Page 178 of Split You Open

“Run!” I scream.

Something strikes me in the back of my head. The pain that explodes is unfathomable.

I gasp.

Then the world goes dark.

Thirty-Seven

Santiago

“Why?” I whine. “Why would they go there of all places?”

There are prisoners in my house. My parents are probably rolling over in their graves right now. I don’t blame them—I’m pacing in the family room of the cabin, unable to stomach the thought of what Anchor has or will do to those innocent people in my house.

Blair’s dad is totally someone I would’ve tried to kill before Rhett came around and narrowed down our Hunt victims to pedophiles.

He’s fucking evil. I swear that man has no soul.

When I look into his eyes, there’s just nothing but darkness in them. Even when he’s staring at his daughter, I’m almost positive he has to remind himself that she’s his blood and not the enemy.

Ledger pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a frustrated sigh.

“We’ve already gone over this a hundred times,” he growls. “Anchor would’ve learned as much about you as possible before approaching you at The Shop. Your house is vacant more often than not—when Anchor found that out, he was probably delighted to use it as his opportunity to hold this over your head in some capacity.”

It’s the same answer he gave me an hour ago.

And an hour before that.

Frustration wells up and I blurt out, “Urgh, your friend fucking sucks!”

Ledger grunts but doesn’t disagree.

“Why hasn’t she texted or called us?” I demand, my pace increasing as I think about it. “Blair could at least do that.”

Ledger frowns. “Why would she?”

“I don’t know, to tell us goodnight? That she loves us? Like a normal person.” The expression he makes pisses me off. “What? What does that look mean?”

“She wouldn’t risk letting Anchor know she has a phone on her. He’s too paranoid to let her keep a phone he hasn’t checked for bugs or what not.”

Wes walks into the room just as I open my mouth to start complaining about Anchor for the hundredth time.

“Does anyone know where Rhett is?” he asks. “I thought he went to bed but his room is empty.”

I jerk my thumb toward the windows. “Out on the north end of the porch working really hard to give himself lung cancer.”

Wes runs a hand down his face, clearly just as frustrated as the rest of us. “Maybe half of us should get some sleep. Blair’s probably already in bed doing just that. We won’t hear from her until tomorrow but if she does call one or two of us can be up and ready.”

“Fine, you go to bed.”

He gives me a pointed look. “Santi…”

“No, don’t ‘Santi’ me. I’m not resting until I lay eyes on Blair again and I’ve taken inventory of my house. If he steals a single thing⁠—”

Ledger cuts me off with a gruff laugh. “Anchor won’t steal anything. He’s not sentimental like that.”

“Well, if he does, I’ll know,” I snip back.