I watched as his fingers curled, tightening, and the whites of his knuckles flashed in the dark.

He lifted his eyes to mine, watching me as I watched him. My toes curled, my reflex to run, but…

I felt it. My hand, not his. My fingers hummed, slowly balling into fists, and I breathed heavy, feeling my heart pound and the bile rise up my throat, but…

God, I wanted to be him. I wanted to do it.

I liked this feeling.

I wanted to kill, and I squeezed my fists until they ached, but I didn’t move until she stopped jerking and gasping and shaking, one of her legs dipping over the side of the grave.

Damon held my eyes the whole time.

The part of me that always gave in to tears was gone. Tears solved nothing.

I didn’t know when I started toward him, but in a moment, I was next to the grave, holding out my foot and helping him push her into the hole. Her body hit the soil, dirt smearing her legs, feet, and arms as he grabbed the shovel. I dropped to my knees, hurriedly helping him push the earth on top of her with my hands.

We didn’t talk. I didn’t even think we really realized what was happening or what we were really doing, but it was too late now. Even if I turned him in for murder, I’d helped him dump the body. It was too late to panic.

And although I feared what I’d feel tomorrow in the light of day with a clearer head, I couldn’t push the dirt in fast enough tonight. I wanted her to fucking die.

When we’d covered her as much as we could, Damon carried the sheet and the shovel back to the trunk, while I stepped on top of the grave, packing the soil.

I gazed at the grass around us. It was a mess. They must use a blower or something to clean up the soil scattered around the grass, but we didn’t have that right now. What if they noticed?

Just then, a drop of rain hit my face, and I looked up to the sky.

A few more drops of cool water hit, and I closed my eyes, almost smiling.

Damon rushed back over, helped me finish flattening out the dirt, and then pushed me off, dropping to his knees and running his hand over the grave, getting rid of our footprints.

“The rain will muddy it,” I told him. “Maybe they won’t notice it was dug up.”

He nodded. “Get in the car. Now.”

God, he was probably going to kill me next, but I didn’t think. I ran over, opened the passenger door, and climbed into his BMW.

BMW.

I’d seen this car before. Somewhere.

But I shook my head.

Of course, I’d seen it before. Everyone at school knew the Horsemen’s vehicles.

Damon slammed the trunk shut and climbed into his seat, rain starting to pummel the roof, and I stared out the window at McClanahan’s grave, dirt kicking up at each heavy drop.

We shouldn’t have dumped her here. Where did he get that idea?

That grave was important. Damon and his pals revered it. How could he put her there? Wasn’t that like desecrating McClanahan’s memory or something?

I mean, I guess it seemed smart. Hide a body where no one would think it was odd to a find a dead body, especially since that grave was freshly dug and there was a good chance no one would notice it had been disturbed again, but anyone could’ve seen us. Maybe someone did.

I looked around, scanning the tree line and hedges. Looking for any flash of movement among the crypts and headstones.

I stuck my thumbnail in my mouth tasting the dirt on my finger and feeling it in my sweater.

I looked over at Damon, who still hadn’t started the car.

He gripped the wheel, his bottom lip trembling as he stared through watery eyes out the windshield.

“I didn’t love her,” he said, almost to himself.

But his face was twisted in sadness and despair as tears spilled over, falling down his dirty face.

“I don’t know why it hurts,” he told me. “I didn’t love her.”

“You did,” I said, but it came out as a whisper. “You learned how to love from her.” I turned my eyes back out my window, staring at the grave. “This is what it looked like.”

My parents raised me, but so did Martin. He shaped me.

No wonder I couldn’t give Will what he wanted.

Tears finally hit my eyes until everything was so blurry that I couldn’t see.

Damon took off, and I didn’t know where we were going, but when he pulled into the school parking lot, I was a little relieved.

I didn’t want to go home.

And I couldn’t like this. I needed to find some clean clothes. The clock on the dash read 2:02 a.m.

Damon drove around the school, to the rear, and parked between the buses and the field house.

He killed the engine, reached into the back and pulled out a baseball cap, and threw it at me as he pulled up his hood.

“Put it on,” he said. “And let’s go.”

I hesitated, my natural inclination to argue or demand answers, but…he seemed to have a plan, at least, and I couldn’t even remember my own name at the moment.

I slipped on the hat and exited the car, following him to the door as he pulled out a set of keys.

How he had keys to the school, I had no idea, and I didn’t give a shit.

He unlocked the door, and I hurried inside, following him through the boys’ locker room. He grabbed two towels and led me into a huge shower with multiple heads, slinging the towels over a divider.

I looked around as he started the water.

The girls had separate stalls. Some privacy, at least.

“Clothes off,” he told me. “Now.”

He pulled off his sweatshirt and started undoing his pants, and I opened my mouth to protest, but I clamped it shut again.

He wasn’t killing me, I guess.

He stripped off his clothes, and slowly, I did the same, just running on autopilot now.

I unhooked my overalls, pulled my sweater over my head, and discarded everything—my shoes, socks, and even my underthings, too scared of the slightest evidence.

We both dipped under our respective showerheads and rinsed, blood dripping off his body and down the drain. I spied a black rosary hanging around his neck and down his chest. Did he wear that all the time?

I closed my eyes, shivering under the water.

“You know who my father is, right?” he asked.

I nodded.

“And you know what will happen to you if you breathe a word of this.”

I opened my eyes and looked over at him, meeting his eyes through the locks of hair in my face.

“I know better,” I mumbled. “I don’t have your money to get out of this.”

He regarded me for a moment and then dipped down, rubbing at his legs and then arms.

I couldn’t stop shaking, my stomach churning as the water ran over the cut on my eyebrow, stinging.

“Maybe I’ll return the favor someday.” He stood back up. “When you’re ready to deal with him.”

His eyes fell down my body, taking in all the bruises he’d already seen.

“I’m a loose end,” I pointed out. “Why didn’t you kill me when you saw me see you there tonight?”

He looked like he was thinking about it.

But instead, he asked, “Why didn’t you run when you saw me?”

He was right. I’d willingly inserted myself.

And why? To help him? I didn’t even like him, and how did I know what he was telling me was the truth? Maybe his mom was the nicest person in the world.