Naomi opened the bag wider for Peter and Watts to dump the last of the carcasses in. She looked at the other two trash bags then the one I held, acting like the conversation we had was over.

“Doesn’t feel right to just dump them in and throw them away. Poor things.”

“Naomi!” I yelled.

“I heard you!” she shouted back.

“Don’t yell at her,” Peter said. “She’s been taking care of herself far longer than you’ve been around.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “How about you worry about your girl, and I’ll worry about mine?”

I could see Naomi was unhappy from my peripheral, but Peter was a spoiled rich kid, and I had no patience for putrid, tie-wearing fuckwads like him.

Peter’s jaw tightened. “Naomi doesn’t belong to you.”

I took a step forward. “She sure as shit doesn’t belong to you. You can’t even keep your own wife.”

The skin around Peter’s eyes tightened. I could tell no one had ever spoken to him like that.

Naomi stepped in. “Oh my Christ, you two. Shut up. Guys, take these to the bins on the other side of the garage.”

When Kitsch, Harbinger, Sloan and Martinez disappeared, Trex and Darby came outside.

The team came around the house as Trex walked Darby to the truck. Concealing their bloodied hands and keeping them away from her clothes. Darby didn’t seem to notice, and thankfully it was dark.

“Thanks for doing this. I loved meeting everyone,” Darby said in her sweet Southern drawl.

“Come back anytime. It will be nice to see Trex more often.”

Trex hugged Naomi. “Thanks, Nomes.”

“Of course.”

When Darby turned, we traded glances. She had no idea what we’d just done. Trex waved to Naomi, to the rest of us, then backed out of the drive. He had to be out of his mind with worry.

I turned on my heels and headed in, trying to get settled on the couch before Peter came back in.

Naomi passed through the living room to the kitchen sink. She held her hands under the water for a while, probably relieving the ache in her hands from the cold temperature outside.

“So,” Martinez said, “we still on for McCormack’s?”

“I’m not really feeling it tonight,” I said.

“No?” Watts said. “You were all for it an hour ago.”

“That was an hour ago,” I said, taking a sip of water.

“I might catch up with you later.”

Martinez looked disappointed, but he nodded, heading out with the rest.

She sat next to me, in full view of Peter, and the satisfaction I felt was almost too much to hide.

“Thank you for dinner, Naomi,” Peter said. “See you next week.”

She nodded. “See you. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Peter left, and I glared at the door even when it closed behind him.

“Still mad?” Naomi asked.