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"Is your stuff really worth murder? Because that's what you're working toward here. Murder. Can you really live surrounded by your stuff when you've got my blood all over your hands?" I ask quietly, wanting him to know exactly what price John wants him to pay for whatever debt he owes.
He shifts uneasily but doesn't respond.
"What does he want with me? Will you at least tell me that much?"
"Don't know." Clive shrugs, exiting off the interstate. "He rambles about you all the time, Kenna. One day, you're the best thing to ever walk the face of the earth. The next, you're a heartless bitch who doesn't deserve to walk the face of the earth. I'm not even sure he knows what he wants with you."
Well, that sounds promising.
He takes a right and then two lefts. Like Gideon's neighborhood, the houses here are spread out. Clive pulls into the driveway of one at the dead end of a partially gravel road and cuts off the engine.
He nods toward the house. "You'll have to ask him."
The lump in my throat is terror. John is in that house, waiting to do God only knows what with me. To me. I think I'd rather rip out my own fingernails than go in there.
Clive is going to give me a choice. "I'm going to cut this now." He tugs on the rope wrapped around my hands to indicate what he means. "Don't try to run. If you do, you're only going to make whatever he has planned harder on yourself."
"I really don't like you right now."
"I know." He doesn't sound like he likes himself much right now, either. Well, good. I hope he chokes on his misery.
He climbs out of the SUV and hurries around to open my door. I pretend I'm going along with him until the moment he lets his guard down to close the door behind me. As soon as his attention splits, I take a giant step, preparing to run for it.
His hand clamps down on my arm like a vise. "Don't do it," he growls, practically dragging me toward the house.
I kick and fight, trying like hell to break free of his hold. But he's like a freaking Red Oak, completely immovable. All I manage to do is tire myself out. I still end up being hauled through the front door of his house.
He drops me in a heap on the floor.
"I told you not to do it.
"Go to hell, Clive."
"She's here," he snaps at someone. "I'm done."
"You're done when I say you're done," John says, his shiny black shoes coming into view. I follow them up, fighting the urge to whimper when my gaze locks with his. Somehow, in the space a few short weeks, he's turned into a monster to me. And yet, he still looks exactly the same.
He should have horns and claws and fangs dripping poisonous venom. But he's still the short, handsome man he's always portrayed. It's a façade, of course. There's nothing beneath that mask but pure evil. Yet he looks the same.
"Hello, Kenna."
"Everyone knows," I hiss.
"Everyone knows what?"
"That you're the one who has been stalking me."
He laughs quietly, pacing across the large living room toward me. "No one is stalking you, Kenna. We were simply trying to make you famous. That is what you've always wanted, right?"
"What? No. Not like this, John! No one wants this." I stare at him in complete shock and disgust. "Why would you ever think that anyone wants this?"
He waves his hand as if swatting a fly. "You wanted a manager who made you famous. I gave you what you wanted." He grimaces. "I was giving you what you wanted. You had the record deal. You had the big show. All you had to do was shut up and show up. The rest would have worked itself out."
"How? When I was bleeding to death in front of thousands of people?" I growl. "That was your big plan for making me famous? Killing me?"
"I wasn't going to kill you, Kenz."
"Don't call me that," I snap. "I hate that stupid nickname. And that's exactly what you were threatening to do, John. Do I need to recite the lines of your threats so you recall exactly what they contained?"
