Chapter 30

Wilder present “You’re a virgin,” Maisie said.

The train tunnel’s entrance let the night trickle in, casting dim shadows on Maisie’s body. The air was cool, the moisture thick. Our breaths were measured but loud in the emptiness. She said it like that word meant something. Yeah, I hadn’t stuck my dick inside of a pussy yet. Who cared? I had no interest in giving myself to something that would render me powerless. I shifted away.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked.

What was there to talk about?

“You know I can’t see you, right?” she said. “And you can’t see me. So if you wanted to open up, here, in this dark tunnel, this would be the place.” I huffed. I wasn’t interested in talking about that.

“She was just a kid,” Maisie said, breaking up the silence. A kid? She must have been talking about her little sister. I turned toward her voice, wishing I could see her face. “We both were, I guess.” She pushed herself back into the corner, her form shifting like an inkblot in water. “Mom always told us not to go down here. And Fiona listened. She was the good girl, you know? The oldest. But me and Elaine? We came down here all the time. I was her big sister, you know? The one who always played with her. The daring one. The one who was okay with breaking the rules, as long as we had fun.” Maisie paused, sucking in a breath. “Then one day, I ran down here. And she followed me. It wasn’t any different, you know? We had done it before. But a train was coming, and for some stupid reason, I thought we could make it to the cubbies. Swore that we could. If we ran a little faster.” Her voice quivered. “Her shoelace got caught.”

An accident like that could have happened to anyone. A poor judgment was made while driving. A lapse of scrutiny working with heavy machinery. That was all it took. Maisie knew to stay back. Knew better, but took the risk anyway, and she had to face what had happened. Had to live with that choice.

Our stories were more alike than either of us had realized.

“Elaine,” she whispered. “I haven’t said her name in years.”

It must have hurt her to share a story like that. An urge built inside of me, bubbling like boiling water. I wanted to say something. To do something. For Maisie. But I didn’t know what. I stayed quiet. Perhaps it was better to listen. Because there was nothing I could do to make this better for her. The past had happened. We couldn’t change it.

But maybe I could share my own story.

“My mother was about to die from asphyxiation, and I shot her,” I said. At first, I had told myself that she was going to die anyway. That shooting her was merciful. A quick escape. Death was a cure, our only guarantee. But as the years went by, I understood that those thoughts were an excuse. She was my first kill; I made that choice. And one day, death would take me too.

“How did she asphyxiate?” Maisie asked quietly.

“Forrest drowned her.” I rubbed my brow. “He said she had betrayed him.” And me. But those words didn’t seem real either. She had been protecting Sawyer; he was only four years old. She had done what she needed to do. She was a mother. But my actions? I wasn’t a son. A son

wouldn’t do that to his mother. “I pulled the trigger.” “Don’t blame yourself,” Maisie said.

Blood rushed to my head. ‘Blaming’ implied that I wasn’t in the wrong, but I was. It was my choice, and I would live with that decision until I joined her. My jaw twitched.

“I’m not,” I said.

“You are, though,” Maisie argued. I clenched my fists. “You’re punishing yourself. But you knew she was going to die. You had nothing to do with—”

“Stop assuming you understand,” I said, raising my voice. “Did you shove your sister onto the tracks?”

“No.”

“Your sister died of an accident. It wasn’t your doing. You didn’t make that choice.”

“You’re right.” A wave of heat rushed through me. Maisie was saying that I was right. “I don’t know what you went through,” she continued, “but I’m trying to understand. To understand you. And you know what, Wilder? I made a choice too. I chose to take us through this tunnel when I knew exactly what could happen to us.”

I stilled, listening to her shift in the darkness. Why was she still here? Didn’t she get it? I had killed my mother. Maisie wasn’t supposed to accept me. She was supposed to hate me for everything I had done, everything I stood for.

But Maisie was still there, trying to figure it out. To understand me.

“You should take your advice,” I finally said. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“Logically, I understand that it was an accident,” she said. “We had done it hundreds of times before without a problem. But I didn’t understand the risks, you know? We were kids. I get that.” She shifted again, balling herself up in the shadows. “But I was her older sister. Her guardian. I was supposed to be looking out for her. We shouldn’t have been down there in the first place.” She forced a laugh. “I can always tell people the best thing to do. The best thing to believe. But I’m horrible when it comes to doing any of that myself.”

I reached for her hand, my palm skimming over her thigh, my fingers tingling at the contact. I pulled back, running my hand over my face. What was I doing? Touching her wasn’t going to make it any better. It was going to make it worse.

“Until you pull the trigger, you are not a killer,” I said.

I removed my gun from the holster, cocked it, then placed it in her hands. Her palms sunk under the weight. She didn’t move. I pushed her finger into the trigger guard, then made her point it at me.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Do it.” I moved the barrel to my heart. If this was my time to go, I wanted it to be her.

“No,” Maisie said. She pressed the gun toward me, trying to force it into my hands. “Tell me, Wilder. If you wanted, even with this gun in my hands, you could kill me, couldn’t you?”

I inhaled deeply, sucking in her fragrant scent. That intoxicating musk, even here, in this damp tunnel.

“Yes,” I said.

She pressed the gun into my palms, making me hold it. “But you choose not to kill me,” she said.

As if that defined me.

I had killed four people that evening alone.

“Do you not trust yourself with me?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically shy, like she was afraid of the answer. Because we both knew the truth. Yes, I didn’t trust myself with her, but not in the way she thought. I could control myself; I had been taught to control my emotions at an early age. To never let anything slip through the cracks.

But Maisie unhinged me.

I wasn’t afraid of killing. I was afraid of what saving her would do to me.