Chapter 16
Lachlan
Iwaited until they were a good distance away to start dragging the piece of shit outside.
He was whimpering in the back of my side by side, way more conscious now as I pulled up next to all my heavier machinery I kept farther out in the woods behind the house.
I thought this was far enough, plus I could use my excavator to dig his grave in half an hour, maybe less.
I pulled him out and let him hit the hard ground with a grunt. He tried to scoot away from me like a worm, but I kicked him and it flipped him over.
“I don’t know what you want with me—please, I-I didn’t do anything.”
I couldn’t just kill the man without him knowing what he did wrong, could I? What was that phrase? Connect before you correct? Had to let little Johnny know what he’d done before correcting this world by taking him out of it.
“I’ll give you a hint. You fucked up at the bar.” I waited and his eyes narrowed, well, as much as they could with the current condition of his face.
“You talking about that bitch that wouldn’t spread her legs for me?
C’mon, man. You know how women can be. Just let me go—” I saw red.
I had wanted to take my time and make him suffer, but now I just wanted to be rid of him.
I decided then, he’d make good mulch for the trees.
I turned the ignition key on my woodchipper and the man’s eyes went wide as saucers.
“Wait, wait, wait, no, nooo—” he started screaming and went back to trying to squirm away from me, but I grabbed the pipsqueak by the ropes and carried him to the chute. He wailed as I set him there.
“Good riddance,” I said as I released him, and he screamed and screamed as the woodchipper ripped him to shreds, starting at his toes.
I could see the spew of meaty sinew and bone spurt out the other side landing on the big green tarp I had set up, mixing in with the wood I had shredded earlier this week.
At least the trees would get something good out of this.
“What a mess,” I grumbled. This would take all night to clean, but honestly, worth it.
I trudged up the path to the cabin, the dark, early hours of morning swallowing the world in a cold, eerie silence. My shirt clung to my back, damp with sweat and splattered with blood. It should’ve been worse, honestly, considering what I’d just done. But I had hosed myself off the best I could.
I kicked off my boots at the back door, careful not to wake anyone. Sliding it open, I stepped into the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. I grabbed the first beer I saw, cracking it open with a hiss. It was five o’clock somewhere, right?
The cold drink slid down my throat, and for a second I let myself breathe.
Then I went to my bedroom.
And Logan was there, waiting for me. Her arms were crossed, jaw tight. But when she saw me—really saw me—her breath caught, eyes widening as they took in what I looked like, the red spatter dried on my shirt, the emptiness that I was sure lingered behind my eyes.
Her voice was tight. "Fuck, Lachlan, what did you do?"
I leaned against the doorframe, letting my head rest against the wood, staring at her like she was the only thing left that made sense. Because she was. I took another long pull from my beer.
"I took care of it," I said quietly.
She stepped closer. "Took care of it?" Her gaze dropped to the stains on my shirt, then back up to meet mine. "Jesus, did you put him in the woo—"
"He touched you, hurt you," I cut her off, voice low, graveled. "You thought I was just gonna let that slide?"
Logan’s jaw clenched, but there was a darker look in her gaze. "You didn’t have to kill him. Fuck, Lachlan . . . I thought you turned the woodchipper on to sell it to my parents that you were actually working.”
I shrugged. “I was working,” I stated, taking another sip from my beer before I set the bottle down on the dresser with a dull thud, walking toward her.
"He put his hands on you. He made you cry," I explained, my voice softer now, a dangerous kind of soft.
She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Her eyes searched mine, not for answers but for the pieces of me that hadn’t completely shattered. I was still in there, barely.
"It wasn’t just him that made me cry that night,” she whispered, voice shaking.
I stopped just in front of her, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. “What else happened?” I asked quietly.
“It doesn’t matter. This is all pretend, right?
Go shower. I’m going to bed.” I grabbed her wrist and forced her around to face me again.
Was she talking about me kissing her because the cops were there?
Because someone was watching? Did she not realize I wanted her?
I only agreed to her terms because of my desperation to have her in the moment, the same way she wanted me.
But Logan was mine. I refused to have anything less than all of her, even after all of this was over, and if I couldn’t tell her, I would show her.
She swallowed hard, the silence between us thrumming with tension so thick, it could snap.
I should turn away, go shower, but instead I cupped her jaw, pulled her face to mine while my fist tangled in her hair, and kissed her.
Nothing about it was gentle like the one from this morning in front of her parents.
I turned her around and slammed her into the wall.
There was too much space between us, but I didn’t want to get blood on her.
I kissed her until we were both breathless, until she broke away.
Then, softly, almost brokenly, she said, “But no one’s watching.”
I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers, closing my eyes.
“I want you even in the dark, Logan,” I admitted, and I took a step away from her and then turned to the bathroom. I desperately needed a shower and rest, and she would start her day with her parents without me.