"We’ll put him in the hole out back and cover him with mud. They’ll lower the coffin and no one will be the wiser."
"And this place?" I look around. Blood coats everything in sight.
"We clean and hope." He shrugs, wiping his brow with the edge of his shirt, giving me a glimpse of a tattooed torso. "I saw a wheelbarrow in the yard." He gets to his feet. "Check the kitchen for cleaning supplies."
"Zane!" I call, halting his steps. Walking to where he stands, I grasp his cheeks and stand on my tiptoes, caressing his lips with mine. "Thank you," I murmur against his mouth, pulling away. I turn, but he grabs my wrist.
"Whatever comes next, I don't regret a single thing we've done together." His eyes bore into mine.
"Me either." A grin curls my lips, and he releases me.
We may have been Bonnie and Clyde in a former life.
Finding the kitchen, I scan the small space. It’s plain, white, baron. Canned food sits on the counter, and that's it. Nothing.
I open the cabinet under the sink. A red bowl, a dish rag, and a bottle of toilet cleaner. Great.
Filling the bowl with hot water, I go through the house. From the front doorframe, down the walls, floors, every piece of furniture, I scrub until my fingers are sore, emptying and refilling a hundred times, until there's not a speck of blood and our fingerprints are erased.
"Lily," Zane calls out from another room. Walking through the hall, I follow the sound of him shuffling things around and enter a small office.
"Did you bury him?" I ask, frowning. Blood and mud cake his clothing, but his pinched features and pale skin make me step away, my back hitting the wall. He’s looking through a box—the same ones at my grandparents’ house.
No.
"There are hundreds of images, Lil. Fuck this motherfucker." Zane gags, throwing the picture he's holding back in the box.
"Is it me?" I ask, my voice fragile to my own ears.
Whipping his head up, he levels me with a steely gaze. "No. Why do you think he took pictures?" He sweeps through the images, searching. My heart pounds through every inch of my skin.
"Get on the bed, Lily."
No. No. No.
I fucking won.
He's dead.
I’m here.
"I don’t see anyone who looks like you. Let's burn the place." He throws the images down on the desk, scrubbing his hands down his face.
"No. Let the police find it. They'll think he skipped town." Feeling returns to my limbs and I grab the box, tipping out the rest of the images onto the desk. Some scatter to the floor. "Everyone will know what he is."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Come on. Let's get out of here."
Taking my hand, we double-check the house then leave the way we came.
The cool air bathes my skin. The rising sun kisses the horizon. I breathe easier.
I won.
“Please take my boots,” Zane puffs out.
“We’re almost there.” I wave his hand away.