Page 73 of The Last One You Loved
“You kill Slider, Sybil?” I asked.
She laughed. “No. I didn’t need to.”
“So, you know who did, right? Who was he meeting with?” I asked, and I saw a flicker of something inside her cold eyes that might have been fear. “I might be able to get you a deal if you tell us.”
“I don’t want a deal. I’m happy right where I’m at. I’ll watch everything burn to the ground, and then I’ll walk out of here and start my new life.”
I changed tactics. “You think Chainsaw is going to just let you walk away with whatever it is you’re holding over him? I think you’ll end up just like Slider.”
“I’m not worried about Chainsaw,” she said, but I could hear the false bravado in her tone. Then, she shrugged. “Besides, he won’t be in charge long. I think I’m going to enjoy watching him go down next.”
It was like an icy hand drifted down my back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She smiled an evil smile and then lay down on her cot without another word.
“If you’ve had a hand in this, Sybil, I’ll personally see you locked up for the rest of your life.”
She ignored me, humming that country song about a winning ticket.
I walked away, trying not to let her words and attitude affect me and wondering if I was more worried or less that she hadn’t brought up Mila’s father even once. I couldn’t remember a discussion with her in the last four years when she hadn’t held it over me.
Sybil knew something about what was going down. Chainsaw had sure as hell seemed in charge the day before, but maybe there was a war going on I didn’t know about. Maybe it was with the Lovato cartel. Or maybe it was between the old Gears under Trap, who’d never really been into drugs, and the new Gears under Chainsaw, who were. Regardless, it was the last thing I needed, because a war meant more bodies ending up on the streets of Willow Creek.
The town and the people I loved were counting on me. I needed to get my head on straight and keep it that way. My brain was still whirling when I walked in the door well after midnight. I’d wanted to be home for dinner, but for the second night in a row, I’d missed it, just like I’d missed reading to Mila and finding out about her day—and McK’s.
Thoughts of McKenna did nothing to help me stay focused on my job, sending my body into overdrive instead. Craving escape. Craving her.
As always, I ducked into Mila’s room first. The kaleidoscope of shimmering rainbows surrounded me as I kissed her on her forehead. I retucked her blankets tight against her and stared down with my heart in my throat. I’d had to grow up fast when I’d taken her in, but I’d never regretted it, not even the tiniest bit. Every moment I’d had with her was the best moment of my life. She was pure joy. Heaven placed here on earth.
I closed her door and stopped in front of the guest room, just like I had the night before, but this time, emboldened by our heated kisses that morning, I turned the knob. The room was dark, only the hall light pushing at the black. McKenna was on her stomach, bare legs sticking out of the comforter and a tiny tank partially covering her top half. She had more skin showing than clothes or blankets. I ached to run my hand over the silky expanse, to tuck my fingers underneath it all and find her core that had come apart simply by rocking on me earlier.
But she was as passed out as Mila, and I had a feeling, from the dark circles under her eyes ever since showing up in Willow Creek, she hadn’t been sleeping any better than I had lately. There was no way I’d take her peace even if it was to give her another kind. Instead, I closed the door and journeyed down the hall to my room.
My mind and emotions were a jumble—confusion over the feelings for McK which had resurfaced amongst the kisses and teasing we’d found in the last two days, frustration because I hadn’t been able to spend my day chasing the asshole from California like I’d wanted, and anxiety over the West Gears, Chainsaw, the Lovatos and whatever the hell was going down with them. Layered over it all was the image of Slider’s dead body. My life felt like a bunch of loose strings that needed to be tied together, and I was afraid if I missed one, everything would unravel completely.
Eventually, my brain and body finally shut down, tossing me into an uneasy slumber haunted by people running in the dark and faces I couldn’t see, until Mila’s tiny voice calling my name in fear jerked me from my dreams.
I yanked open the bedside drawer where I kept my gun in a lockbox only to realize there was no one in the room, and all my straining ears picked up was a sudden burst of laughter—Mila’s and McKenna’s—like two sets of windchimes echoing off each other or like the very first notes of your favorite song.
I pulled on a pair of sweats and padded out of my bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen only to stop suddenly at the sight before me. Mila was covered in chocolate powder from head to toe. It clung to her golden hair, turning it a strange shade of brown, and made her face look like a burlap sack. McKenna hadn’t fared much better. She had it sprinkled all over her chest and the tiny tank top she wore over a low-hung pair of flannel bottoms. They both had stunned looks on their faces that turned into another round of laughter.
I inched forward, called by the infectious joy on their faces.
McKenna saw me first, and her smile disappeared. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
“Daddy!” Mila launched herself at me, and when she hugged me, a little puff of powder burst between us that had me chuckling.
“What happened here, Bug-a-Boo?”
“McKenna and I were going to make chocolate-chip pancakes, and I thought she needed the hot chocolate, so I was trying to help, but the lid was stuck, and when I finally got it off, it imploded.”
“Exploded.”
“Right. Imploded.”
Mila had her arms and legs wrapped around me like a little lemur as I slowly made my way toward McKenna. She looked upset, as if the mess was the end of the world. And maybe in her past, it would have been. Maybe in her current life, she lived neat and tidy, but I’d grown up on a ranch, with three siblings, and now I had Mila who routinely left disaster in her wake.
