Page 71 of Love You To Pieces

Does he not want me to stay forever?

Am I reading all of this wrong? I thought⁠—

“I don’t have to,” I blurt out suddenly. “I really just thought⁠—”

His hand covers mine. “It was just a statement, darlin’ girl,” Fox tells me kindly. “Just an observation. Don’t make it more than it is.” I swear I can feel affection radiating through his touch, and his thumb brushes over my pulse point.

“What’s a Hill?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I almost regret it when Fox’s smile fades.

“Of course you heard that.” He sighs, not letting go of my hand. “I was hoping you didn’t.” He hesitates, making me sure he’s not going to tell me.

“The Hill brothers are, uh, who you’ve become personally acquainted with. You’ve killed one and a half of them. I’m taking credit for the other half. There are three more.”

Three?

That night, I remember four people in the truck, and I wonder where the fourth had been. “The Hills,” I repeat, realizing it makes more sense that they’re a who rather than a what. “They live around here? Ms. Hewitt knew about them.”

“You are such a little eavesdropper,” Fox teases, though he doesn’t look mad about it. If anything, I can see a touch of approval in his gaze. “Yes. Their family owned and operated a slaughterhouse over in Carson. That’s about twenty miles east of here,” he explains. “They’ve been around a long time. The slaughterhouse went under years ago, though. Their parents died, though I’ll tell ya, no one misses their dad. He was a real piece of work.” Fox makes a face.

“He almost killed my little brother once. My mom put a stop to that real quick, and they weren’t welcome anywhere near Wolf Lake after that.” His tone turns bleak, like he’s trying not to put much feeling into the words and failing. “But then Mom died.” He looks down, his free hand going to the mug of coffee and gripping it in his tanned, calloused fingers.

Realizing my hand is still on his palm, I curl my fingers around his and pull it a little bit closer to me across the table. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Don’t be. She was a scary woman.” He chuckles, though I can hear the affection in his voice. “She lived a really good life. Obviously we’re havin’ a hard time getting rid of her stuff. And apparently her keys.” His eyes flicker with amusement when he looks at me, causing me to look away. “I’m not mad, Sadie-Rae. Just to be clear. I’m teasing you.”

“Thanks, I hate it,” I grouse, but that only makes him snicker.

“The Hills are the ones who took you and your friends, and they’ve been getting real bold over the past couple of years. Abel—that’s who we killed last night—was right about one thing. My family isn’t what it once was. Mom’s intimidation has faded and they aren’t afraid of me, that’s for certain.” With a roll of his eyes, he squeezes my hand. “And I’m not sure I can do anything to intimidate them like my mom did.”

“So kill them.” The words escape me without much thought, and Fox looks up at me, first in surprise, then with a smile curling over his features.

“That’s very bloodthirsty of you.” He chuckles. “You sure you’re okay with Deacon and me coming home covered in their blood?”

“No,” I say. “I’m not okay with that.” My heart flutters in my chest at the words I know I’m about to say. “Because I want to help you, not be left at home to wait.”

Shock flickers across his features. True, genuine shock, before delight follows it, just as our food is set down in front of us, and the waitress slides a bottle of ketchup across to Fox’s side of the table.

“Rare and basically still breathing,” she laughs, glancing down at Fox’s steak. “Just how you like it, Sheriff.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“She’s not coming.” Deacon’s voice is firm and displeased when he opens the door to glare at both of us. “Fuck this, Fox. She doesn’t need to go. Hell, you don’t need to go! You need—” He stumbles suddenly, an undignified noise coming from him I would call a squawk, if it came from anyone other than Deacon.

With a boost from Fox, who doesn’t seem to mind her actions, Pearl lunges up into the truck past him, wiggling through the gap in the seats until she’s settled in the back with me.

“She doesn’t need to go either!” Deacon throws his hands up in the air, then levels a glare at me. “Out of the car.”

I fold my arms, feeling the need to prove that I can do this for myself, even if I don’t end up being helpful. If I’m doing this, if I’m doing all of this, then I can’t just sit at home and be a victim. “I want to help, Deacon,” I mumble. “It’s not like I haven’t already seen…” I wave my hand, not sure what even I could see now that would make this worse.

Deacon turns his glare on Fox, who carefully doesn’t meet his eyes. “This is a bad idea,” he warns. “And you’re going to be the one cleaning it up.” With that, he hoists himself into the shiny black truck, immediately buckling in and checking to make sure I’ve done the same.

It’s about ten minutes into the drive before I realize I have no idea what we’re doing, where we’re going, or how I can even help. I shift a little, uncomfortably curious, and turn my eyes to watching the few farms that we pass while Pearl worms her way onto my lap.

“Where did Pearl come from?” I ask, when Fox and Deacon take a break in their bickering. “Do you know?”

“Uh…” Fox glances at me in the rearview mirror, and Deacon sighs before thumping his head against the glass. “There was a guy who used to live on the north side of town. Way, way out.”

“Meth head,” Deacon interjects. “Don’t sugarcoat it. Had all these poor dogs running around, didn’t spay or neuter any of them.” The disapproval is obvious in his voice. “Barely fed ‘em, and they were all aggressive as hell. Most of them got rounded up and sent to animal control. Pearl’s mom disappeared. Had a litter a month or so later, we think.”