Page 195 of Under the Bed

“Nothing good.” I squeeze her head back, staring at the red Xs on her mask. The red smile. The color of blood.

“Hmm.” She nods, understanding me through our silent communication. “You were looking at the houses.”

“They’re nice.”

She’s still nervous. I gesture toward the expansive lawns, the people. Pretend that we’re anormal couple strolling through the neighborhood to distract her.

“I don’t hate it. I didn’t have any of it growing up. Then we moved in with you, but I got sent away to Berkshire right before we could decorate. So, yeah. They’re nice.”

“Oh.”

I’m trying to calm her down. That’s why I’m rambling. In the process, I’ve opened up too much. I don’t hate it. It’s just fucking weird that I want to explain myself to her.

“Dad didn’t allow Mom to go to work.” A few more feet, and we’ll reach our old home. In the meantime, I talk to her. “He never earned much. That’s why we couldn’t afford decorations or anything like that. Not like anyone ever cared to celebrate anything in our home.”

Talking time is over. We’ve made it to the Talbots’ gates.

She could’ve done this by herself. She’s strong and fierce as fuck.

She thinks she needs me.

She doesn’t.

It’s me.Ineed her to need me.

Pressing a hand to the small of her back, I play the role of her personal bodyguard as I tower over her. I’m her human shield while she punches in the code on the digital screen that will let us through.

The gates open seamlessly.

“Shi.” I press two fingers to her chin, tipping her face up to me. We can’t go in there if she’s feeling off. After all, this is for her. The beating of my heart. The squeeze and release of mylungs. This revenge. “I’d rather have you in there, but if you’re not up to?—”

She flattens her gloved hand on my chest. Cocks her head to the side.

Mimicking me. God, what a fucking turn-on. “We won’t get caught.”

An assurance. That’s what she’s asking of me.

I shouldn’t be relieved that this is what’s bothering her. That this isn’t about her having second thoughts.

I’m repulsed by how relieved I feel. I surrender to it.

Shiloh is my twisted little thing.

She wants me just the way I am.

Faulty. Broken. Murderous.

“Never,” I reassure her, taking the first steps inside and guiding her alongside me. “We’re never getting caught.”

Manicured lawns line either side of the driveway. Sweeping gardens, bushes, and flowers look like they came out of a magazine.

Floodlights illuminate our way to the mansion that grows closer and closer. The brick walls are right there, about thirty feet from where we are.

The familiar arched wood and glass door come into view, engulfed by two sconces on the walls.

Years-old hate twists my chest.

This view is the last thing I saw the last time I was here. When police officers dragged me out and thrusted meinto one of the cruisers on the property. My mother stayed inside, barricaded in her room where Shiloh’s dad had ordered her to wait for him.

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