Sofar,fourdrinks in and nothing.
Four shots out of the bottle of whiskey I’d purchased just before my entire life turned a sharp fucking corner, and I couldn’t even feel the edges of sleep.
Just a queasy stomach and nerves that were shot to hell.
The motel room was quiet. The silence was not.
Scarlett was in her bed, tucked under the sheets wearing one of my shirts she’d just grabbed out of my bag and claimed. I watched her do it, but my tongue was too heavy to say anything to stop her.
Everything felt heavy.
My whole body felt full of lead that went all the way up to my head. Even thinking about moving my arms or legs was too heavy a thought. Or maybe it wasn’t lead. Maybe it was dirt. Yeah, that’s what it was.
It was filthy fucking dirt burying my body under its compacted weight just like I’d buried Derek’s hours ago.
Sighing, I pushed a rough hand over my face, scratching the hair on my jawline as I leaned back against the headboard.
All the lights were off in the room. It was somewhere around 5.a.m or 6. The air in the room was tight; there was no other way to describe it. Early morning light shined in from the crack in the curtain window, and my eyes followed the line it streaked across the room.
Over and over and over.
Tracing that line across the walls was the only distraction from the silence.
From the memories that barked at me inside of it.
Earth slapping dead limbs. Metal digging through dirt. Wildlife chirping and rustling, watching me become something I fought against with my life.
A liar in the flesh.
An accessory to a federal agent’s murder.
Oh, holy fuck.
I inhaled a deep breath, or at least tried to. Halfway through the intake, I swore I tasted blood still in the air—tangy, metallic, bitter blood.
My stomach knotted, and I spat the rancid oxygen back out. Every muscle recoiled beneath my skin, trying to move away from the flavor of murder that hung in the room. My own blood pumped fast as I tried to rid the taste of guilt from my tongue. It heated my skin and drummed hard in my ears, each pulse louder than a gunshot.
In every beat, there were two syllables and one word I couldn’t fucking escape.
Guil-ty. Guilt-ty. Guilt-ty. Guit-ty. Guilt-ty.
My jaw clenched and unclenched and my fists did too, trying to fucking grab onto something—anything—to keep me from spinning out. It was like I had the spins all of a sudden, the room a topsy-turvy mess of bloodshed and smeared tears.
My stomach flipped, I pulled my eyes shut—
And then the bed dipped.
My eyes shot open in a start, adrenaline bursting beneath my skin as my heart skipped a profound beat.
One stolen without permission by the woman who invited herself to my bed.
Emerald eyes glowed even in the bleak lighting, big and unjudging. My pulse wrestled itself back down as I saw her and felt her weight kneeling next to my outstretched legs beneath the sheet.
“What’s wrong?” I darted a look down her slim frame, checking for marks and back up to her cheeks, checking for the shine of tears.
Her body was unharmed and her face was dry, and the breath I let out was just barely controlled.
I kept a keen eye on Scarlett as she sat back on her ankles and cocked an observant head at me. Then she held something out in between us.