Undone: The Complete Duology, page 13
A feral cat darted out from a bush as I passed by and disappeared down the street. I halted, panting to catch my breath.
An idea clicked into place.
Once I could breathe normally again, I rubbed the ache in my side and headed around the corner. Thorn Tree was rural, but not savage enough to share a doctor between humans and livestock.
Our vet, Luke Hemming, lived on a farm nestled at the base of the hill where the church stood. As I approached, the church growing in prominence, I lowered my head and tightened my jacket but it did nothing for the shudder that coursed through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the Reverend was watching and knew exactly what I was up to.
I halted partway across the property and stared at the farmhouse. My next move would be risky, but I had faith that Thorn Tree wouldn’t disappoint. I knew how this town operated. It was time to put that to the test.
With a scowl at the church—a glance; I couldn’t bring myself to look at it for long—I adjusted my disposition to the proper amount of meekness and shame. Just the kind I was supposed to have.
Then I knocked.
When Luke opened the door, he nearly tripped headfirst into me.
“Gracie.” He yelped my name like I’d kicked him.
So far, so good.
I cast my gaze to his shoes. “Doctor Hemming, I’m sorry to bother you.”
He said nothing, gripping the doorknob like he would slam the door shut should anyone see him talking to me.
“Snowflake…that’s my cat…she got hurt. Think a dog got her when she was outside. I just…” I pressed my lips together. “She’s hurt pretty bad.”
Luke shifted his weight, looking towards the street. We were far enough away from the center of town to afford a little privacy, albeit under the watch of the church.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he began, but he ended his thought there.
“I was just hoping you’d be able to tell me what to do…I don’t want her to suffer.” I dared a look at him. “Something to help her pain, help her sleep while she heals.”
If I were anyone else in Thorn Tree, Luke would be in his truck already and halfway to my house. But I wasn’t anyone—I was Gracie Miller.
No one would dare be caught at my house helping me. People would talk.
People talking was never a good thing in Thorn Tree.
Luke’s dedication to his career and his fear of what damage fraternizing with me would cause warred on his face.
“I can give them to her,” I said softly.
He let out a breath. “One minute.”
He shut the door, leaving me alone on the porch.
I waited, careful not to allow any tells to show. Anyone could be watching. He might be, through a window or the peephole, assessing my sincerity.
When he returned, he had a small zipper pouch in hand. He thrusted it at me, like he might catch something through the point of contact.
I plucked the case and held it by my side.
“Those are diazepam. I’ve written the directions on a sticky note inside. Just follow those.” He started to close the door, then added, “I hope she feels better.”
He shut the door before I could respond.
Under the watchful eye of God, I kept my head down and made my way back to the road. It wasn’t until I entered back into the center of town I raised my head, stretching the kinks from my neck, and jostled the bag a little. Pills clattered around inside.
Diazepam was better known as Valium. Just what I needed.
That imaginary cat had become so handy, I might adopt a real one when this was over.
As I passed by Mr. Jimenez’s bakery, the back of a woman’s head caught my attention. I slowed, trying to determine who she was.
The red curls pulled back into a bushy ponytail didn’t look familiar. It was possible she was here on business with Lou’s Restore and More, but doubtful. The Feast was soon upon us. Thorn Tree didn’t like company interfering with the festivities.
When she turned, bag of treats in hand, she caught my gaze and flashed me a smile. She exited the bakery and strode past me, not sparing me another glance.
What the actual hell was going on?
As much as I wanted to follow her, poke around and find out who she was, I had more important problems to worry about.
First, I had to get Bobby out of my house. Even with the pills, he was sure not to go without a fight, and I couldn’t risk alerting the attention of anyone.
I still had just over two more weeks until the full moon. The closer it got, the more I wondered how I would be able to survive that long before everything came crashing down.
17
GRACE
When I returned home, Bobby was silent. I couldn’t believe how badly he had fucked up everything, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He’d already destroyed my life; why would this be any different?
I threw out the sticky note with the directions for the nonexistent cat before dumping a handful of the pills into my palm. I grabbed the carton of almond milk from the refrigerator and headed downstairs.
Bobby dozed, his head lolling forward.
“Wakey, wakey, fuck-cakey,” I said, and knocked the door shut louder than necessary.
He startled, then blinked up at me.
“I brought you a little treat.”
He scowled, like his head hurt. It probably did.
I removed the gag.
“More donuts?” he asked. I’d never heard anyone sound less enthusiastic about donuts.
Proof positive he was a psychopath.
I flashed him a grin, standing in front of him. “Even better.”
I held out my palm full of pills.
He stared at them hard, trying to decipher what they were no doubt.
“They’ll help your head,” I said. Never mind the reason I needed him to take them.
He rolled his eyes up to stare at me, head tipped towards his chest. He didn’t trust me, apparently.
My heart.
“Why so many of them?” he asked.
“Because you’re bigger than a cat.”
He stared straight through me, dumbfounded. If he was anyone else but little Bobby Bruno, I might note the heaviness of his expression.
“Look, you screwed yourself out of these amazing accommodations,” I said. “The last thing I need is you banging around down here while I suck Mac’s cock. I’m sure you understand.”
He narrowed his eyes on the pills, but he was smart enough not to turn that look on me.
“What do you think is going to happen when Malachi figures out the truth?” he asked, yet his words were not as accusatory as I would have expected.
My observation earlier about his own role in all this must have left an impact.
Malachi. So that was Mac’s name. I liked it. Maybe I would bring him back to my house tonight, have him fuck me in the middle of the living room—once I’d removed his brother from the scene, of course.
No more chances.
I plucked up one of the pills from my palm and held it to his mouth. “Open up.”
“I’m not taking these, Gracie.”
“I could just get the gun and then make this all weird and awkward by holding it to your temple while you swallow down each of these pills until I say you’ve had enough. Is that what you want? Does it get you off when we play rough?”
He sneered up at me.
“You are in no place to sneer, barter, or even sigh heavily without my consent. Do you understand now? You’re gone, Bobby. Poof.”
Bobby always hated the word no, but he was learning to make good friends with it these days.
I offered him another pill. He held out, then his shoulders slumped and he parted his lips. I flicked in a pill, and he swallowed hard a few times.
“Here.” I used my teeth to remove the loose cap of the milk and spit it to the floor, then held the bottle to his mouth. He glugged down a few gulps, milk trickling down his chin.
I fed him another pill followed by more milk.
“We make a great team, don’t we, Bobby?” I said on the fifth pill.
He greedily took them, one after the other, as if not just resigned to his fate, but eager to see it to the end.
Not that I could blame the guy.
As I fed him pills and milk, my mind flickered back to Mac—Malachi—and all the amazing fucks we were going to have once my house was no longer burdened with the intruder. No room would be free of sin when I was finished.
Would I bring Mac to the basement, do him where I so recently held his brother hostage?
The fact I could have it all was nearly as hot as the man I would have it all with. The church didn’t want me with Malachi, but I would be with him in every damn way and they would never be able to stop me.
They never could stop me. No matter how they’d tried to break me, I bent but never snapped.
Bobby hesitated on the next pill. I’d lost track of how many I’d fed him, but the milk carton was getting low and the pile of pills in my palm smaller.
The vet really didn’t want to risk me coming back for more medication for a pet ever again, not just this one. He’d given me far too many for my request.
Thorn Tree was so typical in its absurd ways.
“One more for good luck,” I said.
Bobby took it and swallowed it down without milk, tipping his head back. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and I tried, just for a moment, to see the resemblance between him and Mac. It was too faint to matter.
When Bobby lowered his gaze back to me, I swiped my thumb over the milk on his bottom lip. His grin was as intoxicated as malicious. The pills were starting to kick in, but after days in the basement, he was already on the brink of insanity anyway. I wouldn’t trust to move him until the pills had plenty of time to digest and disperse through his system.
I brushed the rest of the pills to the floor at his feet and took his chin between my thumb and forefinger, pressing my forehead to his.
“You’re going to fix all the bad things you did, Bobby. Take some peace in that for once in your useless existence, you will right your wrong.”
He grinned at me, our faces so close I could smell his sour breath. “I hope they burn you at the stake.”
“Oh, Bobby, they already tried.” I patted his cheek. “You be a good boy. I’ll be back for you soon.”
I sauntered back up the stairs to kill some time while the pills got him good and intoxicated. If I were lucky, he would pass out entirely, but I would take uncoordinated and stupid. I just had to get him out of here.
I brought the jeep around to the back of my house, then loaded it up with blankets from the back of my closet, socks and gloves, firewood—including the stack Mac had brought to me recently—first aid kit, lighter and lighter fluid, and flashlight. On second thought, I added a shovel as well.
Who knew what we would need when we reached our destination?
There was nothing more to do but wait. I stretched out on the couch, a throw pillow under my head, and after setting an alarm for an hour, let my brain drift away on thoughts of Mac and all the amazing things to come in the next few days—and not one moment spared towards what would happen after Bobby had served his purpose.
I wanted Mac on me, in me, surrounding me. Consuming me. I grit my teeth and slammed the side of my fist into the couch with a muffled, frustrated groan. There was still so much to do before I could see him again.
A few hours. Just a few hours.
It would be a long few hours, but afterwards, we would have full reign to spend time together. That was all that mattered. I would not squander my time with Mac just because Bobby was a nuisance.
I’d barely settled my irritation when the alarm went off.
With the gun in hand, I returned downstairs to Bobby.
He was leaning forward as far as the restraints allowed, his head bobbing as he sailed on a medicated high. I needed to get him into the jeep.
I traded the gun with the knife off the workbench that had gotten more than a little use lately with all this hostage maintenance nonsense.
As I reached down to undo his first restraint, his head snapped up. His focus wavered but he could swim through the haze and find me.
I lowered the knife. He wasn’t incapacitated enough. Not for what I needed to do.
I gripped the handle of the knife, my thoughts reeling.
“Wait here,” I said, then laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.
I went upstairs, floundered around in the kitchen for an answer, and produced the bottle of vodka. Mixed with the pills, this should knock him right off his feet, or keep him off them, as it were.
I uncapped the bottle in front of him. His head swayed like a cobra waiting to strike.
“I’m not drinking that,” he said, with not enough of a slur to suit me.
“Like hell you ain’t.” I put the bottle to his lips. “Drink me, Alice.”
He turned his head just enough to refuse the bottle. “No.”
I held the bottle still, right in his reach. “You act like you got a choice.”
“Those pills don’t mix with alcohol.”
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced him to look at me. “They do if I say they do. Drink.”
“Or what?”
“The gun is on the table.”
He chuckled and the look of disdain on his face boiled my already simmering temper. “You’re not going to shoot me. You need me, right? For your little magic spell.”
Guess it took a handful of drugs to make him put that little gimmick together, but the tone in which he addressed me—I slapped him across the face.
“Drink the fuckin’ vodka.”
He threw his head back laughing, and the laugh morphed into a drawn-out howl like he was a goddamn wolf.
I grabbed his hair again, wrenching his head towards the bottle, and tipped it to his lips. Vodka rolled down his chin, dripping into his lap, as he kept his mouth sealed.
“Open up! Open up!”
I leaned into him, straddling over the chair. He twisted his head from my grasp and threw his weight to one side, then the other. I scrambled to grab his face, ramming my chest against him to try to pin him into place. The front legs of the chair tipped up and we fell back, me on top of Bobby still tied to his chair. I crammed the bottle into his mouth and dumped in the vodka, overflowing his mouth. He swallowed it down then coughed and spluttered, spitting in my face.
“Just drink it, just drink it, just drink it,” I found myself chanting.
He gasped for air, and I remained sprawled on him, unable to bring myself to move. The vodka bottle rolled across the floor and disappeared under the workbench, leaving a wide wet trail.
If someone lit a match, this room would explode in flames.
My body aching, I crawled off Bobby and tried to wrench him upright. The chair legs caught, requiring more force than I had to get him back up. Gritting my teeth, I yanked on the arms, my soles slipping on the unfinished concrete of the floor. Bobby twisted and pulled at the ropes to break them, the binds cutting deeper into his skin. He gnashed his teeth at me and swung his head forward. I ducked out of the way before he smashed my nose.
With a strangled sob, I collapsed onto the ground next to him, my hair in the stream of vodka from the rogue bottle. Bobby turned his head towards me, breathing heavily. His gaze swam as he struggled to focus on me.
“I’m sorry, Gracie.”
I reached up to slap his face, but my hand landed harmlessly on his cheek as I sobbed harder. Disgust rolled through me as I laid next to him, crying into the sliver of space between us.
“Why did you ruin everything?” I murmured into my arm wet with sweat, vodka, and tears.
He had no answer. He never did, never would.
That was why he had run away to New York.
His erratic breathing deepened but didn’t even out as he slid towards unconsciousness.
Those pills didn’t mix with alcohol, and there was a good chance I had just killed him sooner than I intended. Not a great choice, but that was par for the course these days.
I stood, wiping snot from my nose with the back of my hand, then fumbled for the knife and cut his binds. He twitched but couldn’t keep his eyes open.
I hooked him under one arm and helped him off the floor, out from the chair. He stumbled over the legs, the chair still tipped over. I caught his weight, bending my knees to take the bulk until he flailed his limbs into position. His head lolled as he caved into me. Straining, I grabbed the gun with one hand, holding him up, and tucked it into my waistband.
Little by little, we made our way across the room towards the stairs. The steps put such strain on my necks and shoulders, forcing him upright, a migraine formed in the back of my head. I could barely breathe as I struggled to keep us both from toppling back down to the floor. At the door, I knocked it open with my foot. Bobby stumbled into the kitchen and collapsed to his knees.
I shook out my arms and stretched my neck side to side. I wasn’t built for this crap, but it had to be done.
I nudged him with my foot. “Come on, let’s keep moving.”
He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for air. I stood still, uncertain what I could do to help him. Hopefully the overdose would pass on its own. I wasn’t ready for him to die yet.
On his own accord, he lifted onto his knees then grabbed the kitchen counter and hauled himself to his feet. He leaned over the sink, heaving in shuddering breaths.
Those pills really didn’t mix with alcohol.
“Come on,” I said, far more gently than I had intended, as I slipped under his arm again.
We took small slow steps, him balanced between me and the counter, until we reached the back door. I pushed it open, and he groaned as sunlight caught him in the face. He squinted harder as we made our way towards my jeep parked a few feet away.
Bobby collapsed into the passenger seat, head back, breathing heavily.
In the driver seat, I tucked my gun under my thigh, on the opposite side of Bobby. Even as intoxicated and next to death as he was, I still didn’t trust him.
Never again.
I took the jeep down a wide trail that wound into the woods surrounding my house. Bobby jostled, barely in control of his body. He rolled his head side to side with a low, inebriated moan.
