Page 47 of The Good Girl

Lena was beautiful and deadly, she was power and dedication all wrapped up in a sinfully gorgeous package, and I had always known that the sooner she embraced both sides of herself, the happier she'd be. The way she disposed of my father without so much as a tear told me that she was one step closer to being the queen I knew she could be. Hell, even her mother recognized her potential.

“He's your father…”

I scoff, I didn't care for the man, and The Society wouldn't mourn his loss either. Especially not with the attention his proclivities were beginning to garner. "The Society won't care as long as his businesses keep making them money."

Lena looks up at me, confusion swirling in her big green eyes. “How can they? He's dead.”

Laughing, I squeeze her tighter. “And what am I? Chopped liver?”

She rolls her eyes. “Look, we'll worry about this later, but for now, maybe we should bury him? And clean this up?”

We both look over the mulchy mess for a moment. My hands cup her blood-smeared face as I kiss the tip of her nose. “I kinda dig you all bloody and wet though.”

She frowns and looks down at herself. “I'm sticky, for all the wrong reasons, and it's not a nice feeling.”

“Fine,” I groan, at her innuendo. I was desperate to be buried inside Lena Montgomery but sex was going to have to wait. Again. “There's a spot I know of.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Elena

Tristan grumbles as he carries his father's body out into the woods at the back of his property. He moans as he finds two shovels from the gardener's shed, and then he whines when a spider runs up his arm. Part of me wants him to be quiet and the other part is glad that he's being his usual irritating self. It makes me feel a little calmer, like I haven't lost the plot and turned into some sort of bloodthirsty murderer.

“Just dig,” I groan as I catch Tristan looking over at me, his appreciative gaze taking in my cleavage as I lean over and roll his father's body closer to the edge of the hole we were digging. I'd cut my dress shorter in the kitchen, but I hadn't changed completely yet because it was already ruined, I may as well bury a body in the remains of the dress before burning it.

He sighs, making a face. “Elena...what does it look like I’m doing?”

Chuckling, I shove Malcolm over once more. “Moaning? Complaining? Whining? Staring at my tits?”

Again, I can't get over how normal I feel. Maybe it's because my parents never hid The Society from me. I had always known its reach, the power of wealth, but the last few weeks were the first time I'd felt like I was part of it. I felt like I belonged just a little more.

“So, you want me to pretend that I want to be here instead of in my bed with you?” He teases as he throws more dirt over his shoulder. "Like it’s a date or something?”

The hole he's digging isn't very big, but it's deep. I guess that's why he also grabbed an axe from the shed. I knew Tristan had no love for his father, but chopping the man up like parsley felt a little harsh.

I take a deep breath and embrace the anger simmering away beneath my skin. The man tried to attack me, his hands were all over me, his mouth on my skin, he doesn't deserve my pity. Fuck it, grind him up like pepper and sprinkle him in the mud for all I care.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. We'd never been on a date, so I'm not sure that I want to call this our first one. Especially since the evening has been a giant shit show, first with my father catching us in The Marble Hall, then my mother being a surprise badass, Tristan's crazy ex showing up, and ending with Malcolm Radcliffe trying to take something that wasn't his. Now we were in the woods, in the middle of the night, cutting up a body and burying it like it was nothing. Was there anyone else who’d like to pop out of the woodwork tonight? In the morning, we'd ring my mother and then The Society would know what we'd done. This was definitely not your standard first-date scenario.

Tristan climbs out of the hole and takes my bloodstained hand in his muddy one. “Lena, there is no one I’d rather be burying this body with than you. But I'd still rather be kissing you in my room. Better?”

“No." I laugh, unbothered by the fact he assumed we’d be kissing. “Well, a little.”

He gives me a quick kiss. “I’m glad. Now, grab a shovel and help.”

* * *

By the time we're finished, I feel beyond grimy, there is dried blood caking my skin, sweat making me feel slick, and mud in places I didn't know existed. I feel like I'm the one who's been buried, and I've had to claw my way out of the earth as I watch Tristan pat down the soil with the back of his shovel.

“Christ, let's not do this again,” he groans, finally happy with his father's burial spot.

“The burying or the murder?” I chuckle as I brush my hair out of my face and stretch my back. I am sore and achy in a way that usually only ballet does for me, and I don't mind. I feel calm. Centered.

"The digging. Let's just hire someone next time or The Reavers can take care of it." At the mention of The Reavers, I shiver, because even though my mother was a Hawthorne, the others still made me nervous.

“Let's just avoid there being a next time.” I raise an eyebrow at him as I take both shovels and head towards the shed.

“Be realistic, Lena.” He gives me a look, swinging the axe casually as he follows.

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