Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
COOPER
We got the notification from the cameras hidden in the trees outside of our trailer and left Ebony sleeping in her bed, even though the pull to ignore the outside world and stay there with her was a strong one.
Standing high up in the clearing, we watch as police ransack our home; even this far away with the cover of the forest hiding us, we can hear them destroying the place.
The lights on the top of the two police cars out front light up the dense area.
Luckily, we’ve learned to travel light, and everything we need is tucked away in the box Caleb is currently digging up out of the ground.
Money, passports, documentation and all the information we’ve found in our search for Ebony.
We’ve been prepared for Silas Turner coming for us the second we got back to town.
We knew he wouldn’t be able to resist for long.
“Let’s check on Eb’s, and then we’ll reach out to Ezra for a safe house location. I wouldn’t put it past Captain Dick down there to start planting evidence; we need to get ahead of this,” my brother says as he opens the box to check we have everything we’ll need and throws aside the spade.
“I don’t think planting evidence is going to be an issue. Seems someone already beat him to it,” I reply, my face still pressed into the binoculars.
Caleb stands beside me, and I hand them to him so he can take a look for himself.
“That is not my knife, and I don’t know whose blood is on that frilly pink sweater they are bagging up,” I add as I pull a breakfast bar I swiped from Ebony’s stash out of my back pocket.
Caleb lowers the binoculars and shoves them my way. Lifting the plastic wrapped box at his feet, he states, “Looks like someone’s trying to get us out of the way, brother.”
“What if Silas goes after Ebony?”
“Ezra had a hard enough time finding her so I don’t hold much stock in the abilities of the Grimmville police department.
Silas probably has no idea she’s even back in town.
Most of those inbred fuckers don’t know their arse from their ear hole and their shoddy detective skills proves it.
” Coop chuckles when we see a fresh-faced deputy pull out the bloody knife and reenact a scene from some karate movie he’s likely seen.
“Manhandling evidence - remind me to send that fucker a fruit basket,”
The annoyance I feel at watching the scene unfold isn’t because of the accusations we’ll face.
I’ve killed enough people that the worry of retaliation for my crimes barely registers anymore.
No, I’m pissed because I have a sneaking suspicion that the man hunting down young co-eds, girls who look too similar to our Dove to be a coincidence, has obviously found us and is getting ready to lay the blame for those murders at our feet.
The Horseman is officially out of hiding, and he came to play dirty. We’ll just have to see how far he gets.
EBONY
I haven’t heard anything from the guys all day, so I get on with the banner I’m making for Mr Crane’s fall production of Othello. It’s days like these, when the kitchen is covered in glitter and paint, that I regret agreeing to be his teaching assistant.
I accidentally upend the glue all over myself and decide enough is enough.
Painting out my feelings and detailing for an entire sixteen-page essay on the route of all creative inspiration is one thing, completing an arts and craft project a five-year-old could do is something else entirely.
I shake off the excess glitter and lay the banner out over the back of the sofa.
Sweeping up the mess feels redundant as it clings to my skin.
Pulling the paintbrush out that is securing my bun, I let my hair fall down my back, watching as yet more glitter decorates the floor around my feet.
“Motherfucker.”
Heading for a shower, I relax when the hot water hits my skin. Drying off, I search through my drawers to find something to slip on and notice a t-shirt I don’t recognise. Lifting it to my nose, the familiar scents of leather, cut grass, and fresh citrus hit me.
“Cooper Knox,” I say softly with a smile, letting the towel around me fall as I pull it on. Slipping into some black leggings that have seen better days, I perch on the edge of my bed and slip on some stripy socks that are long enough to reach my knees.
My hand hovers over my knife on my bedside table out of habit, my gut ordering me to tuck it away somewhere I can get to it easily. Deciding better to be safe than sorry, I slip it into my sock and push them down to bunch around my ankles to keep it in place.
Ebony Winters. Hardworking, rambunctious, and resilient, and a shit-tonne more prepared when carrying a concealed weapon.
I turn when there’s a knock at my door almost stumbling over my own feet.
“Howdy, neighbour. I was kind of expecting an orgy to be in play by now. Where are your cowboys?” Megan glances around the room with a raised brow as though I have them hidden away under my bed. I can’t help but chuckle.
“They had stuff to sort out, I guess. I’m surprised to see you back tonight. I would have thought Mateo had you chained up somewhere for one of your videos.”
“The dream had to end sometime. He dropped me off at the canteen about an hour ago. Something about his dad as he practically kicked me out of the car. He’ll regret not taking the blow job I offered him when he has to play referee to his parents.
Honestly, it’s times like these I adore my parents being all those miles away.
” She picks at the petals of the bunch of daisies in her arms, lost in thought.
“Parents, who’d have ‘em?” I laugh awkwardly. The conversation of what it’s like to have normal parents isn’t anything I should have an opinion on, so I dodge the subject entirely.
“Been decorating again?” She gestures to the mural on my wall, and I see the black dripping heart as it dissects the dove’s wings.
I may not have heard from the guys today, but it seems their penchant for breaking and entering on a whim still has them playing games.
Sadness ripples beneath my smile at the fact that they didn’t come into the living room to see me; it certainly would have put a happy spin on the forced craft time I had to endure.
“I stocked up at the market, so how about we meet out in the living room in thirty for strawberry bellinis and authentic Italian carbonara? None of that cheap ham bullshit.” I glance at my bedside alarm; only seven pm and it’s already getting dark outside.
Turning back to face Megan, I say, “That sounds like heaven.” My belly grumbling at the mention of food. I ignore the protest of my liver at the thought of those bellinis and Megan’s lack of alcohol-measure control.
“I believe you have some gossip about two hot cowboys; I hope you’re feeling chatty.” She grins playfully with a wiggle of her eyebrows.
“Half an hour,” I laugh as I push her out into the hall, shutting the door before she can say anything else.
“Don’t fight it, babes; cowboy cock is on the rosta,” she hollers with gusto, her voice muffled through the wood. There’s no mistaking cowboy cock though as she leans into the words with added vigor.
I bet the neighbours are loving us right now.
I’d only meant to lie down for twenty minutes, a quick power nap to recharge before an evening of no drama, no boys, and copious amounts of alcohol if Megan got her way.
As I’d drifted off, my eyes settled on the heart painted on my wall, the paint still glossy as it dries.
The thought of Caleb or Cooper coming in here to add to our design fills my chest with a wave of emotion.
We have time now, together.
I dance over that line of sleeping and waking, feeling more tired now than I did when I laid down as my eyes flutter open fully.
The room is dark. I blink tiredly over at the clock; an hour has passed.
The sky outside my open window is black with swirls of deep purple, starless with a full moon hung low.
Reaching for my lamp, I turn it on and swing my legs out of bed, the air cool against my bare arms as I potter over to the window that creaks as I pull it shut.
I don’t know why I linger there, suspended with an empty mind as something a little like unease shifts low in my belly.
I shake away the feeling with no name and head out into the hall.
In the living room, I notice the bags from the market still piled in organised chaos on the dining table, brimming with leafy greens and exotic wrapped cheeses, an expensive bottle of champagne open beside it.
The two long stem glasses decorated with a sliced strawberry on the rim, one filled, one empty, are certainly a step up from the wine mugs I’m used to.
“Someone started without me. I guess I’ll unpack then,” I yell out down the hall. The sound swallowed up by the silence as the clock above the cooker ticks away. I’ve known Megan to get lost in her evening routines, so I decide to get started on dinner.
Switching on the speaker, it immediately connects to Megan’s phone from the bedroom.
Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds”, an odd choice for someone who has had her hot girl summer playlist on repeat for the past six weeks but i’m not complaining.
I jump into action, sliding over the linoleum tiled floor with ease on my sock clad feet and adjusting the volume.
We don’t need another noise complaint. Before the thought has even had a chance to settle in my brain, banging comes through the wall.
They can’t see the middle finger I flip them off with, but it makes me feel a little better.
Swaying to the music, I pull a knife out of the rack and grab for the chopping board under the sink.
I sing along with the bits I know as it builds to the chorus, remembering my mother for a brief fleeting moment when she would be allowed to bake.
I imagine the sold-out arena transforming the living room as I wave the knife around in the air and shake my hips in time to the melody, losing myself to the music as I swallow back another mouthful of the strawberry flavoured champagne, finishing it off.
With the glass still in my hand, I sway a little, using the table to keep me steady.
Turning the bottle around to check the alcohol content, my eyes refuse to focus long enough for me to read the label.
“Megan,” I slur her name as the word feels too heavy for my mouth.
The glass slips from my fingers and smashes on the floor, but the sound of it doesn’t reach my ears, like a strike of lightening outrunning the roar of thunder in its wake.
It’s all over in seconds. The door swings open, and I barely have any time to ask him why he’s there, not that my mouth would allow me to anyway.
The needle pierces my neck, and my knees give way as I fall to the ground.
The panic from moments ago that was lighting up every nerve-ending now sloshing like a serene wave against a sandy bank as the warmth of his fingers caresses my cheek.
“Hello, little Ebony.”