35. Thirty-Five #3
Greer groaned “She didn’t kill him. Nick.”
“We buried him,” Brennon blurted before he could stop himself, “Well, Cole did.”
“Shut the fuck up, Brennon” Cole barked.
“Well, you did… I mean we did…”
Mitchell laughed again, “You fucking idiots.”
Xavi let him have his laughter, only to choke him again ten seconds later.
“Laugh all you want, Greer. You might think Francis Barrett is the scariest motherfucker in these woods. But I’ll tell you right now, it’s me.”
Then, he smiled, a full-blown Xavier Rothberg I’m-smarter-than-you smile, and a bolt of arousal shot through me.
Along with thoughts of fucking him right there in front of Mitchell, Cole, and Brennon.
Although, Brennon would probably have enjoyed it, based on the way he was biting his lower lip.
I wasn’t prepared to reckon with how much my body was unbothered by Cole being there, either. I wasn’t about to touch that one.
Xavier reached for the knife I’d dropped and spun the handle in his hand. “You think she won’t use this,” he smiled at me, and I don’t know what came over me, but I blew him a kiss.
“There she is,” His eyes sparkled as he said it, “My wild girl.”
Then, he turned back to Mitchell.
“And maybe she won’t. Because she might be wild, but she’s also good. I’m not.”
The way he angled the blade, it caught just enough of the thin forest light to shine. And in its reflection, Mitchell paled.
He huffed, “Fine.”
Xavi brought the knife to his throat. He couldn’t move, but still, he tried to recoil.
“Fine. You did bury him. But before that… before that, s-sh-she wasn’t the one who…”
Xav slid the blade down his throat. None of us spoke or looked away and it was so quiet, I could hear the edge of the knife chip away at every bit of skin on Mitchell’s neck.
“She didn’t kill him!”
Xav stilled the knife.
“What?”
“She didn’t kill him. Well, I mean, she almost did. But I was there and…”
“You were there?!” I screamed, “You were there, and you didn’t fucking do anything?”
Mitchell squirmed. All three boys looked at him like the worm he was.
“I mean… I was…”
Xavi cut him off, “Enough. You were there and…?”
“And after she hit him, fuck, like sixteen times, he passed out and and she ran. But the poor asshole was still moaning and groaning, until…”
“Until!?” I swear Brennon, Cole, and I shouted in unison.
“Until Francis—”
There was a lightning-fast snicking sound, as something flew past my ear, followed by a dull pound as whatever it was, embedded itself in the trunk of one of the ancient pines that surrounded us.
The boys looked around, desperate to see where the sound came from.
But there was no one but us and Mitchell for as far as I could see.
Then, it happened again, and this time when it blew by me, the grip on my shirt slackened. Beside me, Xavi shouted, “Gun!”
But I didn’t move. Mitchell still clung to me though his large body was starting to droop.
At the front of his t-shirt two dark stains were spreading wider and wider.
From behind me, I heard Brennon scream my name, calling for me to move my ass, but I couldn’t shake Mitchell's grip.
I wanted to run, to be sick, but most of all, I wanted answers. We were supposed to get answers.
“Until Francis what?!” I screamed into a pair of eyes growing dimmer and dimmer every second.
I yelled “Answer us! Answer the fucking question! Tell us!”
His mouth opened, but no sound came out, just a thick gurgling as he tried to talk.
Blood spilled out where the words should’ve been.
I moved my hands to his bloody chest, trying to press them against what I now knew were bullet wounds.
Under my palms, I could feel the unnatural warmth, the sticky, claggy beat of his heart.
It’s beat nowhere near the pounding of my own.
“Please, Mitchell,” I begged, through tears I hadn’t realized were falling, even though I knew it was hopeless.
His mouth was still open, and as evil as Mitchell was, there was a terror in his eyes that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Still, I held him. Still, I pressed my whole-body weight to the wounds, applying pressure I knew wouldn’t save him.
It was all I could think to do. His fear was all I could think about.
I knew true terror when I saw it. I’d felt it on my own face enough times.
I heard myself calling to him, “Mitchell, stay! Stay! We’re going to get help! Mitchell!” I cried out his name one last time, just as I was knocked sideways with the force of a truck by a hulking mass that screamed my name “TONI!”
After that deafening scream, there was silence, as if in the eye of a storm, broken only by the sound of a third bullet hitting a tree behind me.
This time, when I looked for Mitchell, when my eyes found his, it was obvious he was gone.
The hole through the centre of his forehead was a dead giveaway.
One I didn’t have time to contemplate because Cole Michaels was shaking me and screaming, “TONI! RUN!”