Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(63)

“I had a great plan to ditch his body at the fishing hole off Loop Road. But I guess I’ll just have to wing it. Gransie seemed pretty confident it would work out anyway. But it’s a good thing you’re here just in time for ‘trouble whatsoever,’ right, Doc?”

I give her a flat glare and then grasp her shoulders just long enough to keep her rooted in one spot so I can slip past her. When I stop at the treadmill, Chad gives me a beaming grin despite the effort it takes to keep running. I should probably take his pulse, which I’m sure is past two hundred beats per minute, or at least point him in the direction of a hospital. Hippocratic oath and all that shit. But then, who am I to crush Rose’s dreams? It’s not like Chad is asking for medical assistance. And if Rose has gone to this much effort, the guy is surely no saint. I’m probably doing humanity more good than harm by just letting him live or die by the rules of natural selection.

I drag a hand down my face. Christ.

With a fleeting, suspicious glance toward Rose, I turn my attention back to the man before me. “How are you feeling, Chad? Ready to take a break?”

“Nah, bro.”

“In that case, how about we take this run to the great outdoors.”

“Yeah, man,” he says through panting breaths. “I’m ready to take on the fuckin’ world.”

I press the emergency stop button on the treadmill and Chad stumbles before jumping onto the foot rails. Disappointed that he didn’t fall on his face, I turn and hold open the door of the RV. “Great. Do a few laps of the grounds or whatever. We’ll catch up.”

“You sure?”

“I’m a doctor, I never lie.”

Rose barks a laugh behind me. I shoot her a glare over my shoulder and she throws her hands up in surrender.

Turning my attention back to Chad, I grab his wrist and tug him toward the open door. His pulse thrums like hummingbird wings beneath my fingertips. “We’ll come find you. Promise.”

Chad gives me a thumbs-up, his go-to move, I guess, then steps out into the clearing. With a deep breath of cool evening air, he raises his fists above his head. “Fuckin’ eh, clown town.”

“Fuckin’ eh,” Rose mutters beside me.

And then Chad takes off running at full speed.

“He’s pretty quick,” I say. We watch him sprint in a wide circle, then he shifts his trajectory toward the white picket fence that surrounds the fairgrounds.

“Give a man a shit ton of drugs and the promise of ass fucking, and he’ll do anything. Even knit doilies.” Rose pivots a slow turn on her heel to pin me with a sardonic grin, a devious gleam flickering in her eyes. “Oh wait, you started that hobby with neither of those two motivators.”

“I already told you, I thought the Suture Sisters was a fight club. And it’s called crochet, not knitting.”

“My bad.”

We turn our attention back to Chad as he picks up speed. His naked back glistens in the dim light. His legs and arms pump at an almost inhuman pace. His strides lengthen as he nears the fence.




“Not sure hurdles are a great idea,” I say, scratching my stubble.

“He’s committed now.”

Chad lets out a whoop of determination as he barrels toward his target.

… And then one foot catches on a rock.

He pitches forward at the fence, his startled shout spooking a flock of starlings.

“That’s—”

He comes down hard on the pointed ends of the pickets. A visceral cry of pain is sliced short. The setting sun illuminates a pulsing mist of blood. His body jerks and twitches.

“—not good …”

A garbled, liquid breath sputters from his lungs. Chad’s body convulses, then goes limp, his head suspended from a picket and the rest of his body hanging against the bloodstained slats.

We stand unmoving in a long moment of shocked silence.

Rose reaches forward and starts to pull the door closed. “Well … maybe hurdles were a stretch.”

“Rose,” I hiss, pushing the door open. She doesn’t let go of the handle and pulls back with equal determination. “I am a doctor. I have to go help him.”

“Help him to what, exactly? Un-die? Good luck with that.”

“He could still be alive. Call 911.”

“Hard pass.”

“You do realize that someone is going to find him and they could very well notice that his tracks lead straight back to your RV, right?”

Rose heaves a lengthy sigh and relinquishes her hold on the door handle. Before I can slip past her, she blocks my path with her hand braced against the frame. “Just don’t try too hard, Doc. He’s still a piece of shit.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I say with a roll of my eyes. I pull her hand from the doorway and lead the way down the steps. None of the circus performers or crew are out in the clearing. We jog toward the fence where Chad’s body is draped, slowing as we draw closer. And though I listen for any sounds of life, nothing comes. I guess it should come as no surprise when we finally take in the extent of the damage. The pointed end of the picket is lodged deep in his throat. I’m guessing he severed his spinal column. I check for a pulse anyway, even though I know I’m not going to find one next to the gaping wound and the wooden stake that obstructs his airway. Blood pours in a thick rivulet down the picket, shimmering in the dim light.