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She blows away a strand of hair that’s fallen over her eyes. “I’m sorry. I seem to have misplaced my handbook on grave digging. Maybe an expert should show me how it’s done?”
I shake my head as she holds the shovel out to me. “No, no. Carry on. It’s just a little...big.”
We could probably bury two bodies side by side in that thing, but I swallow a smile and go back to watching her dig. My eyes fall to the curve of her back. Sweat collects on the dip just above the waistband of her pants. Those soft lines tempt some buried emotion inside me, but I fight it off by imagining filling her mouth with that loose soil until she fucking suffocates. I have to think these thoughts to fight off the feeling that manifests into something deranged.
She wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand when she’s nearly halfway done. It leaves a streak of brown behind. Pup paces at the edge of the deepening rectangle, her little head lifting each time the thunder booms a bit closer. She’s never been a fan of storms.
I open my mouth to tell Aurora I’m going to put Pup back in the truck, but lightning streaks across the sky and a loud boom swallows my voice. Before I know what’s happening, Pup is a blur of brown as she disappears into the woods.
“Pup! No!” I scream, but it’s too late. She’s gone.
I look between the girl digging the grave and the woods. Leaving her would be stupid, but I can’t lose my dog. My hand goes to my chest, my heart galloping against my palm at the thought of losing Pup. My jaw clenches. I’m not used to feeling sentimental feelings like this, but that dog means more to me than she should.
Memories rush back as I recall the way her little teeth sank into my hand as I tried to scoop up her battered body on the side of the road. By the time I carried her into the emergency vet, I was shaking as much as she was. I rented a room in a nearby motel so I could wait to hear if she’d pull through. It was the most human I’d ever felt. That little dog is my only tether to some form of humanity.
“Kane, you have to find her,” Aurora says. “You go, and I’ll keep digging.”
It’s a ploy. I’m not stupid. She sees an opening and she plans to take it. The moment I’m far enough away, she’ll drop that shovel and disappear. I curse under my breath, torn in half by this decision.
Rain begins to patter onto my broad shoulders, and that makes up my mind. I have to go after my dog. She’s too small to survive out here, especially in a storm, and the thought of leaving her behind does something terrible to me. I’ll admit I’m attached to the fucking thing. And now she’s gone.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I say, though I have to raise my voice to be heard over the sudden rush of wind tearing through the trees. “If it gets too bad out here, head back to the truck. Do you understand?”
She nods, but I don’t believe her. I don’t trust her. She’s a woman, after all, and women have only shown me that they can’t ever be trusted. Still, what choice do I have? I look at her for what I assume will be the final time, and then I head into the woods.
The rain falls in sheets now. The thick canopy holds most of it at first, only allowing intermittent drops to glide past the leaves and branches to land on me. Then the canopy can hold no more, and the torrent breaks through in a blinding wash of water. I call for Pup as I struggle through the thickening brush. I look for signs—fur left behind on a spindle of thorns or broken branches—but I see nothing.
Sharp twigs reach for me and scrape across my exposed skin. My voice is lost to a crescendo of rain, wind, and thunder. Lightning cracks nearby, too close for comfort, but I push on. I can’t give up on my dog.
As I stumble along through the woods, I look for places where a small animal might seek shelter from this storm. I get on my knees and peer into every overhang, each rocky outcropping, but she isn’t there. By the time the weather begins to let up, I’m soaked to the bone and completely hopeless.
I can’t find her.
And I have to head back.
With a sigh, I turn around and begin picking my way toward the clearing. If I were capable of tears, I’d allow myself to cry right now. My exhausted body still clings to some frayed sliver of hope, though. Maybe the girl will still be there when I get back. Maybe my dog has returned. Maybe I don’t have to be on my own again.
The sun sits low in the sky by the time I reach the clearing. I step toward the edge of the grave and peer into it. From the looks of things, she continued digging once I left, but she didn’t hang around for very long. The shovel leans against the side of the empty hole. She’s gone.
Maybe she just went to the truck.
Yeah, and maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow with a million dollars and perfect mental health. The girl is gone. The dog is gone. And I have to accept it.
I grab the shovel and head to the truck. Even though I know I’ll find the cab empty, I have to check. The storm finds renewed strength as I make my way through more branches and thorns, and another ten gallons of rain soak into my skin before I reach the desolate road. My fingers wrap around the door handle, and I haul myself inside.
I call out for the girl and Pup. Silence answers me. I check the cabinet above the bed and find her backpack tucked inside, but that doesn’t mean anything. She didn’t know where I’d hidden it, and she probably knew better than to come looking for it.
There’s no point in stripping off my wet clothes. I still have to get rid of the body in the trailer. I still have to pick up a load in Texas. I still have to call The Nameless and tell them the deal is off.
Picking up my phone, I ready myself to dial their number, but then I stop. A text would work just as well, especially since I don’t feel like hearing anyone’s voice right now. I just want to be alone. Misery doesn’t always love company.
I lost the package. Deal is off.
I recommend you find it. Money has already exchanged hands.
With a sigh, I shove my phone into my pocket and head into the rain again. I reach the back of the truck and lean my head against the rear doors. How did everything go so wrong? I never should have picked her up. If it weren’t for Aurora, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I would still have a dog, The Nameless wouldn’t have scrawled my name on their shit list, and the dynamic between me and my alters wouldn’t be so damaged.
I reach for the lock and begin to unfasten it when something stops me. A rustling in the bushes. Footsteps.
