Page 79 of Alik

Her lips twist as she considers this. “Okay… Then I’ll stay at the lake house.”

I smile my approval and lower my head to her knees, feeling exhaustion hit. I wonder if I’ll sleep better or worse when she’s gone.

My scalp tingles when her hands weave through my hair, gently tugging at the locks. I close my eyes and allow myself to relax against her touch. Allow myself not to think about her leaving.

“Will you come see me?” she asks, her voice small but hopeful.

I smooth my hands down her naked calves. “Do you want me to?”

She stills. “Of course,I want you to.”

I slide my palms up and down, keeping my eyes closed. “Then I will.”

She resumes her stroking and lets out a deep sigh when I kiss the side of her knee. I nudge her legs open and kiss up her thighs.

“For the record,” she says, already starting to sound breathless. “You haven’t let me down.”

I keep kissing. She wouldn’t like my response.

Not yet, Olive. Not yet.

19

OLIVE

The buzz of the tattoo gun tickles my ears while the needle stings the skin hugging my ribs.

I go back and forth between studying the tiny black bird in the full-length bathroom mirror in my parents’ lake house and craning my neck to stare at it directly. Lifting the gun from my skin, I wipe away the smudged ink and blood with a cloth then continue.

This bird is smaller than all the rest in the flock. Just a baby, taking up little space, leaving room for brothers and sisters to join another day.

When my eyes water, I pause to rub my face on my shoulder. Sniffling, I get back to work.

With its fresh ink, the little black bird is darker than the others by the time I’m done, its wings spread to fly with the rest.

I shut off the gun then wipe away more blood and ink before applying a thin layer of petroleum jelly to the tattoo and covering it with gauze. After I splash water on my face and push back my hair, I stare at myself in the mirror.

This is the face of a killer.

Why do I look so normal?

My head spins toward the glass door leading to the deck when leaves crunch outside. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as my heart quickens.

It’s likely nothing.

Twice now, I’ve thought I heard something outside and panicked over wind rustling leaves or small animals scurrying—or more likely, my imagination playing tricks on me. But still, I grab the shotgun leaned against the door jamb and raise it to my shoulder.

Leaving my shirt discarded on the bathroom floor, I creep through the darkened living room toward the glass door in only a sports bra and pajama bottoms. When I make it there, I flick my eyes over the front yard in search of any suspicious figures.

Nothing yet.

I unlock the door and quietly slide it open before stepping onto the deck, the gun swinging left and right in my arms.

Is someone there?

The words perch on my tongue, but I don’t voice them. I clamp my teeth down just to hold them in and walk to the edge of the deck, my finger poised on the trigger.

“Olive.”

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