Page 54 of Hate So Deep

Mom disappears after the detectives leave and I race up to my room before entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind me.

With Aimee still missing this just got way more complicated but I can’t imagine how I could have been mixed up with Buck’s deathandAimee’s disappearance.

Still, I pull out the bloody shirt and stuff it in a bag before placing it in my purse and heading for my car.

I have to get rid of this shit before something happens. It was stupid to hide it in my bathroom as it is. The question is, what do I do with it now?

However, after an hour of driving around aimlessly, I end up at my dad’s house.

Why? I suppose if I have to give an honest answer it's because I can’t bear to look into my mother’s icy eyes and hear her cruelty again.

I’m tired. Sue me.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find a place to stash the shirt and now I’m wondering if maybe I shouldn’t burn it. But where?

I’ve seen enough crime shows to know that people always miss the obvious and it would be just my luck to go to all the trouble only for the police to find like a shred of ash that somehow leads back to DNA and me.

Ugh.

It’s late, though and I’m staring at the front door before I fumble with the lock only to jump and spin when Cat appears behind me and hisses, “What are you doing?”

Turning, I eye her siren red faux leather dress and matching heels with a frown before saying, “What areyoudoing?”

Rolling her eyes, she brushes me aside and mumbles, “Shh, or you’ll wake up Mom and Dad.”

“Okay,” I mumble, mentally cringing at the joining of those two words as I follow her inside before closing the door.

“Night,” she says.

She’s gone before I can respond and bewildered, I stare at the stairs. I guess it shouldn’t be weird to leave me alone here, but I still feel like a guest, and it is dammit.

“Fuck me,” I mutter but before I can escape to my room, of course because fuck my life, Colt appears with a satisfied smirk painting his face.

What is he doing here? Christmas is fucking over.

Go home. Dick.

I wasn’t counting on seeing Colt so soon or I would have gone to my mom’s house, and I’m caught off guard, exhausted, cranky, and quasi-hysterical which is why I ball my fingers into a fist, and growl, “What?”

“Nothing,” he says with a cocky shrug, and I snort.

Nothing. Right.

I guess I’m not even worthy of his fucking censure. Way to nail it home, dick.

“Whatever,” I growl, and he pushes past me.

“Fucking psycho,” he grumbles before stepping down the stairs to the basement.

As soon as he’s gone, I lock eyes with Dirk and when he raises a brow, my heart skips a beat, like it always has for the fucker before he says, “You just can’t get retract those claws. Can you?”

Backing away, I look back at the stairs and say, “If I don’t fight back, do I even exist for you people?”

He cocks his head, and I drop my chin when he mutters, “That’s just fucking sad. C’mon.”

When he waves toward the basement door, I shake my head. He’s lost his fucking mind if he thinks I’m going to hang out with them.

However, I’m also forestalled by those rock-hard biceps practically in my face when he rasps, “What’s the matter, baby? You can’t handle the heat?”

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