Page 42 of Wicked Things
“Please,” she says. “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong. I’ve…I’ve been obsessed. I’m not…not well. Be…betterthan me,” Lowell says.
I flip the knife over in my hand. “I tried being something I’m not already,” I tell her. “You drove me from that. So here I am. The man you’ve been chasing down all this time, live and in motherfucking Technicolor. Now you’re gonna deal with the consequences.”
A part of me wonders what Sloane would have me do if she were here right now. Would she ask me to walk away? There’s a chance she would; there’s so much good inside her. I know Lowell, though. Letting her go wouldn’t mean an end to this. She would lick her wounds for a day or two, and then she would come for us again. Nothing will stop her until she gets what she wants. Her madness isn’t the kind to fade and die, but only flare and grow stronger.
I take no pleasure in driving the blade into Lowell’s chest. I honestly thought I would. Lowell gasps as the metal cuts through skin and muscle, scraping against bone. Blood spews from her mouth, and for the very first time since I met her, she looks young and afraid. I step back, the job already done. She’s not dead yet, but she will be, and soon.
Michael takes the knife from me. Lowell drops to her knees, so he has to bend slightly to drive the knife into her stomach. Just once. He needs the closure, the vengeance, the finality of this just as much as I do. Michael offers the weapon back to me, but Mason intercepts it. “You’re not the only ones,” he says. “You’re not the only ones she fucked with.”
Lowell’s eyes are hazy and unfocused as Mason stands over her. “Just do it, then,” she rasps. “Get it fucking done.” Mason drives the blade up, underneath her ribcage, grunting with the effort of his blow, and the woman topples sideways, panting. She has seconds left. Nothing more.
The room is filled with death.
“What are we going to do with Lacey?” Michael whispers.
God. Lacey. I can’t even look at her body. I feel sick to my stomach every time I do. “We have to leave her,” I say, choking on the words. I know it’s our only option, but it still hurts. It still destroys me to admit it. “We don’t have time to take her with us. And besides…that’s not her anymore. She left this place a long time ago. She’s already fucking gone.”
******
Sloane runs across the parking lot, throwing herself into my arms. She sobs, her heart visibly hammering in her throat as I catch her up and hold her to me.
“Never do that again,” she commands. “Never leave me. I thought…Jesus, I thought you were dead.”
I set her on the ground so I can tangle my hands in her hair, pressing my forehead against hers. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.” It took me so long to give in and kiss this woman. The act was too personal, too deep, too intense, but now when I place my lips on hers, I completely lose myself to it. Let it be intense. Let it be deep. I fucking drown in her as my mouth crushes against hers. We share our breath as we taste each other, savoring each other, clinging onto each other for dear life.
“Come on,” Michael says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We have to go.” He turns to Theo and Sal—nightmares made flesh, soaked to their skin in blood and gore. I didn’t see what they did to Alaska, but it must have been horrific. Sloane doesn’t flinch at the sight of them, but Pippa does. “You take Mason. Head back to the city,” Michael tells them. And then, to me, “I’ll make sure Pippa is safe. You and Sloane head home. We’ll all reconvene later, when things are a little calmer.”
The Camaro is right where I left it. Sloane and I get in, hurried, both of us keen to leave this godforsaken baseball stadium behind. Theo, Sal and Mason disappear in a silver sedan, and Michael…Pippa and Michael have already vanished.
We’re three blocks away when the explosion rips through the night, sending billowing mushrooms of flame and smoke upward into the night. The ground literally shakes with the force of the blast. I clench my jaw, watching out of the window, observing the people on the street who scatter, running for cover.
“Huh,” I muse quietly. “I thought for sure she was bluffing.”
EPILOGUE
ZETH
Sweat beads on Sloane’s brow, glistening. The Camaro’s engine screams as I run a red light and swing the car through a left hand turn. Sloane yelps, holding onto the dashboard for dear life. “If you don’t calm down, you’re going to crash,” she says, a hitch in her voice. “I don’t want to give birth to this baby in the back of an ambulance, okay? I don’t want them to have to cut him out of me because I’m dead, and I don’t want for our child to have to go live in foster care becauseyou’redead, too. So slow down.”
Nope. Not fucking happening. How do I explain to her that I can’t humanly obey her command right now? There’s absolutely no way I can ease off the gas pedal. The baby is coming, and she’s in pain. I’m going to get her to the hospital as quickly as I possibly can, and no one and nothing is going to stop me. “It’s two in the morning. There’s no one on the roads,” I say, grinding my teeth together. “And my driving skills are unparalleled, anyway. I don’t crash cars. I’m not going to kill us, I promise.”
Sloane blows out of her mouth hard, her lips forming the shape of an O. Her cheeks are flushed and red. Her hair is tied back into a messy ponytail. She groans, her head tipping back against the headrest as she screws her eyes closed. “Thissucks,” she moans. “And I haven’t shaved. I haven’t shavedanything. You weren’t supposed to show up for another week,” she complains, jabbing a finger at her belly.
“I don’t think the baby cares if you haven’t shaved your pussy,” I say. My eyes remain glued to the road, but I can feel the horrified look she’s sending my way. I can feel it burning into the side of my face like a red-hot poker.
“The baby won’t care,” she says. “But you forget, I’m going to know the person who delivers him. And not in a,we’ve-had-a-bunch-of-appointments-where-you’ve-told-me-what-to-expect-in-this-process, kind of way. But in a,we-graduated-in-the-same-class-and-we-go-for-beers-after-work-sometimeskind of way. It makes things a little different. Hilary’s still on vacation. I didn’tknowHilary. She’s brand new. Now, I’m going to get Ramesh, or Gayle, or…” She falls silent.
I know what she’s just realized, and my hands tighten on the wheel.
“You know it can’t be helped if…”
“If Oliver Massey is going to be the one delivering my son? Yeah. I know.” I don’t like it. Of course I don’t. But shit. He’s a qualified doctor, and he has experience delivering babies. I trust him not to fuck up the birth just to spite me. And the plus side of him being obviously in love with Sloane is that he’s definitely not going to put her in any danger. “If his gaze so much as lingers between your legs once the baby’s out, I’m going to punch him in his goddamn mouth, though, you realize,” I say.
Sloane laughs softly. “I realize. Oh, shit.Shit.Shitshitshitshit.”She doubles over, holding her belly, gritting her teeth. I fucking hate this. I hate that I can’t take the pain away. I hate that I’m partially responsible for the pain she’s in. Okay, I’mfullyresponsible for the pain she’s in. If I hadn’t come inside her… Then again, if she hadn’t forgotten taking antibiotics would render her birth control ineffective…
That’s all academic now. We’re here and we’re having a baby, and I couldn’t be fucking happier about it. I just wish she wasn’t suffering so badly. “Are you sure you can’t just have a C-section?” I ask, taking another corner at breakneck speeds.
“You can’t just…decide to have a…C-section,” she pants. “Well, you can, but we don’t…encourage it. Owwwwwww. It’s better to do it…naturally.”
