Cole takes my hand, and I look up at him. My eyes run over the smooth skin of his chiseled jaw, straight nose, and into his dark spiked hair. He wears his black hoodie and a pair of jeans with his Nikes. In a way, he’s so different from the night I met him in that cemetery, but also the same. I fell in love with a killer. And a part of me thinks he misses that life. The blood. The anger. Our life is safe. Boring. The same routine, day in and day out. Becky’s words ring in the back of my head. “He can never love you. He’ll only use you. You’ll become a frumpy housewife, and he’ll get bored of you …” I know another woman isn’t why he didn’t come home tonight, but the insecurity is still there. I hate myself for even having that thought in the first place. For giving Becky that kind of power over my marriage.
He lets go of my hand long enough to shove his palm into my chest, bringing us to a sudden stop. “What the …?”
“Motherfuckers!” A guy screams as he runs in front of us with sparklers in his hands, cutting me off. Two guys holding Roman candles chase after him.
Cole grips my hand again. “Keep an eye out,” he tells Deke.
He nods. “I’m packing.”
I drop my eyes to Cole’s waistband but can’t see anything through the hoodie. I pat it down with my free hand and feel his gun on his hip.
That gets his attention. He drops his head to look down at me with his blue eyes. I arch a brow.
“You know I don’t go anywhere without it,” he states flatly.
Do I? “Since when?” I ask.
He ignores my question and looks away from me, searching the crowd that has gathered over at the tailgate of a lifted truck.
I yank him to a stop. “What is your problem?” I ask again. We both know that I don’t let shit go easily. Things have been better since Thanksgiving. I thought we had moved past this, but I guess I’m kidding myself.
His jaw sharpens as he continues to watch the kids running around with beer bottles in their hands.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” I snap.
He looks down at me once again, glaring. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I instantly get pissy. He does this shit all the time. Hides what he feels. What he thinks. What he knows. He treats me like a child sometimes as though I’m unable to understand or comprehend what is going on. I’m his wife. I’m not some bitch he just met who he can keep secrets from. “Cole …”
“I said no, Austin!” he barks, and that’s that.
I rip my hand from his and cross my arms over my chest. He places his in the front pockets of his jeans. I look over at Deke, and he’s nodding his head as he looks over the vast property littered with kids. There’s a truck to our right that is pulling a trailer with three four-wheelers on it. They’re removing them one by one.
My eyes catch sight of Demi, and she’s glaring at Cole, knowing he’s acting like a child. At least someone other than me notices his attitude.
We should have never come here. But that’s what Cole wants. He pouts, and he expects me to give in. Well, fuck him. I was aggravated when I sat at home waiting for him. I understand things come up, and he may be late, but a text would have been nice. “Let’s go inside,” I say.
“Hey, bitches!”
Demi and I turn around, and I see Shane walking our way with Brynn on his shoulders. He comes to a stop, leaning forward, and Brynn jumps down. She wears a pair of cutoffs that might as well be underwear, a long-sleeve crop top hoodie, and a hat on backward with her hair down over her shoulders.
“You brought a backpack?” Demi asks while I laugh.
“Well, yeah.” Dropping it to the grass, she unzips it and pulls out some shot glasses, then a bottle of Fireball. “You don’t come to Death Valley and not get drunk,” she states.
I take a quick look over at Cole to see he’s moved a few steps away, and Deke is whispering in his ear. What the fuck are they up to?
Demi gets my attention. “Then let’s get this party started.”
“This place is massive,” Shane says, looking around.
“It used to be gorgeous,” Brynn adds.
“What happened to it?” I ask. Demi and I have gotten pretty close with Brynn. And for the most part, I forget that we never knew her when we lived in Collins. She fell into our group and feels like a sister to us.
“It was a preparatory academy for boys. About fifteen years ago, a fire broke out.” She looks around the vast property. The grass is overgrown and unkept as much as the building is. “It’s at least thirty minutes to the nearest town. By the time emergency services arrived, most of the building was up in flames. It took them hours, but they finally put it out. Hundreds were dead. Others missing. The academy couldn’t afford to rebuild after all the lawsuits, so they left it.”
“What about the property?” I ask. “Why hasn’t the owner torn it down? What’s left of it? Or at least sold it?”
She turns and points to the headstone that sits up by the front concrete wall that surrounds the entire property. “He died in the fire. What was left of him was buried.”
“Someone has to own it,” Shane says. “Children?”
She shakes her head.
“Spouse?”
“Nope.”
“The city …?”
“There’s a story going around that he left it to a man. But no one knows who he is or why he hasn’t done anything constructive.”
“Interesting,” Shane adds.
“Well, it’s beautiful out here.” I look at the entrance. At first glance, it looks more like a prison than an all-boys school. There’s a concrete wall that has to be more than ten feet tall and then a fence with barbwire wrapped around the top.
“There are rumors,” she adds, “that they tortured the boys and one of them set the fire on purpose.”
Demi gasps, “Why would they …?”
“The legend is that they were grooming them. Creating an army.”
“Why doesn’t the law come and shut this place down?” She goes on.
Brynn smirks. “Would you want the kids partying in your city?” She shakes her head at her own question. “The cops want them out here. Away from the citizens and children.”
“Come on.” Cole grabs my arm, hearing enough. “Let’s go inside.”
We walk up the stone steps and enter the building. The once large double doors are no longer there. It looks as bad inside as it does outside. It smells like weed. There’s broken glass on the floor, and the walls have been painted on. The cracked concrete looks like spiderwebs covering the walls.
“Hey, I knew I’d seen this place before,” Shane says once he enters behind us with Brynn.
“You’ve been here?” Deke asks, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulling her into his side.
The place is crawling with drunk kids and druggies. This isn’t anything like I was expecting.
He shakes his head. “No. It was all over the news last year. A girl went missing. Her friend accused a junior football player of sexual assault and murder.”
“They weren’t friends,” Brynn corrects him, “but you were right about the football player being accused of rape and murder. The trial lasted three months, and he was found not guilty.”