Page 20 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
The short one nods, grimacing. “Yeah. That’s gonna bake real nice in the sun tomorrow.”
The tailgate slams shut with a heavythunk.
“Done,” the tall guy breathes, doubling over, hands on knees. “I’m never eating meat again.”
“Good,” the short one says, stretching his back with a groan. “You could lose a few pounds.”
The tall one shoots him a death glare. “Next time, you can carry it by yourself.”
“Next time,” the short one scoffs. “I never plan to see a dead body again, let alone kill one.”
“You can’t kill a dead body,” the tall one smirks.
“Whatever,” the short one mutters.
They glance once at the truck, the corpse seeping quietly into the bed, and disappear into the shadows. Leaving one very unlucky truck owner with one hell of a surprise.
twelve
. . .
Elle
Doug jumpsand lets loose a high-pitched squeak, dropping his ineffective B & E tool with a dull thud on the grass. His upper body jerks as he turns to face me, then relaxes slightly as recognition dawns.
“Well, if it isn’t little Elle. I’d say the better question is what’re you doing sneaking up on me?”
“That’s not a better question. And I’m not little. Why are you trying to break into the Jenkins’ house?”
“I’m not breaking in,” he scoffs.
“If you aren’t breaking in, what are you doing?”
“None of your business.”
“I disagree,” I say.
“I don’t care.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “You can tell that to the cops when they get here.”
“You called the cops?” His voice rises.
“Not yet,” I admit.
Relief flashes across his face, but it’s gone just as fast, replaced by fury. I shouldn’t have said that. A smarter womanwould have lied. But I’m not running on smart right now. I’m running on maternal instinct and raw emotion.
“But I’m going to now.” I turn to leave the way I came, silently cursing myself for not grabbing my damn phone when I threw these clothes on.
“I don’t think so, blondie.”
His hands wrap around my neck from behind, hot and damp against my skin. They smell like sweat and rusted metal as they tighten. I can’t breathe. Panic claws up my throat, faster than oxygen can get in. Everything Noah ever taught me about self-defense evaporates into fog.
This is not how I die. This is not how I die. Not with my kids waiting on me. Not with volleyball finals, the end of the year dance, and summer vacation in our near future.
“You should be at home like a good little woman, teaching that daughter of yours how to be a lady,” he growls, his voice thick with entitlement and rage.
“Fuck you and your male dominant oppression bullshit!” I wheeze out.
