the green blanket from my wrecked car.
What the hell is happening to my life?
This isn’t my house. I’ll probably never come back here, and I’m having to leave the body of my dog here. It’s so fucking wrong. And I’m so angry.
What was I thinking bringing him here? I should’ve left him with my mom. This was such a fucked-up thing to do.
“I’m so sorry, Bullet,” I whisper into the biting wind, my voice cracking under the weight of my own guilt.
Noah drives the shovel into the earth one last time, finishing the hole and turning to me. Sweat streaks down the side of his face, as his chest heaves from the physical exertion. “Are you ready, Rue?”
I swallow another sob and nod. “Yeah. I think so.”
Noah’s face remains expressionless as he takes a step toward the blanket. “Do you want me to…?”
“Yes,” I blink back the fresh tears. “Please.”
He ducks away from me and then scoops Bullet up in his arms. The thud of his boots is lost to the midnight breeze, and with a gentleness I’ve never seen from him, he places my dog into the hole.
“He was a good one and had a good few days here,” Noah says, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, Rue.” When he opens his eyes, they meet mine, and a tear slips down his cheek. “I wish he had made it the whole way.”
I wipe the fresh stream from my cheeks. “Me, too.”
He nods and then grabs the handle of the shovel. A flicker of pain hits his expression as he scoops the dirt and starts filling the grave.
“I can help,” I take a step forward.
He shakes his head. “I’ve got it, honey.”
I watch him in heavy silence until he finishes, smoothing the dirt over the small mound. He drops the shovel, his chest heaving. Sweat glistens across his back and shoulders despite the freezing temperature.
He grabs his shirt from the fence, pulling it over his head, and walks back to me.
He doesn’t say anything. He just wraps his good arm around my trembling shoulders and pulls me into his side. I bury my face in his chest, completely drained of tears, left with nothing but a hollow, scraping ache in my throat.
“I can’t believe it happened. Here, of all places. He never made it to Mexico with us.” I inhale the scent of Noah through his shirt, desperate to calm the storm inside of me. Bullet had been with me through everything.
“Let’s go inside,” Noah murmurs, his lips pressing to the crown of my head.
The walk back to the farmhouse feels like a march to the freaking gallows. When Noah pushes the back door open, and we step into the kitchen, I sniffle, my chest crushing inward. There’s no clicking of nails on the linoleum. There is no soft, rhythmic snoring from the living room rug.
The house feels entirely dead. And it’s not even my fucking house.
My knees buckle. I don’t even try to catch myself. I just sank toward the kitchen floor, the grief finally crushing whatever adrenaline was keeping me upright.
Everything is going wrong. I don’t want to leave Bullet here.
Noah catches me before I hit the linoleum. He sweeps me up into his arms, carrying me down the short hallway and into the spare bedroom. He sets me gently on the edge of the mattress, kneeling down in front of me in the dim light.
“Rue, look at me,” he says softly, his large, mud-stained hands cupping my face.
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “I shouldn't have brought him. If I had just left him in Moccasin Cove—”
“He would have spent the last week of his life wondering where you were,” Noah interrupts, his voice firm but gentle.
His thumbs brush the tear tracks from my cheeks.
“He died in your arms, Rue. That’s all he ever wanted.
You didn’t fail him. You gave him one hell of an adventure, and he spent the last few days chasing birds and grasshoppers and snuggling with his favorite person. ”
A broken sob escapes my lips, and I slump forward, resting my forehead against his shoulder. He holds me for a moment, his breath growing even and controlled. I cling to him before he pulls away.
“Here.” He gently pulls my dirty shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. He replaces it with one of the clean, oversized gray t-shirts from his duffle bag.
He disappears from the room for a moment, returning a minute later with a warm, damp washcloth. I sit entirely numb as he carefully wipes the dirt and dried tears from my face.
My chest aches at the warmth and at the way he’s so soft toward me.
“Lay down, baby,” he whispers, pulling the heavy quilt back.
I crawl under the covers, curling into a tight ball. Noah kicks off his boots, strips down, and slides in right behind me. He wraps his body around mine, pulling my back flush against his chest, his solid arm wrapping securely around my waist.
He runs his fingers through my hair and strokes the side of my hip beneath the covers until the bruised purple sky outside slowly gives way to the harsh, glaring light of the Texas morning, filtering through the blinds.
I’m so freaking exhausted, my body feels heavy, but my mind refuses to shut off. Every time I close my eyes, I see Bullet’s chest stop moving.
“I can’t sleep,” I whisper into the quiet room.
Noah shifts behind me. He gently tugs my shoulder, rolling me over until I’m facing him. The morning light catches the pale blue of his eyes, completely stripped of the cold, hardened inmate he’s been forced to be for so many years.
Another living being I tortured.
“Rue,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to brush my hair back from my face. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. Then he kisses my temple. The bridge of my nose. The tear-stained corner of my eye.
The touch is entirely meant for comfort, to ground me in the present, but as his lips finally brush against mine, the emotional dam inside of me breaks. I reach up, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, and I kiss him harder.
Noah lets out a ragged breath, his good arm pulling me tighter against his chest as the kiss deepens. The grief starts to melt into the blinding, consuming heat of his body. The whole world might be terrified of him, but…
I’m safe when I’m hidden in his arms.
But then, the floorboards vibrate.
It starts as a low, distant hum. I pull back from Noah’s lips, blinking in confusion.
Clack-clack-clack.
The distinct rattle of a heavy vehicle rolling over the cattle guard at the end of the long dirt driveway echoes through the quiet morning air.
Noah goes completely rigid.
“What is that?” I whisper, my heart suddenly kicking into a frantic, terrified rhythm.
Noah is off the bed in a flash. He moves with deadly silence, creeping to the edge of the window. He uses a single finger to separate two of the plastic slats, peering out toward the front of the property.
“Noah?” I sit up, my hands gripping the edge of the quilt. “He’s supposed to be gone for a week. The calendar said a week.”
Noah drops the blind, stepping back from the window. The softness in his eyes is entirely gone, replaced by a dark, feral violence that sends a shard of absolute ice straight into my veins.
“Well… He’s back early,” Noah grits out, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticks violently in his cheek.
“What?” I scramble off the bed, the air leaving my lungs. “Are you sure it’s him? Maybe it's a neighbor or—”
“It’s the truck. It’s the RV,” Noah cuts me off, his eyes darting to the closed bedroom door. “He’s pulling it around to the side of the house.”
“Oh my God,” I panic, my hands flying to my mouth. “Why is he back? It’s barely been four days! There’s no way out without him seeing us!”
“It doesn't matter why he's back,” Noah says, grabbing his duffel bag from the floor and shoving my backpack toward me. “Pack. Now. We don’t have a lot of time.”
The heavy crunch of gravel outside stops. The deep roar of the diesel engine is suddenly cut off, plunging the farm back into a terrifying quiet.
A truck door clicks open and slams shut.
Heavy boots hit the porch moments later.
“We have to go out the back,” I whisper frantically, shoving my arms through the straps of my backpack. “We can make it to the barn. We can hide.”
“If we go out the back door, we’re entirely exposed. We have no idea where his line of sight is right now,” Noah whispers fiercely, stepping in front of me and pushing me behind his broad shoulders.
I back up until my spine hits the bedroom wall, my hand flying up to cover my mouth. We’re trapped. We are trapped inside a house with a man who keeps handcuffs and horrific pictures of young boys locked in a desk drawer across the hall.
The jingle of keys echoes through the thin walls of the farmhouse.
A key slides into the front door lock. It turns with a heavy, metallic click.
“Get in the closet,” Noah orders, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly hush. He doesn’t look at me. His pale blue eyes are locked dead on the bedroom door, his good hand curling into a massive, white-knuckled fist. “Now, Rue.”
I slip into the cramped space of the closet, pulling the louvered door nearly shut, leaving just a sliver to see out of.
The front door groans open.
“Buster, stay out there,” Bill’s gruff voice echoes from the living room.
But the dog’s footsteps blow through the house. Oh shit. Oh shit!
The front door shuts. Heavy boots step onto the hardwood floor of the hallway. He’s walking toward the kitchen. Toward us.
“Noah,” I whisper. “You have to hide.”
But Noah doesn’t hear me, and if he does, he doesn’t listen. He stands perfectly still in the shadows just beside the open bedroom door frame, his body coiled tight as a spring, waiting for the monster to step into the hall.
What the fuck is he about to do?