Page 94 of Double Bucked

He grins. “Thanks.”

As he walks away, I feel my blood come back into my body.

Is he working for us? Or them?

I’m paranoid, I know it, but I can’t help the thoughts racing through me.

Maybe I don’t trust this Everett fellow as far as I can throw him, but I sure as hell would feel better with his trigger finger by my side right about now.

I quicken my pace to avoid anyone else. By the time I make it into my trailer, my pits are wet with nervous sweat. I wipe my brow and lock the door behind me.

Alright, Ransom. Focus.

My place is the way it always is: a doggone mess. The bed is unmade. There are clothes and mugs on every surface.

I already feel like a different version of Riley Ransom. Like the Riley Ransom that used to live here doesn’t belong to me anymore.

I pull out a bag and start blindly yanking out clothes and shoving them in. I take down a couple of belts. I open my bandana drawer.

Don’t everyone got a bandana drawer? I guess not. It’s a drawer in the kitchen that’s supposed to be for utensils, I guess, or something like that. Instead, I’ve got my bandanas all tightly rolled up and ready to go. I like picking them out at the start of my day. Blue is my happy, “thank God it’s the weekend” bandana. Yellow is my good-luck bandana. Red is for when I’m feeling bold and frisky.

The color am I today? Orange, for the panicking way my heart is rabbit kicking in my chest.

When I touch the bandana, however, I see the dark stain on my sleeve. I twist my forearm and touch it, examining.

Dark. Red. Blood. Not mine.

My gag reflex jolts in my throat. I flip on the sink, pop the buttons off my shirt, and toss it in. The shirt gets dark as it soaks. I squeeze soap on it and rub the shirt hard, but the stain doesn’t budge.

I’m cleaning up a crime scene, and I ain’t even sure what the hell crime was committed. Still, I can’t shake the feeling?—

I’ve done something wrong.

The gun pressed to the side of Claire’s head.

The surprise in that man’s eyes when Everett put a bullet in his brain.

The way Claire’s fingers laced with mine as her cunt gripped me.

The way she moaned in my ear as her engagement ring gleamed from its spot on the rug.

I rip the shirt out of the sink and throw it in the trash. Hell with this.

I pull off my belt, drop my pants, my underwear, and my socks, and shove those in as well.

I wrap up the bag, drop it by the door, and jump in the shower. It’s a quick rinse, but it feels good to get yesterday off of me. I towel off, yank on a fresh pair of underwear and jeans, and pull on a dark button-up.

Already, I’m feeling better.

My fingers linger over my bandana choice. No. Not orange.

Blue.

Blue like a clear day. Like a bird’s back. Strong, reliable blue.

I twist the ends, wrap it around my throat, and tuck it neatly under my shirt.

We ain’t giving in to the fear today.

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