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This can’t be real.
Orange and yellow flames lick up high above the treetops, and thick smoke billows all around as I watch my home burn to the ground.
Are they safe?
Are there survivors?
Destiny coughs until she gags but otherwise remains quiet. She’s on the other side of Sadie, who’s sobbing uncontrollably next to me in the bed of Wild’s truck. I would console her, but my hands are bound behind my back.
This is a nightmare.
One I can’t seem to wake from.
To my left, Ronan is out cold and closest to the tailgate. Blood trickles from a blow he received to his head when he fought back. He’s missing his glasses. I’ve never seen him so wrecked.
Tears, caused by the horrible situation I’ve found myself in, or the thickening smoke, blind me even further. I want to scream at our captors for doing this to my family, but something is tied around my head, holding a sock or some other material in my mouth.
Is everyone dead?
Mya climbs into the bed of the truck and sneers at me as she sits directly across from me. If I weren’t crudely tied up, I’d take a swing at her ugly face. Since I can’t use my fists, I level her with a glare that promises pain and lots of it.
Voices can be heard from beyond the snapping and crackling of the fire that’s quickly consuming my home with my family in it on the other side of the fence.
Is it Mom? Dad?
The voices belong to CJ and Mya’s parents, Owen and Tee. Tee’s carrying a small child bundled in her arms and Owen has a larger one folded over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He climbs into the back and settles on Mya’s right while positioning the child in between them. When terrified eyes meet mine, I recognize them immediately.
Dakota.
Oh God. He’s alive.
He wails at seeing me, reaching his small hand toward me, but I’m unable to help him. Mya gives him a smack on the arm, hissing something harsh and cruel that has him cowering.
I hate her.
I want to watch her suffer.
Tee shuffles in the truck bed until she’s on Owen’s other side. Declan clings to her but keeps his eyes on his older brother who’s sobbing.
Where’re Mom and Dad and Dawson?
If I weren’t ripped from my bed in the middle of the night and then quickly subdued by rope, I’d just think these people were saving us from a house fire. But I’ve quickly put together that they’re thereasonfor the fire.
Someone sobs, the sounds growing closer as they approach. Stacey, the hugely pregnant lady who wormed herself into our home, clutches her belly and holds on to her husband, Michael’s arm.
Does she feel sick about what they’ve done to us?
I knew she was bad news, but Mom didn’t listen.
I notice the blood all over Stacey’s shirt that’s stretched over her pregnant belly, slices going every which way like she got in a fight with a bear. Satisfaction spreads through me like a toxic infection. Seeing her blood brings me pleasure.
I want to see them all bleed.
“I’m sorry,” Michael croons. “We tried. Now get up front and let’s see to those wounds. You’re lucky she didn’t stab you in the stomach.”
She.
Mom?
