Page 121 of Trigger Happy

“I forgot,” Bobbi pants, dragging the shovel through the dirt, “how hard it was,” she huffs again as she tosses a chunk of rock, “to bury a dead body,” she finishes, slamming the shovel down.

I throw my own shovel onto a pile of amber leaves. We’re out on Bobbi’s property beneath a blanket of stars, moonlight flooding our path. Coyotes howl in the distance, but I’m more worried about this owl and its yellow eyes staring at the dead body like its prey.

I’m sweating despite the cold night. I forgot how much I hate burying bodies. It smells and I always get blisters. I’m already regretting this precarious friendship.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I lurch for it so fast, hoping to see Lawton’s name, I almost drop the shovel. HOUSE OF BLADES: Fall Savings Event! All Knives 20% Off!

My teeth grind at the email, and I press unsubscribe.

“Anything?” Bobbi asks, dumping the final pile of dirt on the grave.

“Nothing.”

“Why don’t you just text him the truth?”

“He blocked me.” I pick a white flower off the ground and place it carefully on top of the mound. “And what would I say? ‘Hey, babe, by the way, your brother’s a serial killer. Please don’t hate me.’ ”

She wipes the sweat off her brow. I’m still getting used to her with the pixie cut. “I mean, I might deliver it a little more gently than that, but it’s your life.”

“This is an in-person conversation.” I take a seat on the forest floor, the grass cool and wet beneath my jeans, and tug my knees up to my chest.

God, I want to see him, but I’m torn between missing him and not wanting to cause emotional mass destruction. I care about him too much now, and I’ve already done enough damage.

Bobbi picks a few purple daisies and makes a heart over the dirt. “You know he’s at his family’s ranch. I say you show up and talk to him. Arch went to see him and—”

“What?” I whip my head to her. “You’re just now telling me this?”

She shrugs in the dark. “You didn’t ask.”

Is she serious?

“We need to work on your friendship skills.” I pull out my phone and look up the next flight to Texas, but there’s no service out here. I’ll book a flight when we get back.

“I really didn’t want to bury her alone, but we’re done now, so you can put on your groveling shoes and go get your man,” she says, resting her cheek on my shoulder. “Rest in peace, Ella. Sorry for all the drama I caused you.”

She nudges my shoulder. “And you, too.”

59Lawton

Ma, would you just give me the damn axe?” I say, watching her bring it down on the wooden log.

It finally dropped below seventy degrees outside, which means it’s officially winter in Texas. Time to break out the Carhartt jackets, chop some fresh wood, and act like we don’t have the A/C cranked down to sixty-eight with a roaring fire.

“This keeps me in shape,” she grunts, adjusting the bandana tied around her gray hair. “Your father might not always be around to help me with body disposal, and I’m not going to be the weak link in this family.”

She resets her stance on the grass, swings down, and splits that log clean down the middle. “Well, shit. Ma. I see where I get it from. Look at you.”

She wipes her sweaty brow with her arm. “I know. I’ve still got it.”

“Damn right you do. Now hand over the axe. I need to work out my own anger issues on a piece of wood.”

I wrap my fingers around the worn handle. Hello, old friend. It’s been a while since I chopped wood, but it used to be my therapy. When I killed my first mark, I chopped wood. When Sabrina…

I slam the axe down on a piece of wood.

Her face crashes into my brain. The way her eyes shift from smoky to silver-blue in the sun, those bitable lips she chews on when she’s scheming, the freckles I stared at for hours while she slept, trying to figure out what constellation they looked like—Orion.

Gritting my jaw, I plant my feet, raise the axe over my head, and bring it down with all my force. A sharp thwack cracks through the oak trees.