Chapter 5

I frowned, feigning concern. "That's terrible. Lawrence said he was on his way here that day, but he never showed up. I tried calling, but he didn't answer. I just assumed he'd changed his mind."

 Laughlin glanced at the ring on my finger. "Was your relationship with Mr. du Martel more than friendly?" He asked.

 "Not at all," I said, brushing my finger over the tip of the emerald. My shoulders slumped, and I swallowed. I vividly pictured him in my mind, lying on the bed across from me with an open throat. "This is my fiancé, Marcel. Lawrence was just a friend."

 Marcel reached over, lacing his fingers through mine. "We've been home for weeks," he added. "Lawrence never showed."

 Laughlin's eyes darted between us before he scribbled something on his notepad. "We'll need your consent to have a look around." He said.

 I froze, feeling my blood turn to ice. The bodies were still out back. If they found them—

 "Miss?" Laughlin interrupted my thoughts.

 "Sure." My voice wavered. "Go ahead."

 Behind the officers, Marcel and I followed closely as they ascended the stairs. We waited by the doorway, trying to appear calm as they inspected each of the four rooms. When they entered my bedroom, my heart skipped a beat.

 Their eyes scanned my nightstand. They rifled through the wardrobe and glanced at almost every item in my room.

 After what seemed like an eternity, they left the room, as they found nothing of interest.

 We all descended the stairs, and the detectives thanked us for our cooperation. But then Darwin paused in the living room, his sharp eyes narrowing on Marcel. "Why aren't there any of your belongings in any of the rooms?" he asked, tilting his head.

 Marcel stiffened, swallowing hard. "Uh… well, this is embarrassing," he said with a nervous chuckle. His hand reached for mine. "We had a bit of a falling out recently, so I packed up and left. But we patched things up, and I've been here since—with just the clothes on my back." He turned to me with an awkward grin. "Couldn't stand to be away from her long enough to go back for my stuff. Love makes you do crazy things, doesn't it?"

 With a swift tug, he drew me towards him and leaned in, pressing his lips against mine. His lips were warm, soft, and perhaps it was his unexpected action that made my heart jolt.

 He pulled away, and I fluttered my lashes in surprise.

 The detectives exchanged glances. "And where do you live, sir?" Darwin asked.

 "Here. We live together," I replied quickly, even before Marcel could part his lips.

 Laughlin nodded, pocketing his notepad. "That'll be all. Thank you for your time."

 We walked them to the door, almost breathing in relief. But just as they were about to leave, Darwin paused, his gaze drifting toward the kitchen. "Could we have a final look at the yard?" he asked.

 My breath caught. "The yard?"

 "Yes," he nodded. "Just a quick look to wrap things up."

 Marcel and I exchanged a quick, alarmed glance. My heartbeat seemed audible to my ears, but I forced a smile. "Of course," I said, leading them to the back door.

 The detectives stepped outside the backyard, turning the corner toward where we dumped the bodies. Marcel and I paced the space just inside the door.

 Marcel and I exchanged a brief look. I thought at the moment, my eyes said more that my mouth could. I knew we were thinking the same thing when he nodded in agreement.

 As I grabbed the club resting near the doorframe, Marcel picked up a heavy stone from outside. Silently, we moved towards them. The detectives were crouched near the edge of the garden, their heads tilting as they seemed to notice something ahead.

 We struck simultaneously. Both men collapsed to the ground.

 Marcel looked at me, his face twisted in a rigid expression. "What now?" he whispered.

 I stared down at the bodies. "We deal with them," I said. "Like we dealt with the others."

 "No, we aren't killing the cops!" he protested.

 But perhaps he was right. There'd been enough blood spilled by my hands recently, and adding to the numbers didn't seem like a good thing.

 I shrugged.

 "Grab your stuff. We have to leave here." His eyes shifted to the ground where the officers laid. "But first, we'll need a rope."

 We tied the unconscious police officers with their backs against each other in the corridor by the rear door.

 I handed Marcel a shovel where he stood in the backyard, staring at the dead bodies at his feet. He hesitated, though I didn't see fear in his eyes.

 "You can leave now if you can't handle all this. I'll take care of it." I said.

 He locked eyes with me but didn't say anything. Then he snatched the shovel and started digging.

 For the first time, I wasn't burying bodies alone. Marcel bent over beside me, sweat covering his face as he kept driving the shovel into the earth. His muscled arms moved in a rhyme, each thrust breaking through the hard soil. I chanced another look at him and felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He was the first person to witness the darkest part of me—a cursed, cold-hearted killer.

 When the grave was deep enough, Marcel climbed out and offered his hand. I let him pull me up, and we rolled the bodies into the hole and buried them.

 Inside my bedroom, Marcel leaned against the door, watching as I packed my things into a black bag. He'd retrieved his shirt from behind the kitchen door, explaining he'd hidden it when the cops arrived because it had a little blood stain, maybe from carrying the bodies outside.

 I handed him another bag from my wardrobe to help me carry.

 We left the house, the black bags tossed into the back seat. I slid behind the steering while Marcel settled into the passenger side.

 "Do you have anywhere in mind?" he asked.

 I shook my head, "No. Not yet,"

 He didn't question me further. He just leaned back against the seat, his shoulders slumping.

 The drive was quiet. Marcel stared out the window the entire time, biting his nails.

 We stopped at Stuart's store, its sign bold. I killed the engine and turned to Marcel. "Wait here," I said.

 He frowned. "Why?"

 "Just wait here."

 He gave me a wry look and sank deeper into his seat. I stepped out of the car. I felt his eyes on my back as I pushed open the shop door.

 The inside smelled of tobacco and slightly of alcohol. Stuart stood behind the counter, hunched as he scribbled into a ledger. His sharp eyes flicked up when he heard the bell jiggle.

 "Josette," he greeted, a surprise look on his face. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon."

 "I need a favor," I said, walking straight to him.

 He raised a brow. "What kind?"

 Trying to keep my voice a little above a whisper, I leaned in and said, "I need some place to stay. Somewhere no one will think to look for me."

 He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "I might know a place. It's not fancy, but it's quiet."

 "That's all I need," I said.

 "What kind of trouble are you in?" He asked.

 "Trust me, ignorance is bliss."

 Stuart tore out a piece of paper and scrawled a detailed address on it. He slid it across the counter. "It's an old cabin about an hour outside the city. Belonged to a friend of mine who doesn't need it anymore."

 "Perfect." I tucked the paper into my pocket and turned to leave.

 Stuart's hoarse voice stopped me at the door. "You're not alone, are you?"

 I glanced back at him. "I am."

 Back in the car, Marcel sat up as I climbed in. He raised a brow at me, questioning without words. I shrugged and started the engine.

 He sighed, leaning his head back against the window as we pulled onto the road. "We could go stay at my mom's for a while in new Orleans. The Predator and his men don't know about her."

 I didn't respond.

 After a while of silence, he kept shifting in his seat. I noticed him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye like he was at war with his mind.

 Finally, he spoke. "Who is Lawrence?"

 Although the question didn't surprise me. I knew he was going to ask. My grip on the steering wheel tightened. Memories I thought I'd buried rushed to the surface of my mind, but I forced myself to sound casual.

 "A friend," I said.

 He turned his gaze on me, sharp and probing. "He gave you that ring, yes?"

 I shook my head. "No. You did. You're my fiancé, remember?"

 He was quiet, but the skepticism in his clenched jaw said enough, and instead of pressing further like he would, he leaned back and let the conversation die.

 We drove through the chaotic streets. The sound of honking cars filled my ears.

 My thoughts drifted to the house we'd left behind. Leaving that place felt like the first real step I'd taken toward answers in eight long years.

 An hour passed in silence. Marcel stared out at the woods, biting his nails like a nervous kid waiting outside the principal's office. His fidgeting grated on me, but I couldn't blame him. He didn't belong here—not in my world.

 Marcel was innocent, at least to me.

 And me?

 I destroy everything I touch. I didn't want him to end up like Lawrence.

 We weren't walking the same path. Mine was paved with vengeance and mysteries I needed to solve. His? To me, it seemed like he just wanted to get away from whatever trouble he was in.

 When the road ahead cleared, I pulled over. Marcel looked over at me, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Why are we stopping?"

 Reaching for one of the bag in the backseat, I unzipped it, and pulled out an envelope which I tossed it onto his lap.

 "Go," I said.

 "What?" His frown deepened. "I don't understand."