Fatal Burn (West Coast 2)

But the bitch needed to burn.

“I knew nothing about what my brothers had planned,” Shannon said desperately, her mind spinning as she tried to keep him talking. There had to be a way out of this! Had to!

“Oh, that’s right, you’re the innocent.” He snorted in disgust. “But you set me up, babe. Remember? With Aaron and the cameras? Tried to get me to break the restraining order. Even taped it on video. So that the police would haul my ass to jail.”

He was angry now. Agitated. His lips curling, his good eye’s blue gaze knifing into her, the other swollen completely shut. Way to go, Dani! Maybe she could use his lost sight against him.

He was a monster, all gleaming, and proud of himself, his back…But, oh Jesus, his back scarred and ravaged from fire.

He saw her gaze, how she was repulsed. “As I told you, compliments of your brothers.” He grabbed another picture, this one of Neville. Furiously he threw it. The frame cracked and glass smashed. Sparks flew out of the fireplace. The smell of gas was everywhere.

And then, as the flames rose and illuminated the small room, she finally understood why he kept his distance from her, walked around her in such a broad circle. The lines she’d noticed before were clearer now. She knew with deadly certainty that the floor of the cabin had been doused in gasoline. Not in a ring, as she’d thought, but in the diamond shape that was the middle of the star—the image he’d burned with Dani’s birth certificate.

“You and Mary Beth,” he said. “Bitches.”

He picked up the last picture, the one of Shannon, stared at the image. “Your daughter swiped this from me,” he said, disgusted. His gaze slid to Shannon’s. “I got it back.” Furiously, he flipped the picture onto the logs. The glass cracked, but didn’t shatter. In horror, Shannon watched as her own image started to smolder from the outside, the paper turning brown before igniting.

“ARSONS,” he intoned. He reached into the fire to pick up a burning splinter from one of the frames, then stepped carefully over his line of fuel so that he could get close to her. Her skin crawled as he held the small flame in front of her face. She recoiled, twisted and writhed, tried to avoid it being anywhere near her, near her clothes…

Do something, Shannon! This is it! Your chance! Otherwise you’ll die! He’ll kill you like he killed everyone else! The least you can do is take him with you, kill the son of a bitch!

“Aren’t you glad to see me?” he asked and leaned closer, as if to kiss her.

Shannon threw herself forward with all her strength. She rammed the top of her head into his chin. A loud ear-splitting clunk erupted. Pain shot down her spine.

Ryan screamed and staggered. “You bitch!” he cried, dropping the flaming piece of the picture frame onto his own skin. “AAAHHH!” Yowling, he started be

ating at himself, hitting at the flames. She butted him again, the chair coming off of the floor.

His legs shifted and she nailed him again. Hit him hard. Screaming, arms flailing against his body, he slipped and fell. His body ignited the gasoline.

In a whoosh, flames engulfed him.

He screamed again, this one a horrible, nerve-scraping screech that echoed through the night.

The smell of seared flesh filled the room.

Shannon didn’t wait. Strapped to the chair, she bounced her way across the burning line, hopping toward the window, feeling fire reaching for her skin, her clothes.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God!

Biting back a scream, she kept moving. Closer to the window. The heat nearly suffocated her. She was crying, sweating, knowing her chances were desperately slim.

Flames crackled and sped along the trail of gasoline. Faster and faster, higher, the dry floor burning.

Keep going! Keep moving!

Ryan’s shrieks rose into a siren of horrible, anguished cries that ascended with the fire.

Don’t look back.

Hop! Hop! Hop! To the wall. At the window she saw the reflection of the fire, of the man behind her, thrashing and black inside a wild, roaring ring of flames.

It was too late for Ryan.

Using all her strength, Shannon threw herself and the chair against the window. Glass cracked and shattered as she propelled herself toward the porch. Her head landed with a thud. Blackness threatened to overtake her. The legs of the chair caught on the frame.

“No!” she cried, pushing forward, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, the same one she’d injured before. Glass cracked and splintered around her as she strained forward. Flames burned behind her. She pushed through, tumbling the chair over the frame and outside. Heat helped blast her through. She rolled onto the porch, still bound to the chair. Her head and shoulders banged against the wooden floor.