Page 56 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

“You need air in your back tires,” he says at last. Knuckles rap twice, each hollow knock ricocheting through my skull like gunfire.

I think I’m about to be sick.

“I’ll do that today,” Dante promises when I can’t feel my tongue to use it.

Reed gives a curt nod and continues on. Just like that. Walks to his cruiser, and climbs in.

I don’t let out the air in my lungs until I see his taillights turn the corner and out of sight.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, clutching my chest.

“He’s gone,” is all the confirmation Dante gives before reaching down and scooping me up into his arms. “Shower.”

He’s very thorough rubbing me down. There isn’t a sense of urgency in sight as he scrubs pieces of human remains from my hair.

He even shampoos my strands twice the way I like it before applying the conditioner.

While it’s setting, he applies a generous amount of bodywash to his palms and starts the process of washing me down starting at my neck.

He goes all the way to my feet, between my toes .

.. my butt cheeks. My pussy. He even gets behind my ears before nudging me under the spray.

I try to return the favor, but he feels so good under my fingers, I find myself against the wall with his mouth on mine.

No sexy stuff .

The kiss is slow and lingering. The kind that whispers of eternal promises and a love so deep, the ocean gets jealous.

But I love this man. I love him so completely that my heart aches at the knowledge that I hurt him.

That I intentionally cut him deep just to save his life.

No amount of apology will ever make up for the anguish I saw in his face.

The crippling defeat that nearly had me crumpling.

It was only the fact that I needed to keep him alive that shielded my heart from the pain of watching him hurt.

I grip him tighter.

Kiss him harder.

I try to put every drop of my regret back into him.

I stare up into his eyes — the same dark brown I love — and kiss his nose. His lips. I sip the droplets off his skin and nuzzle the side of his neck.

“Tell me about the bank,” he murmurs.

With my head nestled against his shoulder, I tell him of every time I ran into Everett without knowing. Everything he said. I leave nothing out.

“We need to find his car,” I say, prioritizing what’s important. “And we need to find your mask and the knife. I know we cleaned up the spot, but if they find even a drop, they might go searching.”

“They won’t.” He drops his head back against the wet tiles, eyes closed.

“I’m going to make a paper trail of him leaving Jefferson.

A few months in, I’ll start a trail of him leaving Canada and moving to somewhere with no extradition treaty.

I’ll start a bank account with his name and move the money around before dropping him off the grid permanently. ”

I blink up at him through damp lashes.

Damn. Who would have guessed hiding a crime would sound so sexy?

Hearing him go on about treaties and secret bank accounts like some James Bond villain has my chest fluttering.

Heat coils in the pit of my stomach as I revel in the knowledge that this man is mine.

All mine. Him, his gorgeous face and sexy brain . .. mine.

“I’m going to need you to talk this dirty to me in bed later,” I tell him

Heavy lashes forming sharp, wet spikes lift and I find myself at the center of his dark amusement.

“Liked that, huh?”

I chuckle faintly. “Apparently, yeah.”

His head lowers and he kisses me. “Wait until I tell you how I plan on announcing his death.”

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Hemlock Island is an eerie place in the dark.

With only the subtle slap of water striking the shores, the wind whispering to the trees, it’s too silent to be natural. But it’s also a place people don’t frequent. Its isolation makes it the perfect place to hide a body, especially when the island itself seems complicit in swallowing secrets.

Dante pulls in the oars and drops them to the floor of our borrowed boat. He lets us drift the last few feet. The water ripples black around under the halo of pale moonlight.

He doesn’t speak at first. He just stares at the jagged silhouette of pine clawing at the sky.

I break the silence. “No one comes here anymore. There’s an issue every summer warning kids to stay off the island due to it rotting into itself.”

Not to mention all the stories everyone tells in hushed whispers. As a believer of spirits and evil, I never had an inclination to visit ... but desperate times.

“There’s a well somewhere near the middle,” I go on. “It was sealed off years ago after a kid drowned. We’ll put him in and seal it back up.”

It’s a thirty-foot drop, lined in stone with water at the bottom. It’s deep enough that looking in, even on the brightest day, is like peering into the abyss.

So I’m told .

The boat scrapes against the shallow shore. Dante climbs out first. His boots crunch on gravel as he grabs the front and drags us in the rest of the way. Once secure, he extends his hand and helps pull me out.

I move aside as he shuffles over and bend to haul the prone body out of the boat. He’s a dead weight — no pun intended. Dante’s been doing the majority of the lifting and adjusting, but I grab our bags and fish out a flashlight.

It’s not the one Everett had or the one I used to beat his skull in. Those two are in the pack, wiped down and drenched in bleach.

With some struggle, Dante hefts the body over his shoulder. I check to make sure the trash bags we roped and taped around him are still in place before starting forward.

I don’t know how far in the well is, or how long we’re going to be walking, but I start up the incline. The light is gripped tight in my fist, waiting to be used once we’re away from anyone who might catch sight of us on the mainland. Maybe that’s overly paranoid, but I’m not taking any chances.

“Are you okay?” I ask over my shoulder, wishing I could help.

“Yeah, he’s just very ... stiff. ”

I continue onward, moving gingerly over cracked rocks and slick foliage. The pale glow of the moon highlights just enough to keep me from breaking an ankle.

It’s upsetting that it’s such a beautiful evening. I feel there should be some overcast, maybe some thunder and lightning while committing a crime, but I suppose this is better.

It doesn’t take us long to find it. It sits at the very top like it’s been expecting us. It rises from the ground, a structure of cracked concrete and damp moss. A wooden square is perched on top, bolted down to keep people from falling in.

Hurriedly, I yank off the pack and dig inside. My fingers close around the steely coldness of the crowbar. It settles with a little too much weight in my palms as I tug it free.

A few feet away, Everett’s body thumps to the ground. The crinkle of plastic fills the silence as Dante steps over his brother’s body and takes it from me.

It was hard to tell what we might need. I’ve never thrown a person into a sealed well before and I doubt Google would be helpful. So, I brought a lot of things.

Better overprepared then under, I muse, stepping back to watch him slam the pronged end under the plank.

Damp wood cracks and splinters under the pressure. The board groans as Dante’s muscles strain. I think it’s going to snap when the first nail pops free. Methodically, he works his way around the hole, dislodging each one until he can heave the board back just wide enough to fit a body.

“I’ve seen way too many horror movies with wells,” I mumble to myself as I edge to the ledge and peer down into the abyss.

Rancid, damp heat unspools into the night. It curls around the scent of pine and wet earth. It reminds me of a sewer choked with stagnant water.

But it’s the void, the hollow puddle of black staring back that has me inching away. The very depths seem to pulse like a heartbeat, a coaxing rhythm urging the onlooker to step just a little closer.

Okay, no more well horror for a while, I think as I make room for Dante to scoop up Everett’s remains.

The trash bags rustle in his hold. It makes a sick, muted sound as it’s balanced on the slick lip.

There’s a still moment where even I hold my breath right before it slips and gravity pulls him over.

Then silence. not even a splash. Just the void swallowing him up and I’m left wondering just how deep it must be that we didn’t even hear a rustle.

I shiver. Despite the fur-lined zip-up. The chill creeps beneath my clothes. Under my skin. I feel it prickling across my bones.

Definitely not doing this again — I hope .

Moving past Dante, I scoop up the crowbar he’d set aside and stuff it back into my bag. I return with the two flashlights, ours and Everett’s, and drop both in after him.

I made Dante drive us back to Ashwood earlier this afternoon to find the knife and mask. Probably silly, but why take that chance if we don’t need to? It seemed like such a risk to leave them behind.

We also found Everett’s car. The damn Yukon with the keys still in the ignition. Dante drove it out of Jefferson with me tailing him. We abandoned it in the bushes but visible from the road.

I’ve never killed anyone before, but I think we covered everything.

From my pack, I unearth the hammer and a fistful of nails.

Dante drags the plank back into place and starts the process of hammering it shut once more.

I stand out of the way as he seals the well back up.

Then we simply stand over it, and I wonder if we’re supposed to say something. Monster or not, Everett was his brother. There has to be some feeling there.

“Are you okay?”

Eyes fixed on his brother’s final resting place, Dante shrugs. “I probably shouldn’t be. ”

Carefully, I touch his arm. “It’s okay not to be okay, and okay to be okay. Whatever you’re feeling is correct.”

“Nothing,” he murmurs, turning his face finally to peer at me through the faint blue of twilight. “I feel nothing.”

With a sigh, I lean over and lightly brush my lips to his shoulder. “That’s okay, too.” I lift my head as another thought pokes in. “Are you upset with me for what I did?”

Strong arms band around me, and I’m drawn into his chest. “If I had to pick between you and him, who do you think I would pick?”

I nuzzle the hard expanse of his chest. “But—”

His long finger hooks beneath my chin and I’m forced to peer up through the dancing shadows to where his equally dark eyes cast a faint shine.

“You, Leila. I will always pick you.”

With another sigh, I drop my forehead against his collarbone and shut my eyes.

I pray he’s right. I know I would not be so forgiving if anything happened to Reed, but Reed isn’t a monster.

He’s not a stain on humanity. Maybe my feelings would be different if he was, and I guess that’s what makes a difference here.

Quietly, we gather up our things. Dante takes the pack with one hand and mine with the other and we gradually make our way back to the bottom and our waiting boat .

I hop in and wait for Dante to cast off. My gaze travels over the murky outline of the island. The opaque darkness seeping out from between the trees. I draw in a breath, chest heavy for the first time for what we’ve done.

What I did.

I killed a man. I did so without mercy or hesitation. It never even registered until my arms began to burn and the weight of the flashlight grew heavy in my slick grasp. His blood was still warm on my skin when I finally came back to myself. Yet, still no regrets.

My exhale is slow as I peer into the trees in the direction of the well.

Deep in my soul, I actively try to gather a speck of remorse when I’m distracted by the faintest hint of movement in the tree line along the cliff’s edge above our heads.

A subtle flicker of fabric caught in the wind.

I think I see shapes, figure. Tendrils of hair coiling around thin shoulders. The glint of eyes glowing. Watching.

I suck in a scream, nearly give in when the boat gives a jolt and my concentration is broken. They’re gone when I search the spot again. The shoreline is empty with only the jagged rocks and trees to see us off. But the chill remains deep within my bones.

“You okay?” Dante asks softly .

My gaze never wavers from the island, never breaks contact, not even as we’re pushed off into open waters, I stay focused. Stay rooted to the feelings blooming in my chest.

Peace.

Calm.

The fear and surprise are replaced with a strange sense of acceptance that only fuels my confidence.

The witches of Jefferson understand. They get it. Bad things happen to bad people. Justice was served. A justice they never received. I protected myself and Dante. They get that. They will keep my secret. I feel it to my core.

Despite the weight of the last twenty-four hours, the exhaustion and the drop of adrenaline, I grin up at the spot and relax as we drift away.