“Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind,” I growl.
She turns and runs.
“We should have killed her.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” I argue.
He fists his hands. “I don’t fucking care about the plan. What I care about is not going to prison. We should at the very least have taken her with us.”
“Did you want to take her home?” I arch a brow. “Keep her as a pet?” I shake my head. “She won’t say anything.”
“She will …”
“She won’t. She’s Bruce Lowes’s daughter. We kill her, and they start looking for a missing girl.” I shake my head. “Then that brings questions.”
“They’d never find her body, and you know it,” he adds.
“I wasn’t worried about them finding her body.” We’re smarter than that.
“Then why not let me shoot her?” he growls. “Two birds with one stone,” he says, gesturing down at Jeff’s body.
“Not yet,” I respond.
He runs a hand through his hair. “You want to fuck with her.” It wasn’t a question. He chuckles. “This will be fun.”
I smile.
AUSTIN
I run in the darkness, almost tripping over my own feet and the tree branches. But I don’t stop. I continue down the hill toward the house.
Lights come into view, and I run through the back door and slam it shut. I make my way up the stairs and into my room. I close the door and lock it. Then I make my way into the bathroom. I rip off my hoodie, shirt, and then yank down my jeans that are still undone. Standing in front of the mirror in just my black bra and matching thong, I pull my strap back up onto my shoulder and look at myself. Blood covers both shoulders, arms, neck, and my face. He was right; it’s also in my hair from their hands fisting it. I look like I belong on an episode of The Walking Dead. Like a zombie attacked me. Bile rises up the back of my throat, but I swallow it down.
Turning on the sink, I place my forearm under it and run warm water over it. Grinding my teeth against the sting, I grab the soap and quickly wash it. Who knows what the hell was on that knife. Or who all they’ve used it on.
Blood trails down my arm and drips onto the white tiled floor. I walk into my room to grab one of the scarves Celeste gave me and turn back to the bathroom, trying not to get blood on the carpet. I wrap it around the wound and pull it tight with my teeth, making me whimper at the pain as I try to figure out what the hell I’m gonna do to get it to stop bleeding.
I once watched my mother sew her crackhead boyfriend’s face up with a needle and thread. It made me want to puke at the time. I was nine.
I place my hands on the counter and bow my head while angry tears run down my face. Breathing heavy, I try to calm my racing heart.
“Bastards,” I hiss.
I pound my fists into the countertop. Fucking bastards.
Then I yank open the medicine cabinet and start digging around for anything I can use on my arm. It needs stitches but how the hell do I explain that to Celeste? How do I explain it to the hospital staff? I find butterfly Band-Aids and a small tube of superglue. That’ll have to do. But I won’t be able to use it until later. Once I know the bleeding has stopped.
“Fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
I fall to the ground and lean my back against the cabinet, holding my right arm to my chest. What am I gonna do? They know that I know their names, but they didn’t seem concerned in the least. Especially Cole. He was adamant that I wouldn’t go to the police. And I had every intention to until he set me up to be a part of their murdering cult! Now my hands are tied and stained with blood.
I didn’t get a look at their faces. They kept their lights on me or off, so they could be anyone. Anywhere. And they know my name, so they know I live here.
My hands shake as I run them through my matted hair. The dead guy had said they were kids, but they didn’t sound young. Will they go to school with me? That thought makes my stomach knot. They could fuck with me, if that’s the case. More than they already have. I have to show them that I could run their little fucking boy group into the ground. I’m smarter than they are.
As for the dead guy? I can’t save him. It’s too late for him. I have to save myself.
The smell of the blood is strong, and I swallow the lump in my throat. Sitting up on my knees, I yank the hand towel off the countertop and turn on the sink, wetting it. Then I get down on my hands and knees and scrub. The blood comes off the white tile easily, but it’s stuck in the grout between them. Those angry tears come faster.