“I’m going to go shower off this jailbird filth, and after that, I’m not quite sure.” My shoulders grow heavy with the thought of what went down the last forty-eight hours. “Where do we go from here?” I walk off before either of them can answer the rhetorical question.
“We’re glad you’re out!” Breaker yells. “We’ll deal with this shit like we always do.”
“Bloodshed, then?” Dixon says, and I turn on the balls of my feet, glaring daggers into his back. Breaker’s wide eyes give my anger away, and Dixon shifts to look at me. “I’m kidding.” He lifts his hands in apology. “We’ll deal with it together.” I hit the stairs in a rush, but hear Dixon whisper, “And a little bloodshed, if need be.”
“I heard that!” I shout as I open my bedroom door.
“You were meant to,” he calls over his shoulder. “And I didn’t mean Palmer’s blood. Just to clarify.”
Distracted by Dixon’s bullshit, I trip over something in the doorway. The light outside the window illuminates the room enough to provide me with an image I won’t soon forget.
Broken glass. Smashed drywall. Papers everywhere.
“Jesus, this place is a mess,” I whisper, frustrated that I have one more thing to deal with later. Compared to fighting murder charges, taking care of this mess will be easy.
“Did you think we’d clean it for you?” Byron sits in the chair in the corner.
“Fuck, man!” I yell, jumping away from him. “Let your presence be known or something when someone walks into their room. What are you doing in here, anyway?”
“I’ve been sitting up here since William said he was going to get you.”
“You knew I was getting out, and you didn’t bother to come?” I tug the shirt over my head and throw it on the bed.
I don’t know why I’m angry with Byron. This shouldn’t surprise me. Things between us have been strained from the moment he took our plan and shot it up with adrenaline and hysteria. If he didn’t love Reed so damn much, to the point he’s rendered useless, if I didn’t understand that kind of fury, he’d be a shred of the man he is now after I was finished with him.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” His voice raises as he lifts to his full height, and panic settles into his features.
“We’re not in a relationship, Byron.” I hold up my hand. “Chill out. I’m just giving you shit.”
“I don’t even know what to do anymore.” He heads for the door. “For the first time, in a long time, I feel a little bit more alone than I’ve ever been before.”
“What do you want me to say? That all that shit you caused on the rooftop is forgiven? Because it’s not. I don’t think it ever will be.” I move in front of him, holding the top of the door, ready to close it. “You were in love with Reed in a way I don’t think I’ll ever be able to comprehend, and that love you feel jeopardized everything.”
“I did it for all of us.” If he truly means that, he’d be brave enough to look me in the eyes.
“Don’t do that.” I shake my head. “Don’t put any of this on us. You switched gears. You went full on American Psycho on her when the plan was only to drag Reed’s killer out of the dark.”
“And that was the plan,” Byron pleads.
“Did you think he’d follow us up to the roof and steal the knife from you?” Byron places a foot in front of the door to stop me from shutting it on him. “You stabbed her. Have you even let that sink in, that instead of scaring the girl, you took a blade and ran it through her perfect skin?”
“I think about it every damn day.” As he fucking should.
“Good, because if I have anything to say about it, Palmer isn’t going anywhere.” I push on the door, forcing him to retreat.
“You love her then?” His voice is accusatory, and I resent him for it.
“I like her enough to want her to still be breathing every day that follows this one, so . . .” I close the door before he can say another word.
Stripping the rest of my clothes off, I head for the shower. The solace of quiet is almost unbearable. I rest my arm against the tiled wall, allowing the hot water to hit every muscle in my body. Steam takes over the bathroom, and seconds pass without a single breath entering my lungs. I want to know what it’s like to feel the end nearing, how Palmer must have felt on that rooftop.
Once the water runs cold, I get out and wrap a towel around my waist. On the edge of the mattress, I sit and point the remote at the television. When the screen fires up, there Palmer is, sitting on her bed. Her head hangs low, and her hair feathered across her cheek makes it damn near difficult to see her face.
“Come on, baby,” I say to the screen. “Look up. Let me see that face. Let me know you’re okay.”
As if she can hear me, her head lifts slowly. The brown curtain lifts from around her face. Her eyes, like deep oceans, stare directly at the camera. There’s no way she knows where it’s at, though. Dixon wouldn’t be stupid enough to put it in plain sight. She stands and walks directly beneath the camera, vanishes for a second, then returns with a chair. She climbs on top and smacks her hand against it, shaking the lens, before plunging the screen into darkness and concealing the only view I have into her life right now.
Smart girl has found the way we’re keeping an eye on her. Her middle finger appears first, then her not-so-surprising cocky smile.
“I hid it in the ceiling. She’d be able to see if she looked hard enough. Clearly the girl has learned not to trust us. I figured we had a week before she noticed it.” Dixon shrugs, a yawn taking over his face. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
“What am I supposed to do until then? She knows we’re watching her.” A headache starts to form behind my eyes.
“Sounds like a you problem, Marek.” He grins, enjoying torturing me. “Maybe you should start with I’m sorry I didn’t stop them.” Manic laughter echoes through the house as he leaves my room.
“Funny!” I yell. My eyes catch the screen, and I abandon wanting to kick Dixon’s ass to watch Palmer.
She reaches out of view, and after several seconds, she holds up a piece of white paper. My eyes transfer the image to my brain, and I recognize the words. Somehow, they get lost. I read them again, and the same thing occurs. With a quick hard pinch, I close my eyes and open them again.
The paper is lowering as I do, but slow enough I can understand what I’m reading.
I was wrong to forgive you.
Blood rushes to my head, and I rub my temples to ease the settling ache. My chest burns, and instant relief comes when I realize I’m holding my breath and finally release it.
Without abandon, I rush to put on shorts and a hoodie, zipping it as I jump down the stairs.
“Where you headed in such a hurry?” Breaker calls from the living room.
“I’ll be back.” I grab the keys from the entry table.
“Tell Palmer I said hey and to answer my texts.” Breaker’s happy-go-lucky laughter pisses me off.
“I got more important things to worry about than my girl texting you.” I rush to the front door, excitement spurring to life at the thought of seeing Palmer, even if that note tells me it won’t be pretty for me.