Not Leroy.
Leroy is the worst. He’s even bad at dying.
Adrian grabs two thick plastic bags. He secures the first one over Leroy’s head, but because there are always tiny breathable holes in plastic, after he secures that one with duct tape, he wraps another bag over his head and does it again.
Alec is gone, probably cursing his relation to me as he calls in a clean-up crew.
Adrian sighs as he comes over to stand beside me. We both look at Leroy. He’s not even fighting yet. He might get his burst in a few seconds when the stifling heat inside the bag makes him claustrophobic. Panic will overtake him. He can’t even claw at the tape or try to rip the bag because his arms are still tied behind his back. He’ll struggle to breathe. His vision will waver. He’ll get dizzy, and though he will understand what’s happening, there will be nothing he can do to stop his own demise.
Aside from all the pain, it will be a terrifying way to die.
“This was a good idea,” I decide.
Adrian nods his agreement. “A good bonding experience.”
“Probably better than running a train on Mia.”
He snorts, glancing over at me. “Yeah, she has enough assholes vying for her companionship; I’m not throwing my hat in that ring.”
“It’s good you have Elise,” I state.
His amusement fades. “Not yet.”
“You will,” I say, easily.
Nodding without much confidence, he looks back at Leroy. He’s still not struggling. Maybe he’s already dead. As unexciting in death as he was in life.
“We should get breakfast,” I tell Adrian.
He turns his head to look at me. “Breakfast?”
“Why not? Denny’s is always open, right? Their food is shit, but you used to like to hit them up after a job. You still do that?”
“Not really. No one to go with. We could probably do that.” He misses a beat, then asks, “What did you ask him when you made us leave?”
“Just wanted to get some details.”
“That’s gross.”
I roll my eyes. “Not those kinds of details.”
“Hey, you can’t blame me for wondering. I don’t know what you’re capable of anymore.”
Another few seconds pass and Leroy isn’t moving. He’s probably dead. We’ll still give it a few minutes to make sure. “Mia doesn’t remember it,” I say, suddenly. I feel his gaze jerk back to me, but I keep watching Leroy. “I asked her point blank if she’d been abused and she said no.”
Adrian sighs. Out of my peripherals, I see him rake a hand through his shaggy hair. “Happens sometimes. Some people experience a serious trauma like that, they can’t deal with it. Their brain protects them, blocks the memory.”
“Do you think she’ll forget what I did?”
“She doesn’t forget,” he snaps. It surprises me, so I glance his way. Now anger burns in his gaze. I said something wrong, but I don’t know what. “It’s not forgetting. The memory is buried, not erased. Whatever she did that prompted you to look into it in the first place, whatever made you think she might have been abused? That proves it’s still there. You probably fucking triggered it with your bullshit. Someone experiences a trauma like that and buries it, things can happen later in life that knock the memory loose. She could still remember what this shitbag did to her, and if she does, it’s undoubtedly your fault.”
“I’m sure she would have already,” I say, shaking my head. “It happened days ago. She softened to me after that. She still felt the—” I stop short of saying shame. That’s private and no one else’s business but Mia’s. “I think I knocked loose the accompanying behavior, the feeling, maybe—but not the memory. She would’ve told me. She was trying to bond with me, to dig into my scars. She wouldn’t have kept hers from me.”
He regards me for a moment. “Let’s call this whole thing off.”
My gaze snaps to his. “What?”
“Conroy, Hernandez—we don’t need to send the cops to talk to her yet. You obviously like her. Let’s see what happens before you fuck it up more than you already have.”
“No. I need this to be done. I can’t…” I shake my head, unsure how to explain it, unwilling to, even if I could figure out how to put it into words. “I need to see what she does so I can get her out of my house. I need this chapter closed.”
If she wanted to stay with me, she would have.
She went back to Vince.
“It’s done,” I tell him, even though he hasn’t argued. “It’s over. I played my part, now it’s her turn to play hers.”
“This isn’t fair,” Adrian states.
“I don’t play fair,” I point out.
This seems to aggravate him. “How can you care this much about some asshole she can’t even remember hurting her, then turn around and set a trap for her hours later? What is wrong with you?”