Page 40 of Half the Summer's Night
Looking good so far.
The next part is harder. I go back to my car and pop the trunk, and Abi’s would-be killer stares up at me with a frozen, terrified expression. I’ve already stripped him of his shirt, gloves, boots, and the stocking he used to conceal his face. Those are in a pile in the back of the trunk. I’ll burn them when I’m done.
Stupid motherfucker, thinking he could come after my Abi.
I drag him out, grunting with the effort. I’m strong—stronger than you have any right to be, Uncle Nash used to say, his cruel, judgmental gaze dropping to my belly—but dead weight is always a chore. Especially dead weight that’s already starting to stiffen.
Still, I manage to wrangle him up on the pier and over to the pile of empty beer cans. I step up to the pier’s edge to study the rocks that run alongside and beneath it. The moon’s out, and they look silver with sea foam.
I tip the body forward, angling it so his head crunches against a rock before it flips over itself, flopping like a rag doll, and splashes into the shallows. The waves splash around him, making him ripple and dance.
He’ll be found easily. The tide’s going out, leaving him exposed to the elements. With any luck, he’ll get nibbled on by birds or crabs before someone happens to spot him.
I want him found, though. Mostly for the reason I told Abi: to see if she’ll protect me as willingly as I protected her. It should be easy for her to fake a toxicology report, to confirm he was as drunk as the cans suggest. She’ll know what I did when she hears about the scene, I’m sure of it. She’s smart.
But I also want him found because I want to know his name. It’ll be in the papers once they identify him, and I want to know what stupid piece of shit tried to hurt my girl.
I turn away from the body and stare down the long path of the pier to the empty, rocky beach. I’m still in my killing face—not that it really matters. There’s no one nearby. The night is empty.
I leave it on, though, as I walk down the pier. It gives me a hot, coursing strength, especially when I’m around Abi. As Rowan, I would never wind my arms around her, never press her body to mine. Never kiss her.
But as myself, I can do those things. And I can sense the difference in how she reacts to me, too. She’s not afraid of Rowan, although I guess she likes him, because her heart does beat a little faster when he’s around.
But with me, the real me, she becomes a firestorm of heat. I wasn’t sure when I sensed it on our first night together, mostly because I was overwhelmed being near her. But it was undeniable tonight, the way her body flared when she looked at me over the corpse of her attacker, seconds after I had killed him.
My half-hard cock swells. I’ll have to take care of myself when I get home.
I unlock my car but look out at the pier one last time. The beer cans glint like stars, and from this angle, the body looks like a mound of seaweed
Everything is in place. The rest is up to Abi.
But just as I’m about to slide into my seat, something freezes me in place.
That feral, dark presence. The presence that nearly got Abi killed. It’s back.
I straighten and turn around, scanning the shadows. I don’t see anything, not like I did earlier. But I can feel the presence, his eyes crawling over my skin.
Did Abi’s attacker have a partner? The thought makes my muscles cord up, like I’m preparing for a fight. I don’t sense the same malevolence, though. Just a weird, inhuman energy that hums along the wind.
“Who are you?” I bellow, my voice catching on the wind and then disappearing into the roar of the waves.
No answer.
I step away from my car, moving in slow, loping circles across the packed sand. “I know you’re there!” I shout. “You almost got someone killed tonight!”
The air shifts, and I tense up. I shouldn’t have done that. I just staged the best crime scene I could, given my circumstances, and I don’t need to fuck it up by announcing myself to the entire beach.
Even though I don’t feel any humans here. Just—the presence.
“Were you working with him?” I call out, my voice sounding hollow. I let the rest of my threat hang in the air:Because if you were, you’re fucking next.
There’s still no response. Just the constant, beating wind and the crashing waves and the sense of eyes watching me in the darkness.
16
ABI
Olivia Pearce is still waiting for me the next morning.
