Page 34 of Wait in the Truck
Call me unhinged, say I’m deranged… it doesn’t matter. Because Sage Everett feels safe with me, and after watching her claw her way through a hell-ridden life, being the anchor that keeps her from drifting into the darkness is my new prophecy.
Rhett slows to a stop in front of our house and from the corner of my eye, I see our grandma rise from her perch. I draw in a breath before slowly exhaling. I’ve never brought a woman home, and the fact that this one isn’t conscious is questionable, even for me. “Open the door for me, would you?”
Rhett nods as he climbs out and rounds the hood of the truck. Shifting slightly, I gently maneuver Sage until I have a steady hold of her. The door clips open with a pop, and I slip from the passenger side, clinging to my wilted wildflower.
With the sudden movement, Sage stirs in my grip, semi-awake.
“Ssh.” I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper assurance. “We’re back at Black River. Go back to sleep, baby. I got you.”
Her response is a muffledHm-hmm, eyes remainingclosed while her arms latch around my neck as she snuggles closer.
Careful not to wake her further, I ascend the few porch steps that lead to the front door, ignoring the watchful glare from the woman who played a huge part in raising me. Right when I think she’s about to let us sweep past her, no questions asked, she strikes.
“Kade Nathaniel Rivers,” she scolds, gun swinging toward me, her tone edged with a warning that would have sent twelve-year-old Kade running across the fields. “Put that girl to bed, then get your butt back down here. You have some explaining to do.”
Rhett, the poor bastard, tries to escape her wrath by following close behind. “Rhett Jameson Rivers, where in the fresh hell are you going? Sit your puny ass down.”
His eyes widen, shooting me a hurry-the-fuck-back look. I nod, and scurry from the porch as if my boots were on fire.
Seconds later, I’m up the stairs and pushing into my bedroom. With a gentleness I don’t usually possess, I ease a sleeping Sage onto my bed and cover her up with my quilt. I stand there, watching as she sinks into my mattress and drags the covers up to her chin. Fuck, she’s beautiful. A delicate and dangerous angel.
What I’d give to climb in next to her and pull her into my arms, only that’s not a fucking option—not when there is a mess that needs to be cleaned up before anyone finds out what she did.I can’t risk leaving Ridge’s body rotting for long.
Bending at the waist, I lean across the bed and brush stray strands of hair from her face. “Sleep tight, Wildflower. The Gambler will make sure your nightmares can’t ever haunt you again.”
Placing a kiss on her forehead, I pull back until my gaze lands on the chip that resides on my nightstand. Before I can stop myself, I reach for it, a smile curling on my lips.Some days I’m a reaper, tonight I’m an undertaker.
As I make my way downstairs, I hear whispered voices coming from the open-plan kitchen. Following the muttered sounds, I find Rhett leaning against the sink with a cup of something, most likely coffee, in his hand while Grandma is propped on one of the island stools, gaze fixed on her eldest grandson. As I draw closer, the old wood floorboards creak, drawing their attention toward me.
“Glad you could finally join us, boy. Now would ya mind taking a seat and tellin’ me why that pretty little Everett is sleepin’ in your bed?”
Over her shoulder, Rhett shoots me a glance that says more than words ever could.Don’t lie, she’ll smell the deceit like a bloodhound does a hare. Omit, but don’t fucking lie.
Following his silent advice, I tell her a half-truth, leaving out all the gory details. “Sage has had a hard couple of weeks and needs a safe place to crash.”
Her right brow raises so high it almost tangles in herhairline. “I may have been born at night, kid, but it wasn’tlastnight. In case you’ve forgotten, my bedroom is off the living room… and I heard part of the phone call before you two rushed out the door, John Cena pact firmly in place.”
My face must mirror my thoughts because she continues, “Oh, don’t give me that look. Before your mama and daddy died, you still lived inmyhouse, undermyroof. These walls, they talk more than you know. Now”—her face turns more serious—“if you boys are gonna need an alibi, I’m gonna need the whole story. So, start at the beginning.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, we catch her up to speed, with no detail left out—at least the ones Rhett and I are aware of. Finally, when we get to the part about the lack of life left in Ridge’s body, she releases the disappointed breath she’d been holding.
“You know…” She pauses, bringing her coffee cup—which I am pretty damn sure is laced with whiskey—to her lips. Her eyes narrow, thoughts dancing in the wrinkles forming on her forehead. Rhett and I remain silent, waiting. Finally, her cup lands on the countertop with a clunk. “I never liked that rotten son of a bitch. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but Ridge, he sprung from the poisonous branch—every ounce of his father, that one.” Her chest rises as she inhales. “I tried to warn your daddy about him all those years ago, but Lord rest his soul, he didn’t listen to me. I’m glad that girl upstairs is rid of him. One less devil creating hell on earth.”
Rhett shifts against the counter, his knuckles whitening around his coffee cup. “All right,” he exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We know why it had to be done, but what the hell do we do now? Lucky for us, he’s due to be out of town for the week, but after that, his staff will notice his absence. We can’t just sit on this and hope nobody asks questions.”
Grandma Jo hums, the sound low and knowing. “You’re right. Thankfully, I’ve got an idea.”
Me too, Grams. Me too. But I doubt we’re the same level of deranged, Josephine.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the counter, her sharp eyes scanning between the two of us. “First, you go back to Lilac Meadows. Clean up the house. Once you think it’s clean, clean it some more. You don’t want some nosy bastard sniffing around and finding anything that raises suspicion.”
Solid advice.The last thing we need is to leave any evidence behind, but from what I saw beyond the upheaval of Sage’s room was that she got one good, clean crack of that barrel-racing trophy against his temple, and Ridge Everett hit the floor.
Done. Curtain call. Dead as the hell he crawled back to.
Sage? She isn’t a cold-blooded killer. She didn’t do it for the hell of it. She did it because she had to. She did itbecause Ridge was never gonna stop coming for her, because if she hadn’t ended him, he sure as fuck would’ve been the end of her.
But the problem with a corpse is… Well. It’s a fucking corpse. And in this town, where everyone’s got their nose so far up everyone else’s ass crack, it won’t take long before someone starts asking where Ridge Everett is.
