Dead of Summer - Page 105

My hand reaches out, fingers groping around in the shadowy bag, only for me to yelp and jerk my hand back to stare at a small slice in my finger that wells blood like a paper cut. “What the heck?” I whisper again, aware I’m repeating myself.

By the time Kayde is on the other side of the duffle bag, his flashlight pointing down on it, my hand is back in the bag, more careful this time. “Summer, don’t—” His protest dies on his lips when I pull out a long, wicked-looking knife.

One that’s pretty similar to the knife I’d threatened Kayde with. The knife that was his.

“Kayde…” My heart hammers in my chest, and I can’t help but stare up at him, the knife in my hands. “Kayde, you said…you promised.” I feel like crying. Maybe he didn’t promise in so many words, but fuck, he’d sounded like he meant it.

He’d said he meant it, that he wasn’t here to kill anyone.

But there’s no way to mistake this.

Not when the bag is filled with ropes, a lighter, a small bottle of gasoline, and two more knives. Not when the duffel bag is black and had been half hidden in leaves before I accidentally uncovered it.

“Summer.” Slowly Kayde kneels next to me, never once looking down at the bag. In the light from my flashlight that’s still on the ground, I can see the furrow in his brow and the frown touching his lips. “Listen to me.” There’s a note of urgency in his voice. Something I don’t understand, but I’m not willing to listen.

I shake my head back and forth, legs curled up under me, though I don’t get to my feet. “You said,” I whisper, feeling like I’m going to cry. He’d lied to me.

He’d fucking lied.

“You said?—”

“Summer stop?—”

“You said you wouldn’t kill anyone!” My voice is too loud, and seems to echo through the surrounding trees. Kayde looks up, a frown on his lips, and looks around as if he’s afraid someone can hear us.

As if he’s not the only danger here.

“You said you were here for me, n-not—” I break off with a broken, frustrated laugh and fight not to cry in humiliation and shame. “You fucking said?—”

“They’re not mine.” Whatever patience he has with me must be fraying, judging by the way he hisses out the words. “Summer, that’s not fucking mine.”

“I can’t believe I believed you?—”

“SUMMER!” Kayde lunges forward, gripping my chin in his hand. “Sweetheart, I need you to look at me, and I need you to listen.” He doesn’t go on until finally, after a few seconds, I drag my eyes up to his.

And I’m shocked at the earnestness I see there. Along with the touch of worry.

“Those. Aren’t. Mine.” He points with his other hand down at the duffel bag, and the knife in my hand, before pointing at himself.

But still my brain, that’s working on overdrive, isn’t keen on listening. It takes me longer than it should, with panic building in my chest until it’s ready to overflow. Until the words finally kick in and my brain takes notice of them.

Those.

Aren’t.

Mine.

“…What?” I murmur through numb lips. “Are you kidding me? You expect me to believe?—”

“I expect you to remember that knives are not my first choice. And knives like these?” The hand that isn’t gripping my chin darts into the duffel bag. He pulls out the other two blades, sheathed, and holds them up to the moonlight. “I’ve never had anything to do with them. With anything like this. Remember my knife? The one you held against me?” He drops the two knives in his hand, then gently tugs the one I’m holding out of my hand. “Look at this one, baby girl.” He holds it up to, and I see finally that there are some glaring differences between this sleek, almost butcher knife, and the hunting knife he’d had in his duffel.

“These aren’t my weapons, Summer. Not my ropes, my gasoline, or anything else. None of this is mine.” He stares at me, willing me to get what he’s saying, but my brain just isn’t there yet.

Until it is.

Oh. Fuck.

“No. No, you can’t expect me to believe that, what, there’s another murderer at Camp Crestview?” I scramble to my feet, shaking my head as I pull free of him. “Kayde, that’s fucking ridiculous. You can’t think?—”