Page 67 of Stalked By the Alphas
“We can’t go back to the hotel looking like this,” I remark. “And we can’t pitch up at Carter’s either. We’re going to have to clean off in a river somewhere.”
“Yeah,” Zach mutters, staring out the window, his mask still in place.
I think he likes it behind there.
We drive in silence for a while, and finally, I spot a secluded area near a small stream and pull over.
“This will have to do,” I say, cutting the engine.
Zach nods mutely, and we climb out of the car. The moon provides just enough light for us to see as we strip down and wade into the cold water. Zach finallyremoves his mask, his face grim and haunted in the dim light. We scrub ourselves clean in silence, the gravity of what we’ve done settling over us.
“What do we do now?” Zach asks quietly as we emerge from the water, shivering.
I sigh, running a hand through my wet hair. “We go back to the hotel, get cleaned up properly, and then figure out our next move.”
“And Hazel?”
“We give her time,” I say firmly as I turn my clothes inside out. It’s not great, but it will have to do to hide the stains. “She’s been through hell. The last thing she needs is us bombarding her with our presence and explanations right now.”
Zach nods, but I can see the pain in his eyes. He wants to go to her, to comfort her, just as much as I do. But we both know that’s not what’s best for Hazel right now.
Re-dressed in our inside-out clothes, feeling uncomfortable as fuck, I drive back to the hotel. When we pull up, we sit there for a moment, contemplating our entrance.
“We might as well just do it,” Zach says eventually.
“Agreed.”
We climb out of the car and casually make our way inside. No one particularly notices us, even with our river-water hair and turned-around clothes. Luckily, the lift is empty as we ascend, and minutes later, we are back in our rooms, breathing sighs of relief.
Well, I know I am.
No stranger to death and violence, over the years, it has only become easier. But we have always worked in the shadows. This was a too-overt entrance for my liking. Stripping off, I shove the clothes into a bin bag I pull from my holdall. Then I hit the shower.
Just as I’m finishing up, my phone rings. Hoping it is Carter to give us news on Hazel, I leap out of the shower and grab a towel, slinging it around my waist before I snatch up the phone.
Frowning at it, I recognise the number, but it isn’t Carter.
“What’s up?”
“Wasn’t you.”
“Really?”
“Hmm.”
“Interesting...”
“It was a coincidence, I’ll give you that, but itwasan engine overheat, like they claimed at the time, not the C4.”
“You’re sure?”
“Hundred per cent.”
“Thanks.” I hang up and ponder that.
Weirdly, it feels like a burden has been lifted from my shoulders. One I didn’t even know was there.
We didn’t kill Hazel’s parents.
