Chapter 23 #2
The man wavers, his eyes on the chainsaw, before darting to the cabin. “I’m not afraid of you,” he promises, taking one step back, then another. “And I’m not afraid of him, either. Tell your boyfriend I’ll be back, and I won’t waste time just breaking his fucking face.”
After another call from the cabin, the man takes off, plunging into the fog and disappearing moments before Jed shows up, his face contorting into incredulous surprise when he sees me.
“I can explain,” I tell him, setting down the chainsaw hard.
“Seriously. Don’t freak out. And you know what?
I’ll admit it. You were right. This thing is way too heavy for me to use.
” I huff out a breath, my arms burning, and am only a little surprised at his resigned snort of amusement before Jed comes forward to pick up the chainsaw in one hand, pressing a kiss to my forehead before he takes it back into the slaughter shed.
“Explanation time,” he announces, coming back out with concern on his face. “What in the world were you doing with my chainsaw?”
“Umm…” I trail off for a moment as Jed twines our fingers together before leading me back to the cabin.
It’s official.
I’ve never had better French toast than the magical concoction I’d watched Jed make.
He’d tried explaining his recipe to me, even while a muscle had ticked in his jaw after I filled him in on my early morning activities and the visit from Tyson Miller’s brother.
His movements had been a bit jerky as well, but the quality of the food had never, not once, been compromised.
And the fact he’d made enough to feed an army meant I could load my plate with berry compote. I dripped it over my French toast, leaving more than enough for the others to have some when they got to the cabin.
“You don’t have to help me.” Jed’s voice is snapping with anger, and he drums his fingers on the table as Wren wolfs down food.
Across from Jed, a dark-haired, dark-eyed man watches him with interest, and according to Jed, this is Virgil.
The elusive other member of the murder club who I hadn’t met before now.
He’s intimidating. Not funny like Wren, or corny like Cass. And he’s definitely not sweet like Jed. According to what I’d heard before, he’s engaged to someone he met a year ago. But I don’t think I’d ever have the guts to marry a man with the look of a predator like him.
No, my brain tells me spitefully. You fell for the chainsaw wielding cannibal. Much better choice. Good job.
But at least my ex-cannibal is sweet, with a smile of gold and a personality to match.
As if he can feel my eyes on him from the other side of the kitchen island, Virgil turns to survey me, his eyes never leaving my face. “Does she know what you plan to do to him?” he asks, nodding in his head in my direction.
“Oh yeah,” Wren assures him, stuffing another piece of toast in his mouth. “She’s feral for our little chef. Don’t you see those marks on her neck?” He smiles, beaming in my direction when I reach up to self-consciously touch the marks. “She doesn’t mind a little murder.”
“Is she coming along?” Virgil’s question nearly makes me choke on a raspberry, and Jed shakes his head, looking a little nervous.
“No. She doesn’t need to,” he promises, looking down at his plate. “I don’t want to do that to her. Especially since it doesn’t involve her.”
“You sure it doesn’t?” Virgil definitely freaks me out. “You sure she’s going to be okay when you come home covered in blood and cut up the body in the shed?” It’s almost like his eyes are daring me. Challenging me to speak up.
It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.
“She doesn’t need—”
“What would I do if I did come?” I demand, unable to stop myself.
“I can’t help you kill the guy.” I’m just barely learning to wrap my head around all of this.
Especially now that I’m sitting in the middle of a fucking meeting between three men looking to kill the brother of the man Jed previously butchered.
This is all starting to feel like a nightmare. And more than a little fucked up. The only thing to complete my day would be for fucking Brenda to call again.
“Moral support,” Virgil replies shrewdly, cutting off another protest from Jed. “Could you do that?”
Looking away from him, I slant my gaze toward one of the windows as I stir the berry compote around my plate. I don’t know. I don’t know, and that’s the problem. If I’m as in love with Jed as I think I am…shouldn’t I know?
They’re quiet for longer than I expect them to be, but it’s Wren that finally breaks the silence by saying something about knowing where the guy’s truck is parked.
Apparently, Tyson Miller’s brother is just as stupid as Tyson had been, and none of them are in any way worried about consequences, or not being able to find him.
It almost sounds like they’re just looking to put a hit out on the guy.
Thankfully, none of them ask me anything else while they talk.
Their plans filter in and out of my ears, and all I can do is stare at my cooling food while my heart and brain go to war over what I should do.
Obviously, Jed won’t hold it against me for not going.
For being here with my head in his pillow and his blankets over my head.
He doesn’t think I have it in me to go.
And frankly, neither do I.
The scrape of Wren’s chair has me looking up, and I watch as the taller man twists, spine cracking as he stretches languidly.
“I’ll be back,” he offers lazily, like none of this is a big deal to him.
Like it doesn’t matter. “Let me look into some things. Find out if he’s still around where his truck is.
You coming?” He looks at Virgil, who nods and stands up as well.
“If you want the company,” the man murmurs. He looks at me again, and once more I see that challenge, that look, that says he wants more from me than I’m pretty sure I can give.
In response, I narrow my eyes and stuff a strawberry in my mouth. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, before he follows Wren to the door and closes it swiftly behind him, leaving me and Jed in the room alone.
“You don’t need to go with us,” Jed promises, still riled up from telling his friends about the confrontation in the restaurant parking lot, and now me being crept up on in the fog.
“Seriously. It’s going to be a mess, and it won’t be entertaining.
He doesn’t deserve it quite like Tyson did. I don’t want—”
“What if I do go?” I ask, biting my lower lip hard. “What if I just…went?”
But it’s just words. Just a question, because I know for certain there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to get my ass in a car and go on a murder trip with my boyfriend and his two best friends.
Not on my life.