Page 11 of Dreadful

We stopped to swap Bishop’s borrowed SUV for his own and picked up Rafe’s on the way. I should have pushed back on that. Should have taken Lola and gone. With Cruz and Lola in the backseat, the drive to the Calloway house was forty minutes of nothing but road noise and the particular silence of people who have too much to say. I kept my eyes on the side mirror. Every set of headlights that appeared behind us stayed there a beat too long before turning off. I told myself that was why I didn’t say anything.

Rafe’s hand didn’t leave my thigh until he put the car in park in Coco’s driveway.

“I didn’t think it was possible, to be honest,” Cruz says, getting out.

My jaw aches. I unclench it and push open the door. “What’s that?”

“Forty minutes in the car with your sister and not a single word between you.” He slams his door shut, then mine, the sound sharp in the quiet driveway. “If I wasn’t worried before, I sure as fuck am now.”

“Thanks,” I murmur. The blood-soaked wad of Rafe’s shirt stays pressed to my bicep, fabric rough against raw skin. “Lola and I should probably get going so I can take care of this.” I tilt my chin toward the makeshift bandage.

The smell of smoke clings to all of us, a cheap perfume announcing exactly where we’ve been. All I want is to get Lola out of here before the questions start—every one feels like a trapdoor swinging open beneath my feet. My arm throbs dully, but it’s easier to ignore than the weight of their stares.

“No one is going anywhere.” Bishop’s voice cuts through the humid air, low and final. My mouth opens—nothing comes out but a dry click of panic. Bishop’s stare pins me in place, cold and challenging. “Not until we figure out what the fuck just happened.”

I watch Cruz’s too-casual lean against the car door, Bishop’s cold assessment as his gaze flicks from Rafe to me. Does he already know? Or is he just waiting for one of us to slip? The not-knowing is its own kind of wound.

Coco rounds the corner from the backyard with a man I don’t recognize trailing behind her, a bag of ice tucked under his arm. They’re both in swimwear. My feet stay rooted to the driveway. Her gaze sweeps the lot of us—unhurried, methodical—and I watch her smile go still. It lingers on Rafe the longest, dropping to his hands, his bare torso, and back up.

She turns to Bishop. “Trouble, honey?”

Bishop doesn’t answer right away. His eyes cut to the man standing just off Coco’s shoulder, bag of ice sweating in the heat. “Who’s your friend?”

Coco’s hand lifts briefly behind her, a loose gesture in Troy’s direction. “Troy, these are my boys.”

“Hey.” Troy’s grin is wide and unhurried. He shifts the bag of ice to his other arm and does that chin-dip thing men do. He’s got the look of someone who spends a lot of time outside—sun-worn, easy in his skin. I catch maybe a second of him before my attention slides off.

“Done with Clay already?” Cruz whistles low with a smirk.

Something in Coco’s posture changes. It’s subtle—a tightening through the shoulders, the slight lift of her chin—but I’ve been watching this woman long enough to know what it means. The silence that follows has edges to it.

“Troy.” Her voice stays warm, unhurried but her gaze is anything but. “Why don’t you head in and get started on those margaritas you were telling me about?” She pauses just long enough to let the next part land. “It seems my sons need my attention.”

“Sure thing.” Troy hoists the bag of ice higher under his arm. “I’ll make a big batch. Enough for everyone.”

“Mm.” Coco’s voice is still warm. “So sweet.”

He disappears around the side of the house. The sliding door announces him—a long, grinding squeak, then the soft percussion of it settling shut.

Coco’s grin melts into a straight line, her hard gaze traveling over everyone, seemingly to pierce my flesh when it lands on me. “Well?” she arches a brow, crossing her arms across her chest. “Someone start talking. Why do half of you look like shit, hm? No offense, honey,” she says the last part with a tilt of her head, directed toward me.

I nod. It’s about all I have left right now.

Cruz rocks back onto his heels, that smirk still present. “Nah, don’t let us keep you from entertaining your new guest.”

Coco arches a brow. “Somethin’ to say, honey?”

Cruz opens his mouth.

“We’ve got a situation.” Bishop’s voice cuts straight across him, flat and certain. “We’ll handle it. I’ll find you when we’re done.”

Coco’s gaze moves from Bishop to me, and stays there. “Hm. What kind of situation?”

I press my palm harder into my arm. The pain spikes clean and bright, and for a second the edges of everything sharpen back up.

“Devil’s Hand.” Rafe’s voice comes from just beside me. “Widowmakers too.”

She looks at Rafe the way a woman looks at something she already knew was coming and hoped she was wrong about. “Why now?”