Page 61 of Dreadful

“Two on the west side,” I add.

“Two on the east,” Bishop says. “Technically, one in the east, one in the back. We need to repair a window.”

Gage rubs his jaw, a tight smirk tugging at his lips. “Three in the back. And one’s in the pool.”

Coco crosses her arms, lips a firm line. “Honey, please tell me you cleaned up after yourself.”

He arches a brow. “It wasn’t exactly a priority.”

Her gaze drills into him. “Make it one.”

Footsteps sound from the hallway, and like someone pulled the pin, the five of us have a weapon in-hand in seconds.

Troy meanders into the kitchen, cradling a margarita in a salt-rimmed glass, a grin plastered on his face. “Whoa. Don’t shoot,” he quips.

We all relax, weapons lowering in unison. I slide mine into the back of my jeans.

Troy sips his drink and leans casually against the counter beside Coco. Not a hair is out of place, not a stitch rumpled—nothing about him betrays the last thirty minutes he spent in this house.

Coco’s brow furrows. “I thought I told you to stay in my room.”

“You did.” He lifts his glass slightly. “I needed a refill.”

Jesus fucking Christ—this guy. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Troy lifts his chin. “What? I’m thirsty. It’s important not to get dehydrated, you know.”

“And where were you during all this?” I bark.

“Coco told me to stay put.” He shrugs. “I offered to help,” he adds when I keep staring at him. “She said I'd only be in the way.”

“He would've been,” Coco murmurs. “You boys already have a solid plan for these things. He would’ve been a liability.” She waves one hand, loose and impatient, as if brushing away the entire argument.

I get the logic, but what kind of asshole sits in a bedroom sipping tequila while the house he’s crashing at is being fucking invaded? And then just fucking strolls out like it’s nothing?

“You’ve got real great taste in men, Coco.”

She meets my gaze, expression cool as steel. “Careful, honey.”

It’s a warning from her, but fuck it.

She pivots, casting the same frost-cold glare at Troy, and I wonder if this will be the last we see of him. A smile stretches across my face at the idea.

Except… he’s seen the house now. Which means he just became a loose end we’re going to have to tie off.

Gage sets his bag of green beans on the counter. “So are we going to talk about what the fuck just happened?”

Coco's attention stays on Troy for another beat before she looks at Gage. “Tomorrow, honey.”

Gage’s brow creases. “Coco⁠—”

“We're all alive, but this house is a fucking mess.” She gestures around the kitchen. “We'll get to everything else tomorrow. I'll make a roast.”

I glance back at Troy, wondering what Coco’s play is here.

A distant siren wails.

“Someone must’ve reported the gunshots,” Gage says, pushing off the counter.