Page 67 of Hitch
There’s a touch of anxiety in her voice, like being here without me makes her nervous. The urge to wrap my arms around her and be her literal human shield flows through me, but the rage to throw her out into the fucking field wages against that urge too. She’s so determined to reject me. Todistrustme. Shit, maybe she even disrespects me. Now she’s pretending like she wants me by her side?
“You can take care of yourself,” I say.
Before I can change my mind, I leave the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
Downstairs, Braden paces in the kitchen, running his hands over his face in exasperation. He shows me the note, but my mind is full of noise; I can barely read it. I killed the extra workers; the only people left who know about the mushrooms are me, Braden, Todd, and Reggie.
One of us is the blackmailer.
But Todd and Braden profit off of the business; they have no reason for me to sell.
Reggie, on the other hand? She knows too much, and it’s not good for any of us.
I envision myself going up the stairs. Opening the bedroom door. Ripping the pistol from Reggie’s hands. Putting the barrel of the gun up to her temple for the last time. Pulling back the hammer.
Letting the trigger click into place.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say to Braden, interrupting his rambling.
He wipes his nose. “What?”
My voice is firm, agitation growing with each word: “I’ll. Take. Care. Of. It.”
Braden falls quiet, no doubt concerned with what I’m about to do. And I want to tell him to keep his mouth shut, even though he hasn’t added a goddamn word.
I walk through the front door of the house. Get in my truck. Look up at the house and see the window to my room.
The curtains are open, and Reggie stands in the divided frame, haunting me like a ghost. I ought tomakeher a ghost.
But why can’t I kill her?
Months ago, before Reggie knew I was still around, I took a tally of her regulars, and I followed each one of them.
I’ve always known where the Mortician lives.
It’s a long drive; I won’t be back until past midnight. But my mind can’t see through the muck, and I need clarity right now. Ihaveto kill someone, and I refuse to kill her. And if that’s what I need to do—force Reggie to watch me kill someone—so that sherespectsme, so that she tells me the fucking truth, then I’ll do it.
But I should be killing her instead.
Chapter22
Reggie
A bang cracksthrough the room, waking me up. My heart races as I sit up in Duane’s bed.
The bedroom door slams shut behind Duane. He sways in front of me, his eyes bloodshot, the veins pumping in his neck like he’s running on pure adrenaline. Which is not a good thing when the man is already made of domination and power already.
“Get up,” he orders, the words brittle. I should expect that sort of coarse tone from him, but there’s something off, like everything has been shifted out of place. A dryness whips through my mouth, my pulse throbbing in my chest with intense heat.
I have to follow my instincts right now. It’s the only way to get through something like this.
I stand up and adjust the boxers on my hips. Even though I’m wearing Duane’s baggy clothes, his blue eyes appraise me behind his rage. But there’s something else in his stance. Another layer of promise.
He’s not just hungry for sex. He’s hungry for blood.
“Get your pistol,” he says.
I don’t question Duane. I grab the gun, but it’s like I’m watching myself in the third person, walking through the motions, like I’m not in control of my body anymore. I swallow another gulp, my throat dryer than a desert.
