Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Minutes ago, he’d held Ned’s hot, shivering body in his arms, so alive with need and emotion that the consequences didn’t matter. But here it was—the price for stolen pleasure—Lars’s cooling, lifeless body soaking blood into his clothes.
“Shut your damn face,” Cole uttered, and the sound died as if he’d shot the dove.
In a brief moment of hope, he buried his face in Lars’s shirt, but his heart didn’t beat anymore.
He was dead.
Dead.
And he’d soon grow rigid.
Cole shouldn’t wait.
His head spun as he rose and looked around the room, which once more felt like a cold grave up in the snowy mountains.
Perhaps it should become the burial site for all three of them? Maybe in death he’d find peace at last, his pathetic story finally over.
He pulled a large white sheet off the clothesline. Lars had used it to dry himself after last night’s bath, and despite the closeness of the fireplace it was still cold to the touch. It would have to do for a shroud, because Cole couldn’t take Lars all the way to his estranged family in Chicago. He’d be buried here, and since Cole didn’t have the address of Lars’s mother, she’d never find out what had happened to her son.
Maybe it would be better that way, for her to harbor anger at Lars’s life choices yet secretly hope he was still alive and well somewhere in the West. That someday he’d arrive at her doorstep a changed man.
Something died inside Cole as he laid out the sheet and rolled Lars’s body onto it. Cole considered himself a loyal man despite his many crimes, but the truth he could now see was that he’d let a rat get fat in his home, and Lars had paid the price. It turned out Cole Flores was no better than Ned O’Leary.
Work took Cole’s attention off his grief, and his hands had steadied by the time he folded Lars’s hands over his heart and wrapped him in the cloth. He could have washed him or changed him into his best clothes, but what was the point of that if it was only them here? Dead men didn’t care about such things.
He made sure not to look Ned’s way as he dressed for going outside, then dragged Lars out into the snow in the sheet. Digging into the cold ground would be hell, but he could use the physical exertion to stop thinking, if only for a while.
The pine-scented wind offered much-needed relief, both from the heat muddling Cole’s brain and Ned’s oppressive presence. If only Cole could lock away his emotions with the same ease he had shut the door behind him.
The sun moved along the sky, offering him some warmth and beauty in this cold, Godforsaken place. But as Cole worked, sweating under the furs, it occurred to him that he didn’t have to bear with all the shit fate chose to throw at him.
This could be the end of his suffering. The end of the line.
And as he buried Lars deep under the surface and marked his grave with a wooden cross, he let Dog sit on top of it while he forced his aching muscles to move and shove away yet more snow.
He was done searching for answers in the past. Only one man would leave this place alive.
If it was him, so be it—he’d bury his past along with Lars and Ned.
If it was Ned, at least Cole would finally find peace.
He didn’t know how he managed to find the strength for it, but he dug the second grave with new vigor.
Tonight, he’d end the chase.
His muscles cried from the effort by the time the hole was deep enough, but he didn’t care about the disadvantage this created and strolled into the house along with Dog, who sprinted toward his master and lapped at his face, whining happily.
Ned had managed to pull up his pants during Cole’s absence and now looked up at him like a lost puppy.
“Can I help you in any way?” he whispered as if Cole were fragile.
Cole took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, because they were painfully stiff after hours of digging the frozen ground. Ned, on the other hand, was well-rested and could easily get the upper hand if they fought, but the option of waiting until morning didn’t occur to Cole. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. Whatever ended up happening, he needed it to be now. He could not stand the feelings eating him up anymore.
He didn’t want them.
“Yes,” he said and picked up the iron keys from a hook on the other side of the room. He stilled when the dog blocked his way, moving around its master, but Cole eventually realized the animal wasn’t aggressive and kneeled at Ned’s side to open the collar resting around his neck.