Page 263 of Bitter’s Sweet

He already knows.

Of course he does.

“You got the truck?”

“Back lot.”

Razor's face changes.

Just a little.

Fear.

About fucking time.

The old concrete plant looks different in daylight. Smaller. Less supernatural.

Still ugly.

Nevermore drives. Hyde sits up front. I ride in back with Razor because apparently nobody trusts me not to murder him during the seven-minute trip to the place where I intend to murder him.

Fair.

We park far enough from the active festival grounds that nobody wandering with a cider donut is going to accidentally join us.

The murder hole waits behind the broken slab.

Razor sees it.

“No.”

First smart word out of him.

We drag him from the truck.

His bad leg nearly folds.

“Fuck you.”

Nevermore looks at me. “You want help?”

“No.”

He lets go.

Hyde stays back, not because this is private, but because it is mine.

I walk Razor toward the concrete rim.

The place still carries marks from last night. Scraped gravel. Blood. One pink scuff along the concrete where Sweet's shoe slid.

My chest goes cold.

Razor sees me looking.

Then he laughs.

“She screamed.”