Dead Silence (The Body Finder 4)

But it was already too late. She was in it. She’d joined their family then.

Boxer had hauled her into the other room and dosed her again, making sure she would either cooperate, pass out, or die. It didn’t matter which, as long as she’d shut the hell up. As long as she’d stop f**king crying.

The kid had been tougher to watch. Not impossible, just tougher. Especially when Colton had decided to take a souvenir.

Watching as Colton had gutted the kid like that . . .

It wasn’t like in the movies where someone just reaches in and pulls out a still-beating heart. No, Colton had had to work at it, sawing at the kid’s chest to get through.

It was messy. And the sounds of knife grating through bone . . . it was disgusting.

He watched Butterfly now, as she frowned, trying to make sense of Colton’s words. And then he turned to Colton, staring into his cold, emotionless eyes. “Leave her alone, will ya? I said no. We need someone else.”

Colton held his gaze, and he wondered if this was it, the challenge he’d been waiting for, the moment someone would decide that he wasn’t their leader. That he wasn’t calling the shots. But then Colton waved his hand, as if batting away a fly. “Whatever, man. You’re no fun sometimes.”

He smiled then. “I didn’t say we weren’t gonna have fun today.” He lifted his chin, nodding toward a couple who were just getting out of a silver Mercedes at the edge of the parking lot. The purse draped over the woman’s shoulder probably cost more than his parents’ house had, and they both wore designer sunglasses with big garish logos on them. “What about them?”

Butterfly followed his gaze as her body was racked by another spasm.

Kisha leaned up behind him, whispering softly against his ear. “She looks like she deserves it, doesn’t she, baby?”

Colton answered before he had a chance to. “She totally does. They both do.”

CHAPTER 12

“GET IN.” VIOLET’S VOICE WAS PRACTICED AND steely as she met Jay’s startled expression.

She wasn’t surprised to see the look of shock on his face; she was probably the last person he’d expected to find sitting behind the wheel of his car, engine running. But she was tired of waiting for him to figure things out and come to her, tired of drowning in her own self-despair, and she’d decided to take matters into her own hands.

Plus, she’d known he kept a magnetic hide-a-key under his front passenger wheel well. It wasn’t exactly like she’d broken into his car, or anything. Not technically at least.

“Violet . . .” he started to say, but she cut him off.

“Get in,” she repeated, testing her foot on the accelerator and revving up the engine, hoping to make an impact on him, letting him know she was serious. “Now,” she insisted.

He didn’t jump at her command, which was sort of what she’d hoped for, and he didn’t open the door and haul her out, burying her in his arms and begging for forgiveness. She’d imagined it that way too—along with about a hundred other scenarios, some good and some not so good. The begging-for-forgiveness one ranked right up there with the ripping-his-shirt-off-and-dragging-her-to-bed one. She smiled wickedly to herself.

She supposed she’d have to settle for his soft sigh of resignation and silent acquiescence, as he rounded the front of the car and climbed mutely into the passenger seat. At least he hadn’t insisted she get out of his car and leave.

She’d been waiting in the dark for almost an hour, sitting in the parking lot of the auto parts store where he worked, knowing he’d be off any minute and find her there—borderline stalking him. She’d nearly changed her mind a dozen times as her heart climbed higher and higher into her throat, anticipation threatening to get the best of her. But each time she’d remind herself of how miserable she’d been the past few days without him, of how badly she wanted to fix this . . . this mess she’d made. And how sorry she was she’d let it get this far in the first place.

No more lies, she told herself. No more secrets.

Yet here he was, sitting right beside her, and suddenly all she wanted to do was bolt. To run away and hide so she didn’t have to face him right now.

“What are you—?”

“Shut up,” she insisted, not wanting to stray too far from the plan she’d formulated, otherwise she might just chicken out after all. She slammed the car into reverse, still expecting Jay to stop her at any second . . . especially since he’d never let her drive his car before. But he didn’t. He bit back any questions he had as she pulled out of the parking lot, leaving her car behind in a darkened corner, just out of sight.

Violet pretended to concentrate on the road, and the traffic lights, and the steering wheel and turn signal, and everything else she could pretend was significant as she drove. Anything in order to ignore how uncomfortable the silence inside the car was. She stole glimpses of Jay whenever she was sure he wasn’t looking, as he too seemed to find the signs and streetlights and storefronts fascinating. Entirely too engrossing.

She wanted to reach across to him, to touch him, let her fingers weave through his, but she couldn’t. Not until she could talk to him, explain things.

She gripped the leather wheel, which suddenly felt sticky beneath her hands as she drove, following the path she’d mapped out in her head, wondering at what point he’d realize where she was taking him.

But if realization dawned, he never said so. He just continued to watch as stoplights turned into stop signs, and then were replaced by nothing but trees . . . all around them. Trees and deserted stretches of roads and night skies.