Page 10 of Conall's Reign

With trembling knees, I climbed out of the vehicle, ignoring her gasp as I staggered, nearly falling flat on my face.

“Holy shit, Frankie.” Her mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise, staring at me with disbelief. I knew it looked bad.

“I know.” I turned towards the car, where she swiveled between me and the body of Fausto Oliveto, who I’d managed to half-shove into the next seat (somewhat). The interior was splattered with blood on the driver’s side, across the dash, down along the mats, and the instrument panel.

Theo raised her hands and pressed them firmly against her eyes. “It’s like one of those Halloween haunted houses, for Christ’s sake.” She took a deep breath as I looked helplessly at Oliveto, once again weighing whether I should risk calling my brother. “Okay, strip.” She set a bag down at my feet. I peered inside with skepticism.

“Strip,” she ordered, and I realized for the first time what she was wearing. She had dressed in painter’s coveralls complete with booties and plastic gloves. Her hair was pulled back tightly and covered with a hairnet. She wasn’t messing around. “Everything Frankie.”

I followed Theo’s instructions, dropping my clothes onto the pavement in a trembling heap and stepping into the coveralls she had brought for me. The stiff fabric had a faint chemical smell, and I fought the urge to shudder as I twisted my hair back into a taut ponytail, tucking it under a hairnet like hers. Every movement felt surreal, but Theo’s sharp focus grounded me. She was intelligent and methodical—if she had a plan, I trusted her to follow through with it.

While I struggled with the coveralls, she hauled two red gas cans from the trunk of her car, the smell of gasoline trailing behind her like a ghost. In her other hand, she gripped a canister of lighter fluid. The sharp tang of it stung my nose as she set them down with purpose.

“Here’s the plan,” she said, her voice crisp and devoid of hesitation. “We’re moving the body to the driver’s seat.”

I swallowed hard and nodded, my body moving on autopilot as I followed her toward the car. The night air pressed against my skin, heavy with the acrid stench of gasoline and something more sinister—death.

Theo positioned herself on one side of the car, signaling me to take the opposite. “Pull,” she commanded, her tone unwavering. “I’ll push.”

My hands shook as I grasped Fausto’s lifeless form, my stomach twisting into knots. His weight was suffocating, and his limbs had begun to stiffen with rigor mortis. Together, we struggled and maneuvered, both of us trying to breathe through our mouths to block the stench that clung to him like a foul perfume.

Theo gritted her teeth, her jaw set as she shoved harder. I pulled with all the strength I could muster, wincing as his body slumped awkwardly into the driver’s seat. The silence afterward was deafening, broken only by our shallow breaths and the faint crackle of gravel underfoot.

Theo straightened, brushing her gloved hands against her coveralls as she glanced around with hawk-like precision. “Okay, Frankie,” she said briskly. “We need to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind. Your purse, your phone—anything that could link us to this.”

I blinked, my mind sluggishly processing her words before jerking into motion. I scanned the ground, my heart hammering as I retraced every frantic step I’d taken earlier. Gravel crunched underfoot as I circled the car, scanning for even the smallest hint of evidence. “The knife,” I said suddenly, the realization clawing at my chest.

“Where?” Theo asked sharply, her eyes narrowing.

“I—I don’t know. I think it fell when he pulled it out of his neck when?—”

She cut me off with a curt nod. “Find it.”

Panic simmered just beneath my skin as I crouched, trying to avoid touching anything. My fingers finally closed around the familiar handle, slick and warm from the evening heat. “Got it,” I whispered, holding it up for her inspection.

“Good.” Theo’s voice softened just a fraction. “Now, let’s finish this.”

We rifled through the car quickly, working in tense silence as we checked for anything else that might incriminate me. Theo was thorough, her sharp eyes darting over every surface, her hands methodically sweeping under seats and into crevices. Satisfied, she stood and nodded toward the pile of my discarded clothes.

“Throw them in,” she ordered.

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the crumpled heap of fabric on the ground. They felt like the last remnants of normalcy, but I knew they couldn’t stay. I picked them up with trembling hands and tossed them onto the driver’s seat, the material settling over Oliveto’s body like a shroud.

Theo unscrewed the cap of a gas can and began pouring, the pungent scent of gasoline filling the air in waves as she soaked the car’s interior. She handed me the lighter fluid. “Cover the outside,” she instructed.

I followed her lead, squeezing the bottle until the liquid splashed over the hood and dripped down the sides. By the time we stepped back, the car reeked of fuel, its surface glistening in the dim light.

Theo struck a match and dropped it onto the soaked upholstery. The flame ignited instantly, roaring to life and spreading with alarming speed. We both stumbled back, shielding our faces as the heat surged toward us in a wave of blistering intensity.

“Jesus,” I gasped as the fire’s fury took my breath away.

Theo coughed and wiped her forehead, her eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t think it would happen so quickly.”

“It’s so hot,” I muttered, my voice shaking as the flames engulfed the car.

“We may have overdone it,” Theo admitted her tone a mixture of awe and grim satisfaction.

“Where did you get all this?” I asked, glancing at the gas cans now lying abandoned on the ground.

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