Page 64 of Drowning Her

“I will carry you out if I have to,” Wilder said.

Sawyer laughed, then patted his brother on the back. “I’ll stay,” he said.

Though it was a nice gesture, I didn’t quite trust him, even if I had faith that Wilder would never let Sawyer hurt my friends or family like that.

“I’ll call my sister,” I said.

“Sister?” Sawyer asked.

“Fiona,” I said. “She’s good at this kind of stuff. Plus, she went to medical school.” Which was technically true.

“I’ll leave her to it.” He lifted his phone. “I’ve got some business to take care of anyway.”

Back at the farm, it took a while before my breathing finally steadied. It was strange being back, knowing that things were different now, but you could feel it in the air. The silent breeze. The murmur between the ranchers. The sunlight beaming down. Forrest was gone, and that lack of presence showed. Still, the two of us stood over Forrest’s corpse. His gray hair was muddied with blood.

“What do you want to do with the body?” Wilder asked.

He was truly asking for my opinion, like I had an actual say. Forrest had been disgusting to me, but worse, he had been awful to his sons, pitting them against each other. And as much as I appreciated the offer to decide the future of his corpse, I didn’t want any say. That was Wilder’s decision.

“Your call,” I said.

Wilder glared down at his father, then picked him up, dropping him into the rolling cattle chutes that Sawyer had used to transport Bambi and I. Rolling the cart, we took the long walk to the pond, stopping at the deepest edge. We tiedcinderblocks to his limbs, then Wilder kicked him in, letting his body sink to the bottom.

“He owed you a million?” Wilder asked.

“Don’t know if I kept my end of the bargain anyway,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter.”

We looked at the dark water. How many other people were at the bottom of the pond? Was his mother down there too? Or would Forrest rot alone?

It should have seemed foreboding, but I knew we would never meet that same fate. We were different from Wilder’s parents. And that was a good thing.

“I want to give the money to Bambi,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Then give it to her.”

It was so simple to Wilder. He didn’t care about money. He didn’t care about food. Or cars. Or many things. But he understood murder. Maybe he even understood his brother.

And he understood me.

We were quiet for a while. A cow moaned in the distance. A tractor rattled in the pasture behind us, no one stopping to ask what we were doing. Even with the leader of the Feldman Farms gone, life went on. A new leader took the reins. And the two of us watched the old ruler sink down to the depths.

But one question still needed answers.

“Why did you leave me?” I asked.

I knew why, but I wanted to hearhimsay it. Wilder focused on the pond, as if he could see the past in those murky depths to his father’s corpse.

“It was the only way I could keep you safe,” he said.

I reached for his hand. His fingers stiffened, but then his fingers laced with mine.

“If you still want a divorce,” I started in a quiet voice. Wilder bared his teeth, waiting for the rest of my sentence. I continued, “Then you’re going to have to fight me for it.”

“Shut up,” he said. He pressed his lips to mine, that deep, menacing kiss, full of undefined lust. His tongue chaotic, unruly, fighting for dominance when I’d give it all to him in a heartbeat because that’s how we functioned. Because I wanted to give myself to him. I trusted him more than I trusted anyone else.

We broke apart. I stared into his stormy eyes. He was everything I wanted.

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