Page 22 of Bound to a Killer
Aria.
The name sinks heavily in my stomach, another piece of her anchoring itself to me, a reminder that she isn’t some unknown figure that I can casually wipe my hands clean from, but a person. An entire identity that I can’t look away from, at least not in the rate I’m already headed in.
Her humanity is undeniably growing on me, and even Tanner has sensed it quicker than I can attempt to refute it.
His next words, however, sting more than anything else he could possibly throw at me. “Take both of us out of the equation entirely for a sec. Did you ever pause to consider how this would affect your sister’s safety? Is saving one random girl worth jeopardizing hers?”
“Don’t drag Frankie into this,” I snap.
“Oh, I’m not the one roping her in, Wilson. That’s all you.”
Both of our chests heave in unison. The tension still planted between us. Thick. Too stubborn. Too complicated. I know it’s begun to escalate too far once he starts tossing my last namearound. That usually means we’ve peaked in the argument, and it’s time to dial it down.
“Fine. You’re right to be wary. But I’ll say it again, I’ve got this under control.” Or, at least, I will. I just need time to think of something.
Everything can be salvaged with time.
Doubtful, he releases a low sigh, head yanked back to stare at the sky as if the clouds will part and a miracle will ascend to free us from our current dilemma. “You know what needs to be done, don’t you?”
“I know,” I say, defeated, pushing myself through the dread gnawing inside of me, knowing I’ll have to walk over and take the collapsed girl from his car, bringing her inside.
Tanner passes me a duffel bag as he climbs back into the driver’s seat, his expression resigned when he cocks his head. “So you keep saying.” A moment later, he adds, “Oh, right, before I forget, there’s a case of water bottles and some non-perishables inside. It’s in the fridge.”
I arch a brow. “A fridge that doesn’t work?”
“So what? It doubles as a pantry. Besides, it’s not much, but it’s not like I expected us to be here.”
“Okay, I get it.”
We fall into silence.
With nothing else left to say, I glance down at the girl lying limp between us. I hook the duffle bag over my shoulder, then gently brush a few messy strands from her face, revealing her gaunt, chalk-like complexion.
My chest constricts at the sight. Already gone are the rosy undertones that once lit up her youthful skin. The guilt continues to fester.
Lowering my gaze, I slip an arm beneath her chilled thighs, which, despite the cold, are clammy and dotted with perspiration, effects from the chloroform. I carry her out before we eachtip our chins, and he pulls out of the gravel path without another word.
He doesn’t need to tell me anything else.
We both know what has to be done.
Inside, I gently lay her down on the twin mattress. Her clothes are tarnished, muddied, and damp, clinging to her curves so tightly she looks unnatural, like a figure carved straight from stone. She’s stiff beneath my hands, as if she really is more statue than human.
My pulse quickens as my eyes trace the length of her body, heat rushing through me in a way that I instantly resent. Forcing my gaze lower, my eyes catch on her blistered knee before I can look away. More dirt circles the angry red wound, caked thick into the torn skin, a sign of a future infection brewing if left untreated.
I slip the bag off my shoulder, letting it drop at my side. Maybe Tanner packed spare clothes inside I can change her into, though I hesitate at the thought.
Still, I can’t shake away the bothersome feeling that’s weighing me down, the sensation of being responsible for her pitying condition. I can’t leave her sleeping in her own filth.
So, I finally give in to the pressure and decide to dress her myself—but not before tending to her injury.
Exhaling another deep breath, I force myself to look away from her vulnerable body, cursing myself for staring longer than I need to.
Christ. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Sprawled on the grime-smeared floor are the picked-apart ropes. I bend down to reach for them, impressed by her ability to break free of the knots I tied.
I momentarily consider their use, but eventually decide she’ll be far too disoriented after she wakes to require any restraining, so I tuck them above the pillow her head’s resting on.
