Page 55 of With Spite

I leaned forward and snatched mine off the coffee table before leaning back. When I did, I made sure to move my head in a way that my hair fell over his hand.

He didn’t move away.

Taking a swig of my beer, because all of a sudden I was really nervous and excited, I leaned my head to the side, causing even more of my hair to spill across his hand.

His fingers twitched, and I saw his shoulder jump as he did something with his hand.

I felt a slight tug at my scalp and wondered if he was playing his fingers through my locks. Or maybe he was just trying to get it off of him.

I was too nervous to look toward him, my fear that I was making the movement up in my head.

“Your hair is really long,” he mused, coming up with a strand of my hair and twirling it between his fingers for a few seconds before he dropped it.

“It was the one thing that my mother gave me that was any good,” I said. “Her hair color. I hate it, but I’m too asthmatic to tolerate the smells from highlights or color change. Plus, I don’t want to have to maintain it, and people give me a hard time every time I mention coloring it.”

“One day you’ll have to stop living your life pleasing everyone else and instead live your life the way that makes you the most happy. Fuck anyone else that says differently.” He finished the rest of his beer. “Bring me a pillow and a blanket, I’m sleeping on your couch tonight.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“You heard me.” He stood up. “I’m going to go home to get some clothes and a toothbrush. Cue up a movie. We can watch TV until you’re not so wound up.”

How would he know if I was wound up or not?

But as he got up and headed to his place, leaving me alone, I realized that my anxiety was through the roof.

Just the thought of him leaving made me panic.

“Wait, I’ll go with you,” I blurted.

He held the screen door open. “Let’s go.”

Thirteen

Some of y’all’s birthstones is crystal meth, and it shows.

—Hux’s secret thoughts

Hux

Being gone for five days looking for a needle in a haystack should’ve been easy.

I’d never had trouble leaving before.

I’d just pack up and go hunting or fishing or hiking, and I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.

I hadn’t answered to anyone in years, and probably never would again.

But the paranoia had set in, and if it wasn’t for the cameras that I had on the outside of the house and the outside of Bernice’s work, I might’ve very well flown home without finding anything out.

Griffin Storm and Wolf Dupree, two buddies who were in a motorcycle club in Uncertain, Texas, had met me on their home turf to talk about what they knew about the Corpse case.

Which, admittedly, wasn’t much.

I’d have to tell Griffin and Wolf about Bernice’s name, Necro.

They’d appreciate it.

They hated the “Corpse Violator” almost as much as I did.