We sit in Wyatt’s car for a few minutes, just idling and staring at the long dirt road. We haven’t said much in a little while, and I can feel my nerves building. Wyatt doesn’t look nervous at all, and keeps drumming on the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song’s playing on the radio.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “What are we waiting for?”

“Nothing,” he admits. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready to do this.”

“I’m ready,” I say.

“Are you sure?” He looks at me, head cocked. “This might get dangerous.”

“I know that. But I’ve come this far.”

He sighs and leans toward me. “I don’t want to risk you. But I won’t say you can’t come.”

“I’m ready,” I repeat, and that seems to satisfy him. He kills the engine, reaches across me, opens the glovebox, and pulls out a gun. He checks to make sure it’s loaded before we climb out and he slips the gun into his waistband.

I don’t say anything as we start walking. We step off the dirt road and cut through the woods, trying to step lightly over fallen leaves and twigs. I stay close to Wyatt. I’m scared as hell, and his gun isn’t making me feel any better, but I won’t run away from this.

We move through the woods, and up ahead, I can just start to spot a small house. As we get closer, I realize that it’s basically just a trailer that’s been bolted into the ground, which can’t be a good idea. The thing’s falling apart, the roof is covered in moss, and the walls are all a dirty off-white muddy color.

But there’s a light on inside. Wyatt stops and crouches, dragging me down next to him. “This is it,” he says. “Last chance to turn back.”

“Let’s go,” I say.

He nods. “Okay. Follow my lead.”

We start moving across the open space, over toward the trailer. We get to the side and pause, listening. There’s a TV on inside and voices talking low. We move up to the front and Wyatt pulls the gun from his jeans, holding it ready in front of him.

Slowly, agonizingly, he opens the screen door. It doesn’t make a sound. I hold it open for him as he goes around and suddenly kicks open the front door in a burst of action.

I follow him inside. The trailer itself is a goddamn mess. There’s trash all over the place, and it smells like moldy bread. I have to step over a little pile of needles as I move up the steps.

“Jaxson!” Wyatt shouts. “Stop!”

I turn the corner as Wyatt barrels down through the trailer. I spot Jaxson just ahead of him. Kristi is sitting in a little booth, head in her hands, mumbling to herself. There’s a small TV on the counter near her, playing some sitcom.

She doesn’t even look up as he comes past, and I notice that her arm’s tied off. She must have just shot up as we came in here, and Jaxson probably didn’t have the chance to set himself up yet. I follow them into the back room, just as Wyatt curses.

There’s a large window out the back, wide open. Wyatt dives out through it, clearly following after Jaxson. I spot Jaxson running to the tree line, Wyatt following after him, shouting.

I turn back into the trailer. The room’s a mess, and the idea that anyone could possibly live in here repulses me beyond belief. I move back into the main room, where Kristi’s still passed out at the table.

Gently, I take the rubber hose from around her arm. I take the needle from her arm and place it back on the table. She mumbles something and I lean her back against the seat.

There’s a bottle of water on the floor by her feet. I grab it, open the cap, and wait a few minutes. Her eyes start to flutter, like she’s coming back awake, so I throw the water in her face.

She sputters, eyes opening. “What,” she says, slowly, her voice thick. “Jax?”

“You helped him,” I say softly.

Kristi blinks at me, slowly coming to. “What?” she says again.

I slam my hands on the tabletop. “Atticus.”

She groans, rubbing her face. “The fuck is this,” she says. “Jax? How high am I?”

“You’re not high enough,” I say. I reach out, grab her hand, and smash it down onto the table.

“Ow,” she says, dazed

I slam my fist down onto her hand again.

“Fuck!” she says, pulling it back. I can see some more of her comes back. “The fuck is happening?”

“We know it was Jaxson,” I say to her. “And we know you’re with him. You helped kill Atticus, didn’t you? The guy you were supposed to be with.”

She groans and shakes her head. “No, I didn’t want to.”

I clench my jaw. “But you did.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.” I can’t tell if she’s still high or what, but she looks more lucid. She’s not making eye contact, her gaze is directly on the floor, but her voice sounds more coherent. “Jax said nobody would get hurt.”

“But he did get hurt. Atticus got killed, and brutally. How, Kristi? How did you let it happen?”

“I didn’t mean to.” She starts crying then, and I almost feel bad for her. At least until she keeps talking. “They started arguing. And Atticus wouldn’t give up the shit. It was crazy, they were yelling, and that’s when Jax just started stabbing him.”

A shiver runs through her visibly.

“What happened next?” I ask softly.

“Jax stabs him, over and over, yelling like a fucking animal, and I just… I shot him. I freaked. I didn’t know what else to do.”

I lean back and stare at her. So that’s how it happened. Atticus really was robbed during a drug deal, but he was robbed and killed by the two people he probably felt closest to in the world. Jaxson stabbed him multiple times, and Kristi put him out of his misery with a gunshot to the face.

I groan and shake my head. “Why?” I ask her.

“I didn’t know.” She sobs and leans forward, head in her hands. “Jaxson made me do it.”

I want to hit her. I want to hurt her so badly that it nearly pulls me apart. I’m not the kind of person to cause someone else pain just because I want to, and I don’t think Atticus would want me to, either. He was always a gentle person, despite the addiction. But this is his killer, the woman he was supposed to be with.

“How long were you with Jaxson?” I ask her instead of kicking her face in.

“Months,” she sobs.

“You were cheating on my brother.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

She’s so pathetic. I stand up and leave the trailer, not able to sit there a second longer. As soon as I get outside, I suddenly feel dizzy, overwhelmed. I stumble, mind reeling, and fall to my knees.

My brother was stabbed by his closest friend, and shot in the head by his girlfriend. Jaxson and Kristi were sleeping together, cheating on him, and their last moments with him were to murder him. That was how my brother died, alone, broken, betrayed. He was probably confused and angry and in pain, and it’s all because of these scum.

I break down, tears spilling from my eyes. I can’t stop myself. I sob and fall over onto my side, holding myself, breath coming in ragged.

There’s a voice then, and someone pulls me into their arms. It takes me a second to realize that it’s Wyatt, whispering in my ear. He holds me tight while I sob, and slowly my tears subside until I’m looking up at him.

He smiles at me. “It’s over,” he says.

“You got him?”

He nods. “He’s tied up in our car right now. Mitch and the police are on the way.” He glances at the trailer. “What about Kristi?”

“She’s in there,” I say.

“Good.” He sighs and holds me tighter. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I whisper. “I just want to go home.”

“Let’s get you home then.” He slowly stands me up. I can hear sirens in the distance, getting closer. “It’s all over, Cora. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah. It’ll be okay.”

We walk back toward the car. The sirens get louder, but all I can hear are Wyatt’s words, whispered softly in my ear. I don’t want him to ever let me go, never ever, but part of me knows that this is the end. He’s going to leave, and I’m going to be left here, trying to pick up the pieces of my broken life.

More chills run through me as Wyatt takes me home, and I don’t know where to go.

Chapter Twenty-Five; Wyatt