He shakes his head.
“It don’t matter one way or another,” Jesse says. “There’s only one way outta this mess, and I gotta be involved.” He turns toward Kate. “I already lost Will to the Rose Riders. I can’t lose you and the little one, too. I couldn’t live with myself.”
“And I’m supposed to live without you?” she says. “That ain’t fair.”
Jesse’s mouth presses into a sly smile. “That’s insulting, Kate. I ain’t gonna miss.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
* * *
Reece
I peel my clothes off in the bedroom, cringing with each layer shed. What ain’t wet with snow is still damp with blood and clings to my limbs. Even the stuff that don’t cling—like my boots—are hell to remove. Every muscle I got is racked with exhaustion. Bending hurts. Tugging aches. Breathing deep stings. I pray I don’t got a cracked rib. Diaz sure kicked me enough.
When I manage to get fully undressed, I step into the shallow bathing tub. It’s been filled since yesterday, but the water’s still cold enough to make me gasp, and then I’m cursing myself for gasping, ’cus that makes my whole body thrum with pain.
I splash my face, sponge water over my neck and shoulders. Blood and dirt lift free, swirling in the tub. What don’t come clean I scrub free, slowly and carefully, ’cus every bit of pressure hurts. I imagine that Vaughn’s silence at my question is also something I can wash away.
And now?
What a ridiculous thing to ask. I ain’t surprised by the way she turned her attention to the house, avoided answering. I ain’t nothing but embarrassed that I thought things might be different suddenly, that her calling me Reece these last few days might mean something. I’ve held all the power since our meeting. She was a mark for theft. She was a prisoner in a coach. She was a mouse and I were the cat, and I can see why that is so unfair, why it is wrong and greedy of me to hope that she sees us as equals.
And still I’d hoped.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I ain’t looked at a girl twice these past few years. Hell, I never wanted to lay eyes on a girl, period. I saw how Rose used my mother to keep me loyal, and I knew fancying someone would only give him more ammunition to use against me. So I been keeping my head down. Till now, I guess. Just a little bit of distance from him, a chance at a new life, and I’ve let myself get sloppy.
I finish washing and step outta the tub. While drying, I catch sight of myself in the small mirror above the dresser. I look as bad as Vaughn implied. I’ve regained some visibility outta my right eye, but it’s still badly swollen, and while the gash on my brow has stopped bleeding, it don’t look pretty. There’s a shadow of a bruise already showing on my chest, too, and I reckon it’ll be joined by more come morning.
I fish my clothes from the floor. With some cringing, I get my socks and underthings on. The pants are harder, but I manage to wrestle ’em on and have just finished with the button when there’s a knock at the door.
Before I can say nothing, it cracks open.
“Jesse said you could borrow one of his—oh!” Vaughn’s gaze lifts from the clean shirt she’s carrying, and she blushes. “I’m sorry. I’ll . . .”
“Just give it here.” I snatch up the shirt and struggle to put it on. I hate how I can’t move without cringing, that the simplest tasks have become a challenge. I can feel Vaughn watching, and when I look, she’s focused on the bruise on my chest. The way her eyes dart away from my skin only to flit back makes me wonder if maybe I were wrong before. Maybe I pulled away too soon, didn’t give her a chance to answer. I ain’t been with many women, but I know they don’t blush for no reason. Then again, most don’t enter a room when the occupant ain’t had a chance to respond to their knocking, neither. I go to work fastening the shirt’s buttons.
“So what happened, precisely?” Vaughn asks. “The confrontation and the fight?”
“I told you already.”
“Yes, but the details. Were you not terrified? How did you think so quickly in a situation like that?”
Her tone is so serious, concerned. There’s even a bit of awe.
My hands fall to my sides, the shirt buttons forgotten. Something has changed; she just couldn’t find the words to express it. Her eyes leave the bruises to meet my gaze. She seems closer now than she did as she helped me into the house, which is crazy, ’cus we’re standing several feet apart. A bit of my blood still stains the collar of her dress. I remember how her frame strained beneath the weight of mine, how I were a burden she couldn’t bear and yet she tried nonetheless.
Vaughn gives me the most innocent, carefree smile as she breathes out a laugh. Something careens ’gainst my ribs.
Then she flips open a journal I hadn’t noticed her carrying, and as her expression steels, I see my mistake.
“What does Rose look like?” she continues. “Give me his likeness. And the others. I want their names again and a description of each.” She is no longer looking at me, but at the pencil she’s brought to paper.
I’m a damned fool. I am so naively stupid.
“Get out,” I say, throwing a hand at the door.
“What?” Her face snaps up, and she’s so confused it’s almost comical. Almost.
“Get out!”
“But—”
“This ain’t a story, Vaughn, it’s our lives! Mine and Kate’s and Jesse’s. It ain’t something for you to treat like a game or to write up with fancy, romantic words, alls so you can sell it to some sensational paper and line yer own pocket. Our misfortunes ain’t yer ticket to success.”
“I thought that—”
“You didn’t think nothing, dammit. You’ve never had to! You gone through yer whole life getting everything you want, prolly even taking some of it. Well, you can’t take this! Have some decency, for Christ’s sake.”
She glares at me a moment, a violent crease between her brows, pencil gripped so hard her knuckles go white. Then, like the child she is, she leaves and slams the door.
That night, I pace the kitchen, unable to sleep.
Do you think Rose knows the Coltons have the gold? Vaughn asked.