Page 52 of Grave Love
It’s not.
Showing me this corpse is about reminding us what we agreed on. What we should want. This is about me. Forcing me to see my end. My future.
“It’s just a corpse,” he says.
“A corpse,” I repeat.
“A corpse like yours.”
A corpse like mine.
I stare at the body. The decay. The rot. The holes carved into the flesh, the homes tiny creatures have made in the body. Infestations and protection. I don’t know if Blaze will burn my flesh and pulverize my bones, or if he will bury me with one of our client’s loved ones in the cemetery. And I don’t get that choice.
There’s a chance that he’ll bury me like he buried this corpse. In the ground. Where I’ll rot. Insects and the earth will use my body for nourishment, and I’ll be nameless. A number. Perhaps the only one who waswillingto die.
But maybe I won’t even have that.
A chill runs through my body, and I wrap my arms around myself. When I spin around, Blaze is right next to me, his breath cascading over my neck. His focus sears into me, digging past the layers of skin and between our barriers, hearing the question forming deep inside of me.
Will he kill me?
“Soon, I’ll kill you too,” he murmurs as he traces a finger down my throat. “Would you like that?”
All the heat in my body centers around that point of physical contact, reaching for it. Desperate for his forceful touch.
I don’t think; I answer instinctually.
“Yes,” I whisper.
His lips drop, and I understand that it’s more than an instinct now. This isn’t about the end—my end.It’s not even about surrendering to the unknown.
It’s about what Blaze does to me. What he gives me. How he guides me through this fucked up world, and how for once, I want something more for myself.
He motions for me to follow him. The moon cuts through the branches, enveloping us in its light, our footsteps mingling with the cicadas and the frogs. Blaze walks around the hole in the ground and heads straight to his car. I match his footsteps, knowing that tonight isn’tthenight.
For now, he’ll make me wait.
Chapter19
Blaze
We findour rhythm after that. In Panama City Beach. In Blountstown. In the cemetery or the crematory. We fuck until I force Ren to fight for her life. Getting her to come gets easier every time. The touch of my hand to her throat—the slightest squeeze—and her body tenses, ready to rush over that edge. To close her eyes and jump into the oblivion.
In between those times, she shows me how to work the crematory. Her brown eyes light up, my pulse beating in my throat as I watch her. It excites her, having the ability to teach me something.
And when it comes to her, I’m a quick learner.
Ren flutters back and forth across the mortuary windows like a moth without a place to land, never quite seeing the light. Every so often, she glances in my direction. I doubt she can see me back here in the cemetery, but I know she feels what I feel—everything ahead of us, waiting for us.
It’s not supposed to be “we” or “us.” It’s supposed to be aboutme.But that’s not enough anymore, and I’m not sure why.
The sun sets over the beach. A bell gongs—a nearby restaurant celebrating the end of the day—and a figure appears in my peripheral. I stop the excavator and power it down. I turn slowly; I know it’s not her. This person—this figure—is too proud, too sure of himself.
I’m face to face with my brother. Brody’s blue eyes glisten, his cheekbones cut from marble. We’re similar that way. If it weren’t for how pale I am compared to him, we might be considered twins.
But I’ll never be like him.
“You dig graves this late in your shift?” he asks.
