Page 7 of Wilde's End
My decision must satisfy him because Ziggy pushes to his feet and leads the way back to the car. I can’t exactly place why those men are prickling that panic center of my brain, but I’m not going to let on that I’m worried. We’ve dealt with strangers before, and we will again. It’s not a big deal. Once the custodians find out someone is squatting in their town, they’ll handle the problem for us. We just have to be on our guard until then.
All week, we wait for Bert to show up, and he never does. Instead, the three men in town get hard to work, and the moment I see them pull the first house apart, it hits me with sickening certainty that they’re not leaving in a hurry.
I need to get to the bottom of this.
The three men have all turned in for the night, and the fire outside is snuffed out, so as much as I don’t want to do this, I remind myself that there’s no time like now. I leave the lookout, make my way through the trees, and into Old End.
I hate being here. Not only for the memories but for how everything feels so different. The car parked by the furthest two-story house, the piles of debris littering the road, and the camp chairs set around a gas burner all bring the town … alive. It has no right to feel that way when I’ve buried so many demons in its walls.
It’s been almost two decades since I last stepped foot in Old End. Back then, I was tired to my bone, emotionally wrung out, running from a life that only wanted to use me and spit me out, just like with?—
I cut those thoughts off before I can go back down a path I keep barricaded. This is why I avoid Old End. It’s the town I’d stumbled across, squatted in, and then used to wallow in memories for longer than I want to admit. If it wasn’t for Bert finding me and giving me the push I’d needed to keep going, I don’t know what would have happened.
My footsteps slow as I reach the house I watched them enter. The old two-story shiplap dwelling is the only one in the line of them that has been left untouched. The way they’re gutting buildings that have existed longer than they have proves they’re theexact type of out-of-towners I don’t want anywhere near my home.
Now, I need to figure out exactly why they’re here.
A fresh lock has been placed on the front and back doors, but the old windows slide right open. They’re tacky from years of swelling wood and expanding joints, but I get the one closest to the back door wide enough to hoist up and pull myself through. The smell of dust and mildew coats my nostrils as soon as I straighten and look around. This wasn’t the building I took refuge in, but the layout is almost identical, and I’m thrown back to my seventeen-year-old self, too scared and powerless to keep running.
I’m not that person anymore.
The city rots and corrupts. Creates monsters and strips souls bare. I’ve created a new life for myself out here, and I’ll protect Wilde’s End with everything that I have.
I creep through the living area that has a distinct feeling of loneliness broken only by the fresh color pops of shopping bags and condiments cluttering the kitchen counter. A thick layer of dust muffles my footsteps as I enter the short hall and pause by what should be a bedroom door. I have no idea if any or all of them are in here, but I set my hand on the door handle and turn it slowly before sliding the door inward. It skims the carpet with a softchhhhthat makes me catch my breath as I peer into the room.
All that’s here is an inflatable mattress and a man snoring softly through my intrusion.
I step inside, glaring down at the sleeping form as I make my way across the room. Out of the three men, I think this guy is the middle-sized one, and settling my eyes on his relaxed features stirs up the type of feelings I only let myself indulge in occasionally.
This man is gorgeous. His dark blond hair is growing out of astylish haircut, and his eyebrows are relaxed over closed eyes with eyelashes so long they throw shadows over his cheeks. His nose is small, his jaw is wide, and the bare arm he has flung over his head shows off his bicep even in the dark.
A deep exhale leaves me slowly.
He’s shirtless, the deep dip between his pecs disappearing under the blankets. It shouldn’t be so tempting to glimpse more, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man like this. At least not for a very, very long time.
I set my jaw and force myself to walk away. He’s attractive, but I’m on a goddamn mission.
I comb the house for signs of what they’re doing. Has Bert hired them? Do they assume this place doesn’t belong to anyone? The other two are sleeping upstairs, in bedrooms as empty as the first. Their wallets give away nothing except their names—I’m assuming with their surname, Bellamy, they’re related—and I’m not game to touch their phones. I leave things where I found them, but I’m not careful, and I don’t plan to be.
Let them think a ghost has visited them in the night.
I search through everything I can find until I spy a set of keys sitting on the kitchen counter. I creep closer, eyeing the tag, and when I pick them up and read it, my gut sinks.
For: sale of Wilde’s End, California.
Sale?Sale?
The keys crunch in my fist.
Bert … what the fuck have you done?
CHAPTER
THREE
HUDSON
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this kind of ache in my muscles, and I don’t hate it. Hart, Kennedy, and I have hit the ground running, and with nothing else to do around here, our only focus has been work.
