Page 108 of Peak Cruelty

We stand there a moment longer.Just two people beside a car that holds more weight than it looks like it should.

I say, “It might be time to dump him.”

“Yeah,” she says.“But I’m not quite done being satisfied.”

“Most people go with therapy.”

She shrugs.“This has closure baked in.”

“Any particular reason he’s still in the trunk?”

“Yeah.Because the freezer was full.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“And because,” she says, a little more level now, “because I want to remember who he was.What he did.I want it to stay real long enough to remind me that next time someone smiles too wide, I don’t let them in my house.”

I nod once.“Let me guess, you want me to do the heavy lifting.”

“I just covered your ass with a state trooper.And I’ve run pre-murder errands for you like an Uber driver with a body count.We’re past the point of take-backs.”

“Fair.”

She closes the trunk gently.Wipes her hands on her jeans like she’s touched something wet.

Back in the car, she starts the engine again, lets it idle.

“You think less of me now?”she asks, staring straight ahead.

“No.”

“You think I’m dangerous?”

“Yes.”

She smiles.“Good.”

Then she pulls out, back onto the road, and we don’t say another word for twenty miles.

54

Vance

It takes forty-seven minutes to get there.A three-story house with sharp lines, landscaped to look accidental—like wealth with a PR team.Rachel kills the engine.

“End of the line.”

I don’t move.

She turns toward me, voice dipped too soft.“You sure about this?”

“Get out.”

She smiles.It doesn’t touch her eyes.“If she screams when she sees you, I’m not helping.I’ll just assume you earned it.”

“She won’t scream.”

“That a hunch?”

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