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My uncle called five minutes after noon on Sunday to tell me they’d landed, which was my cue to go. I had a backpack ready with gloves, a ski mask, and some spray paint. I’d gone to the store earlier to get everything I’d need.
I hopped in my car and drove to Nicole’s gallery. As I drove, I wondered what Brianna was doing in that room. Was she huddled in a corner, waiting for me to come let her out? Did she think I’d leave her in there to die? It wasn’t cold enough to freeze her alive, but it was cold enough to give her a constant chill. Most girls—most people, really—would hate being locked up with a corpse like that. It might drive certain people insane.
But this was Brianna we were talking about, so I doubted breaking her would be as simple as that. No, I had the feeling I’d have to use her new friend Erin to make my point, assuming she still fought me after dealing with my uncle.
Fuck. I still couldn’t believe she’d called the cops. When I’d seen the front doorbell camera go off, when I’d seen who it had been, standing there, outside, something in me had snapped. Who the hell did Brianna think she was? Who did she think I was? Some lowlife she could have locked away? Come on.
Brianna would learn. Sooner or later she’d learn there was no escaping me. The Montgomerys never let their prey go. To do so would be an abomination, to go against nature itself.
The hunter never let its prey escape.
Chapter Fifteen – Brianna
Time was a weird thing when you were locked in a pitch-black room by yourself, with no one but a corpse and a lot of spilled blood to keep you company. After I got over my, uh, let’s just call it friskiness, I realized I was a little hungry. When was the last time I’d eaten? Or drank anything?
Did it even matter? It didn’t seem like Gareth was going to let me out. Who knew how long I’d be stuck here—I didn’t know when my mom was coming back, when she’d return from her honeymoon, nor did I know if she’d come to find me when she got back. She was probably so blissfully content with her new life that I was the last thing on her mind.
Then again, I’d always been the last thing on her mind. Half the time, she pretended I didn’t exist, just a drain on her and her bank account, along with a constant reminder of her first failed marriage.
No, I didn’t think my mom would care enough to try to find me, and that was a depressing thought. A parent should always care enough about their child to come find them if they were missing. But, I’d grown up knowing my biological dad didn’t give enough of a shit about me to visit me or have me visit him after the divorce, so knowing my mom didn’t care either wasn’t that much of a blow.
Time dragged on.
I sat, leaning against a corner of the room, waiting for what felt like forever. I’d fixed my leggings and my shirt as best I could, though it didn’t really matter much; I was covered in blood, and unless someone inspected me between the legs, they wouldn’t know what I did to myself when no one was watching.
I tried to imagine the things I wanted to say to Gareth when I saw him next, along with imagining all of the colorful ways I could kill him. Not going to lie, thinking about murdering Gareth did soothe me.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the lock on the door unlatch, and just like that, it opened, a large figure standing there, his frame blocking out much of the light that streamed in. I squinted at him, thinking it was Gareth, but when he went for the switch on the wall near the keypad and the light inside the room flickered on, I saw it wasn’t.
It wasn’t Gareth. It was Alistair, my new stepdad.
He wore tight black pants matched with a black, long-sleeved, button-down shirt, neatly tucked into the waistband of his pants, where a black leather belt sat. His black hair was the only thing unkempt about him—that and the short stubble lining his face. His blue eyes didn’t even land on me when he opened the door; he stared at the body hanging in the center of the room.
And what did he do when he saw the body? Hesighed. That’s it.
It wasn’t even a big sigh. More like a short, resigned sigh of someone who’d been through this same thing before. Guess a serial killer like Gareth needed an enabler, and his uncle was that person.
And then, finally, his gaze fell upon me. “You made quite a mess, I see.” His voice came out almost monotone, expressionless, like he didn’t give a shit about the blood or the body.
Speaking of which… once my eyes adjusted to the light, I was able to see just how much blood there was, how it had splattered the walls when I’d tossed the bucket after initially spilling it. It coated the floor, along with damn near every inch of me, front and back. I was still slick with it.
I didn’t say a word, unable to take my eyes off Alistair. Really, it was unnerving how unaffected he was by what he saw. It made me wonder just what the hell else he’d seen in his life, if this didn’t affect him in the least.
“Get up,” Alistair told me. One of his hands was stuffed in a pocket, while the other hung limply at his side. “I said, get up. Don’t make me walk in there and drag you out. I’d prefer not to get blood on these shoes, but if I must, I will.”
I swallowed, slow to stand, hugging the wall behind me as I did so. All the while, Alistair’s blue eyes watched me. I took a tiny step toward him, then hesitated. He was not a savior; I had to remember that.
“Be a good girl and come over here, now,” he spoke, his voice taut, a sliver of emotion, finally.
Being a good girl for Alistair right now was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was like my feet had a mind of their own. I took tiny steps toward him, damn near slipping in all of the blood. I stopped when I stood a foot in front of him, my knees weaker than they should be. Angling my head up, I gazed into his azure stare, wishing I saw warmth in those eyes and not just coldness.
“Good girl,” he whispered, pulling out the hand from his pocket and offering it to me. “Now, take my hand. I want to get you clean before that blood starts to dry on you.”
My heart beat fast as I slipped my blood-stained hand into his. His fingers curled around my hand, dwarfing it, and then he pulled me out of the room. He closed the door, flipped the light switch, and locked the room once again, hiding the blood and the body, and then he started to pull me along, muttering along the way.
“I told Gareth to be good while we were gone, but it seems even you weren’t enough of a distraction.” Alistair shot me an empty glare as we left the pool house. I left bloody footprints everywhere I walked, but he seemed unconcerned about them, for now. “I suppose it was wrong of me to have you here without explicitly telling you why you’re here, so part of the fault lies with me.”
I didn’t know what he was saying. “Where’s my mom?”
