The crunch of something under my foot cements my body into stone.
I close my eyes, another prayer on my tongue. If I stepped on a body part… oh my god—I’m going to freak.
Taking a few short breaths, I move my foot away and look down.
A rose, the petals crumpled from my foot.
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, bending down to pick up the rose. The thorns are snipped, preventing it from cutting me, but it doesn’t matter—this rose has not been deprived of one’s pain.
Dripping off the petals and onto my boot is fresh blood. Arch is gone, and all that’s left of him is a bloody rose.
Yanking my phone out of my back pocket, I unlock it to call the cops, hands trembling. The phone lights up and that’s when I see another text—the one that came through in the club, and the one I dutifully ignored.
UNKNOWN: Don’t feel guilty, baby. I don’t make idle threats, so consider this a lesson learned.
Red and blue lights brighten the world before me, and the flashing colors make me feel sick. Dread is pooling in the pit of my stomach while police officers and dogs search the surrounding area.
An officer has confiscated the rose, yet the blood has stained my hands—physically and metaphorically. I rub my fingers together, watching the dried blood flake from my skin.
A tear escapes, but I quickly wipe it away.
I killed a man.
I brought him here knowing someone dangerous was lurking, and I did it anyway.
And now he’s gone.
“Ma’am? I need to ask you a few questions,” Sheriff Walters says, walking towards the porch steps that I’m currently sitting on.
I’ve known him since I was a child. He went to school with my mother, and they were good friends. Every now and again, she’d invite him over for dinner. He’s always been kind. Quiet and soft-spoken, he always seemed more interested in listening than speaking.
He’s a tall, built man, towering to at least six-seven. I think his family descends from giants because his father and brothers are just as freakishly large. His father was a sheriff, and his father before. Pretty sure a couple of his brothers are cops, too.
One big family of gigantic cops. Just what the world needs, right.
Scruff peppers Sheriff Walters’s cheeks, and his brown eyes are tired and wary.
I already gave the run down to the responding officer, but when I told him a man was missing and I was gifted a bloody rose, he was more concerned about getting a search party going.
Considering dense woods surround me, it’s likely the man took Arch on foot until he managed to get him into a car somewhere and drive off.
I sniff, wiping snot from my nose and nodding my head.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Can you give me the name of the man who was with you here tonight?”
“Archibald Talaverra,” I answer robotically. I guess Arch being pretentious and giving me his full name paid off. I almost smile, yet it’s anything but funny.
The sheriff doesn’t speak right away. I glance at him and note his bushy black eyebrows are raised high on his forehead.
“Talaverra, huh? This man might’ve done you a favor,” he says, muttering the last part.
“What?” I squeak out, the corners of my eyes rounding.
The sheriff sighs and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. In his younger years, I’m sure he was attractive. But now, silver is invading his hair, and wrinkles line the edges of his eyes and mouth. He looks aged and weathered, and over the years, I’ve watched his eyes grow dull and tired.
“The Talaverra’s are known criminals,” he informs me.
My eyes pop, and in that moment, I realize my mother did a terrible job raising me. My life choices are questionable at best lately.
I’m going to need to have a long hard talk with the She-Devil from above. She’s been trying to kill me off, I think. And I’m starting to wonder if I should just let Her.
“What kind of criminals?”
Sheriff Walters twists his chapped lips to the side, seeming to contemplate what he wants to say.
“Nothing has been proven. Never any sufficient evidence. But they deal in cocaine primarily. Allegedly,” he tacks on at the end, side-eyeing me. “What I can say is Archibald has been accused of domestic violence by his ex-wife several times. He’s gotten out of the charges unscathed, of course. But he’s known to be a very violent man.”
I turn my head and cover my face with my hands.
Sheriff Walters pats my back awkwardly, assuming I’m crying. But my eyes are as dry as the Sahara Desert. I’m too angry to cry. Angry at myself for being so stupid and taking a random man home.