Page 67 of The Dead Don't Talk
“So, you get to rail him in the forest, but I can’t call him a mountain man?”
“No.”
She snorts and shakes her head, her short hair swishing over her ears. “I never did understand you two.”
Shrugging, I rest my arms on the bars.
“Me, either.”
“So be normal for once in your life and just make him dinner or whatever two dudes in love do.”
“In love?” My eyes bug and my palms sweat. “I’m not inlove.”
Her brow cocks and a tickling feeling shakes down my spine.
Am I?
“Sure, you’re not.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, he is, ya prick.”
And with that … she goes right back to reading her book, leaving me with a heaping load of shit swirling in my chest and a flopping to my stomach.
Am I in love with Wilson?
My insides squeeze.
What about Amo?
That shit inside me squeezes harder.
I did just … do all of this for him. Them.
And for myself. More for myself because my father was a real monster that doesn’t deserve to keep living. Someone I should have killed all that time ago instead of just agreeing to his stupid plan.
He fucking left me for dead that day.
Flashes of Wilson in the rain, trails of red running down his stubbled cheeks, his shirt soaked through and turning pink and thefearin his eyes …
I shake the image away.
It’s replaced with one of Amo and his sweet, tart treats.
What does that make me?
I slump against the rough bars, my mind racing and my skin itching.
I took his virginity without even asking.
It’s like I can smell the gooey, cherry filling and I take a long, deep breath.
The flaky, golden crust fills my nose next, like it was just waiting for that strong cherry scent to sit aside to make way for—
Leaves. Earth. Aloe?
My eyes snap open.
