Page 43 of Pose for Me
I check his pulse to make sure he’s dead. With a snarl, I stomp on his head, denting his skull because he ruined myfucking night. It’s not enough to vent all my frustrations, but it clears my head.
Grabbing him by his tattered jacket, I heave the man into my backseat.
Once that’s done, I slide into the front seat and start driving, calling Jacob as I go.
When he answers, I cut off his hello and say, “I need your help. Meet me at my place. As soon as possible.”
Jacob sighs. “Yeah, okay.”
Twelve minutes later, I pull up to my house and see Jacob is already there.
He walks up to the car and peeks in my backseat before I can kill the engine.
“You havegotto be fucking shitting me.” Jacob plants his hands on his hips, frustration coming off him in waves. “We talk about you not killing anyone recently and you catch a body tonight?”
I huff as I step out of my car. “Not on purpose. He tried to rob me.” I show him the cut in my shirt. “I’m surprised he didn’t actually gut me. He was twitchy.”
“What do you need my help with?”
“Disposal. Remember what we did to Dad?”
Jacob throws his hands up. “I fucking knew it! I fucking knew you would make me get dirty. Fucking bullshit.” Jacob stomps over to the back driver’s side door, yanks it open, and pulls the man from the back by his feet. The body drops heavily, but Jacob drags him like he’s light as a feather. He gets him over to the garage, then looks at me. “Come on. I want to get home before long.”
Annoyed beyond fucking belief, I march into the garage, and we get started dismembering the body.
After we’re done, we load the parts into bags and transport them to my van in my detached garage. Then we clean up theblood and viscera that litters the floor and walls. I’ll have to reclean with industrial grade cleaning solutions when I’m not so fucking tired and irked.
After we dispose of the bags in a rushing river, and Jacob takes his leave, I’m in no mood to deal with Lane and his bullshit.
Before I met him, I was sharper than this. I never would have been in the position for someone to accost me, thinking they had an easy target. I would have been more aware of my surroundings, and if I wanted to kill this fucking lunatic that thought it was a good idea to hold me up, I would have led him to me, not had my guard down so he could stick a knife in my back.
So, fuck Lane. He can fend for himself tonight. I’m going to bed.
Eighteen
Lane
Two days.Ryell left me alone for two days. After he promised he wouldn’t. Hesaidhe wouldn’t. But he did. He fucking left me.
My stomach is hollow from lack of food and all the screaming and crying I’ve been doing. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t know where Lane the FBI agent is, but he’s burrowed so deep into my mind that I can’t reach him. All I have is the Lane that can’t stand being ignored, the man that held on to a promise from a fucking psychopath like it was the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.
I screamed until my voice was sore and cried until my eyes hurt from the strain. Even then, Ryell didn’t come to see me.
Two days.
I’m worn out and fucking exhausted, and I’m hurt.
Why doesn’t he want to be around me? Why does he treat me like this? I thought that after I agreed to let him draw me, we were…getting somewhere.
Is he really that mad that I asked him about killing people? I wasn’t trying to make him angry. I was just curious.
Some of the FBI agent Lane creeps back into my thoughts, and I welcome him like a long-lost relative.
FBI-Agent-Lane reminds trauma-Lane that Ryell isn’t killing anyone. No innocents have lost their lives. Ryell can be upset by my questions, but at least he’s not taking lives and destroying families.
I still feel like shit that he’s not here, and he’s been ignoring me for days, but that thought shines a faint light on my predicament. Even if I’m not pounding the pavement to find The Poser and put him away, I’m doing my part to keep people safe.
The basement door opening behind me snaps me out of my thoughts. I hop off the floor and face the door, my hands balled into fists.
