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I didn’t waste time. I grabbed another gun and shoved it into my pocket, then I grabbed a Taser for my other pocket. Weapons, weapons, weapons. I could almost hear Carter’s urgings in my head as I forced myself to think clearly. I was going in. I was a girl. I was at a disadvantage, so that meant I needed to equal the power, and that meant as many weapons as possible. Fuck it. I grabbed another bungee and tied it around my ankle, securing a third gun there. I did the same around my waist, pulling my shirt over so it hid the bulge.
I had four guns, a Taser, and—I reached for a handful of knives and a leather case. I put the knives inside, then looped the strap around my head. It looked like I had a wallet as a necklace. Whatever worked.
I left.
I took my own car, and when I got to the block Peter had mentioned, I parked the car and began running down the sidewalk. I must’ve looked a sight, but I didn’t care. As long as I got there and could slip in—that was my whole plan. Sneak in. Help where I could. Get Carter out. Those three things.
When I got to the house, the front door had been kicked open. Well, it looked blasted open, but no one was standing guard, so I walked through.
That’s when I heard the gunshots.
They were in the back of the house. I had come in at the end. As I hurried through, I stepped over bodies and kept looking from room to room. I didn’t know who was hiding out, or if Carter, Michael, or Drake had been left behind. Sweeping through the bottom floor, I found only dead bodies. Most were bleeding from the chest, though some bled from their heads, but all of them had that vacant look of death in their eyes. That was fine by me. So many.
I didn’t want to count them. I couldn’t. I knew Carter had killed them all.
I circled up to the second floor and began hearing small moans. The men up there were still alive. As I moved from room to room, I grabbed their guns or kicked them out of reach. They couldn’t roll over and shoot me in the back that way. I dropped all the weapons into the toilet and locked the door so no one could get in there.
There was one more room to check before I went down the stairs and explored the back side of the house.
I stepped back into the hallway and stopped.
I saw her foot first.
She wasn’t wearing her boot from that night in the car, and her toes were bloody and swollen, but I knew it was her. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I nudged the door open. It slowly revealed my sister tied in a chair. Her legs were spread, and she would’ve fallen over, still tied to the chair, if it hadn’t been secured to a big bed behind her. Her whole body slumped forward. Even before I touched her I could tell she was unconscious.
As long as she wasn’t dead.
Holding my breath, I moved closer. I felt like I was sneaking in, my heart breaking, but there was no one around to catch me. It was her and me. My god. Be alive. Be alive. Please, be alive. I prayed silently as I neared her. I took in the matted blood in her hair, the black and blue bruises all over her body, the way her shirt and pants had been ripped away, and I reached out. But what was I doing? How do you waken someone who’s been tortured because she took your place? No. I shut that voice down, and my finger touched her head.
I pushed her, and kept holding my breath.
She didn’t respond.
I closed my eyes, crying silently. I pressed my fingers to her neck. At first, there was nothing, and I opened my mouth in a silent cry. But then I felt a beat, beat, beat. I almost fell down. She had a pulse. She was alive.
“Andrea,” I whispered.
Bending down at her feet, I looked for what held her captive. Her hands were in plastic ties. I needed to cut through them. Scissors. I looked around the room—nothing. A lone dresser stood against one wall, but the drawers were open. Nothing in them. I glanced at the pillow and bed. Nothing. The sheets were torn off and thrown on the floor. There were only two empty hangers in the closet.
Nothing. I couldn’t even fucking cut my sister free.
The leather case hit my arm as I swung around in frustration. I heard the clink of knives.
Cursing my stupidity, I rushed to her and sank to my knees. Taking a knife out, I began cutting away the ties. “Andrea, Andrea, Andrea. Please. Andrea, Andrea, Andrea. Wake u—” I chanted.
My knife tore the last of the plastic, and she fell over. I scooted back—had I hurt her worse?—as she gasped awake. Her body twisted to the side as she woke, and I stood to step back, pressing my hands, with a knife clutched between my fingers, against my stomach. I could only wait and see her reaction.
She looked at the other side of the room, then scrambled to sitting. Her eyes were wild, and her mouth gaped as she saw me. “Emma?” she gasped.
I knelt next to her. “You’re okay?”
“Wha—”
A blood-curdling scream sounded from somewhere in the house. We both jumped.
She asked, “Who—”
“Come on.” I gestured for her to stand. “We have to go. Now.”
