“’Course,” he said, moving toward the door. “Wasn’t a hardship.”
Once he was gone, I opened the envelope. Inside, loose and gruesome, were ten whole fingernails. I glanced at my bandaged fingers, the tips still so fucking sensitive that they ached when the air touched them. Then I hobbled back outside.
I tossed the envelope in the fire pit and pulled out my lighter, smiling as I lit the edge.
“Why are you out here?” Rose asked poking her head out the door. She smiled happily. “And what are you grinning about?”
“Just happy to be home,” I replied.
That night, Rose slept naked, as she’d promised, pressed against my side like she couldn’t get close enough, even in her sleep. I stared at the ceiling in the living room, enjoying the feeling of her breath tickling my neck. I never could have predicted how our lives would change when I’d tossed her in that pool all those months ago.
I was one lucky motherfucker.
Epilogue
Rose
“I killed someone,” my mom said, startling me so bad that I dropped the knife in my hand.
“You what?” I asked, whipping my head up to look at her.
I’d gone to my parents to help my mom with Mack’s birthday dinner since our house was too small to hold everyone comfortably, but I suddenly wished that I’d just had it at the clubhouse.
“I did,” she said. She glanced up at my face and shrugged as she went back to what she was doing. “It was before you were born.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Who?”
“Your dad’s brother,” she said, her hands going still as she looked back up.
“You killed Dad’s brother? I didn’t even know he had a brother.”
“They weren’t raised together,” she said. “Not that it mattered, Asa still considered him a brother.”
“What happened?” I asked cautiously, unsure whether I even wanted to know.
“He showed up when it was just me and Will,” she said. “Strung out on God knows what. Roughed me up a little.”
“Roughed you up a little?” I said incredulously, my hand tightening on the knife.
“Beat the shit out of me, would’ve done worse.” She crossed her arms and leaned her elbows on the table. “He was one of the men that killed my parents.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed. Why hadn’t I ever heard this story before?
“It was terrifying,” she said. “And I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Why are you?” I asked.
“Because,” she replied, her eyes searching my face, “I wanted you to know.”
“I’m okay,” I said, holding her gaze.
“When you’re protecting someone you love,” she continued, “your man or your child, there’s nothing you won’t do.”
“I know,” I said.
“There’s no shame in that.”
“I’m not ashamed, Mom,” I said firmly. I set the knife carefully on the table and cleared my throat. “I watched him torture Mack for days. I’d do the exact same thing again. I wish I could do it again.”
Mom gave me a sad smile. “You’re going to feel it,” she said, raising her hand to stop me when I opened my mouth to speak. “Maybe not now, maybe not for years, but eventually, it’ll start wearing at you. Come to me, okay? Or your dad. Or Mack. Just… don’t try to keep it to yourself. That never works. It’ll only make it worse.”
“Okay,” I said, a lump in my throat. I knew from the gravity in her voice that she was speaking from experience, and I hated it. My mom was one of the sweetest, most caring people I’d ever met. I couldn’t imagine her killing anyone.
We were quiet for a while as I continued cutting potatoes and she diced pickles.
“So,” I said finally, trying to keep my voice even. “How’d you do it?”
A startled laugh left her mouth. “You’re a terrible daughter,” she said, grinning. She paused. “I shot him with your Aunt Farrah’s gun.”
“Thatta girl,” I said. “I mean, I prefer garden tools, but you do you.”
My mom’s laughter filled the kitchen and I felt my shoulders relax.
An hour later, just as people were supposed to start showing up, we heard my dad’s piece of shit pickup pull into the front yard.
“Dad’s home,” I said, just as he walked in the front door.
“Sugar?” my dad called.
“I’m right here,” Mom replied, coming out of the pantry.
“My leathers in the closet upstairs?”
“No, I hung them in the downstairs closet,” she replied, following him as he spun on his heel. “What’s going on, Asa?”
“Gotta meet your brother,” he said as he reached into the closet.
“They’re on the way home?” mom asked.
“Yeah,” dad said, pausing. “Boys are ridin’ down to meet ’em.”
“Meet them where?”
“As far south as we can,” he said darkly. “Escortin’ ’em home.”
“Oh, shit,” my mom murmured.
“Should be fine,” dad assured her. “Just a precaution.”
“Are they bringing CeeCee?”
“Yep.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Tellin’ you what I can, Calliope,” he replied, reaching out to brush her cheek with his thumb. Then he went back to pulling his leathers out of the closet. “Can you get me some coffee for the road?”