Chapter 24 #2
“Sloane had a personal stake in the man I killed for her,” Virgil argues. “So did the guy Wren killed for Hazel. But she doesn’t. She could leave and go to the cops. She could let him go, if we let her. Then he’d get us all arrested and put away—”
“No, I wouldn’t.” I don’t love the way Virgil talks to me, though I can respect how protective he is of his friends.
“Even though I know I’m not like your fiance”—I haven’t met her, but from what I’ve heard, she sounds terrifying based on the fact she can stand him—“I’m not as bad as you think.
I hope, anyway.” I suck in a breath, feeling their gazes on me as I look back at the man tied to the chair.
He shouldn’t look so hopeful. He shouldn’t fight his bonds as he stares at me, as if I’m Caesar and about to give him the thumb’s up so he can walk on out of here like a gladiator who’s killed the lions.
Because he should know, the lions always win, and Caesar never played fair.
“Kill him,” I shrug, though it takes everything in me to make it sound so…
easy. “It’s not like you haven’t asked for it, Mr. Miller.
Your brother deserved it, and from what I hear, you aren’t a very good person either.
” That’s true, at least. And it helps remind me he’s not blameless in this, even though I’m back to feeling like I’m going to puke all over the place.
“You came after Jed. You came after me this morning. I’m not stupid.
You would’ve hurt me if I hadn’t had the chainsaw and he hadn’t come out.
” I shrug again, wondering if I’m putting on the performance of my life or just looking as wretched as I feel.
“And that was where you went too far,” Wren adds in a purring, dangerous tone.
He prowls behind the chair, hands coming down hard on Gary Miller’s shoulders.
“You don’t ever go after one of us. Not me, or Jed, and definitely not Saylor.
” He winks at me when he says it, in that annoying but helpful big brother kind of way.
“We gave you every opportunity in the world, Gary. You could’ve walked away like she said. ”
He’s starting to fight in earnest now, trying to rip his arms out of the bonds as Wren holds him and Jed picks up the chainsaw. “N-no!” the man yells, whirling to look for any sympathetic face.
But he finds none, as I knew he wouldn’t. “No. Please.” His eyes land on mine, and my heart jolts when he just won’t look away from me, even as Jed revs the chainsaw.
Every sound of it makes my stomach heave and makes my hands tighten into fists.
I can’t do this.
I don’t want to do this.
The sound of the chainsaw’s motor catching returns more nausea to my stomach, and my breath catches in my throat as it jerks in Jed’s hand. This is everything I’d been afraid of, and my muscles tense, begging me to run away from him and the situation.
When I look at him like this, I’m afraid of him. I see the monster from the preserve who killed Tyson Miller and kidnapped me, seemingly with no cause. I can’t do this, I can’t watch him do this and ever look at him the same.
At least, until my gaze slides upward and I meet his eyes.
Jed isn’t looking at Gary Miller with the chainsaw loud in his hands. He’s staring at me. Waiting. Whatever he sees when I’m able to look at him brings the smallest of smiles to his lips, and in turn, it settles something in me that I hadn’t realized was about to fall apart.
“You don’t need to watch this,” he tells me, though I have no idea how I hear him over the loud engine. “Go outside, Saylor. You aren’t any less for not being able to watch this. No matter what Virgil says.”
My eyes flick to Virgil’s face, where he still leans against the wall. He’s impressed, one brow raised, and his head tilts towards the door, giving me the same permission that Jed had.
I won’t think less of you. That’s what his expression says. Lastly my gaze falls on Wren, who’s giving me the same patient, understanding smile from his dark eyes and curved lips.
I can’t do this.
Yet.
Not completely, at least. My steps take me back to the door, and I stumble over my feet when Jed turns, all smooth and graceful movements. He’s not my boyfriend as he stalks over to Gary Miller holding a chainsaw like he was born with it in his hands.
He’s a predator. He’s a hunter, moving with deadly precision, and when the chainsaw comes up, my hand hits the door a second too late.
I can’t turn away as he thrusts the blade forward. It’s not quick and smooth, but Wren moves instantly as the blade begins to cut through Gary Miller’s chest while he screams and begs for mercy.
I should’ve moved sooner. I should’ve opened the door sooner, and looked away, because right now, with my eyes full of gore and blood that splatters on Jed’s front, I can’t—
Virgil fills my vision, his face calm and edged in concern. “Time to go, Saylor,” he murmurs. “You’ve proven everything you needed to and more.” He blocks my entire view of the screaming, dying man, and shoves the door all the way open until I can stumble out into the daylight beyond.
Then, before I can take another look inside or say a word, he closes it again, leaving me in the sunlight with the sound of Gary Miller’s screams.
I stand there, transfixed and unable to move, listening to his screams. Even though I can’t see it, I can imagine every bit of—
Blinking, I realize that there’s something else in my ears. Apart from the screaming and my own internal turmoil. Something from this side of the barn, that sounds closer than Gary’s screams.
When it sounds again, I turn around, confused, and my eyes scan the area around me as my brain tries to figure out what in the world is going on. Is that—
A cat meows softly, rubbing against my ankles. The small, gray-furred ball of fluff does one circuit around my legs happily, like it can’t hear the screaming from beyond the door. That, or it doesn’t care.
“Hi,” I whisper, kneeling down and reaching one trembling hand out for the little cat to sniff. “Hello, little friend.”
The cat, showing no sign of fear, pads up to sniff my fingers before rubbing its body against my hand with a loud, contented purr.
I can’t help it. A smile breaks out over my lips, and I carefully move away from the door, followed by the sounds of the cat’s purring. It isn’t a kitten, judging by its features. But the cat is smaller than most other adult felines I’ve seen.
“Are you far from home?” When I sit down fully on the grass, the cat takes that opportunity to jump onto my knee, rubbing its skinny body against my chest. I’m careful as I touch it, my fingers running along bumpy ribs and hips that are too angular with hunger.
The little cat doesn’t look like it’s eaten in ages.
And definitely not well. “Or do you not have a home?” The cat is incredibly friendly for not having a home, and when it nuzzles my face, my lips curl into a smile.
“I don’t know if Jed will let me take you home,” I admit, blinking when I realize the screams have come to a stop, even if the sound of the chainsaw hasn’t.
But of course. Jed is good at cleanup, and I know it requires his special skills to get the job done. Namely, his mastery of chopping people into little bits.
“You’re so chill about this,” I tell the little cat, scratching it under the chin. One of its eyes is a little weepy, and I’m sure it hasn’t had the vet care it needs in awhile, if ever. “Do you hear people getting murdered and chopped up often?”
At my question, the cat purrs louder and chews on the end of my finger. Seconds later, the barn door opens, and Wren comes out whistling, carrying a pile of tarps to his truck. “You good?” he asks, pausing in the grass to look over at me. “You looked a little uh, uncomfortable back there.”
“I found a cat,” I reply, gesturing to my new friend. “Cats make everything better.”