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With a frustrated roar, I storm into the room of security monitors and start clicking through each and every angle in and outside of the house. The others follow me, and we search the screens for what I hope is all a misunderstanding. Maybe she just went for a walk.
“There,” Heston steps forward and takes control of the remote that was in my hands. He clicks on a specific monitor and then rewinds.
Sure enough, a blurry black figure slips through the treeline just next to the fence. There’s a flash of gold as he turns to step around a log, and I stumble back when I realize what it is. It’s hair hanging down his back, but it isn’t his. It’s attached to a body thrown over his shoulder.
The room is silent. No one is sure what to make of the situation yet without more proof. I snatch the remote back out of Heston’s hands and switch its control to the monitor showing the back of the house. Nothing out of the ordinary there. I scroll through more feed from the side of the house and there’s still nothing, but I finally decide to look at the feed from the front porch.
As I rewind it a few minutes, it shows Blythe sneaking out the front door and creeping over to the bed swing. I hold my breath. I saw her eyeing the swing when we first got to the house. When she gave me shit about not having more patio furniture or a place to relax and enjoy being outside around the bunkhouse, I installed the porch swing here.
I never thought she’d be able to see it or appreciate it, but I put it there anyway. It would have been the perfect place for me to sulk once she inevitably left. Right now, I’d like to spend ten minutes chopping it to bits and using it as firewood.
Seeing the look of pain and shock on Blythe’s face has me shaking. She falls to her back like a dead weight, and a person covered from head to toe in black hauls her over their shoulder. In a split second, they’re gone and I turn away from the screen.
“I’ve never killed anyone. But today might be the day,” Warren snarls.
My body’s first instinct is to panic and hyperventilate, but I fight it.
“Yeah and then you’ll go to jail,” Tripp directs to Warren after his morbid threat.
“You want the good news or the bad news?” Bash says as he pulls a cigarette out and begins to light it. Heston flicks it out of his mouth and he takes a few steps away, pulling out another one.
“Good news? What could possibly be good news right now?” Warrens seethes.
“Dear old Dad is the best lawyer in NYC.” Bash tilts his head to think, and then smirks like none of what is happening at the moment concerns him in the slightest. “Probably in the entire country actually. None of us are going to jail, no matter how much blood is shed. Bad news is, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Bloodshed. And their little compound isn’t going to be easy to get into. Assuming they haven’t already started to leave town with her.”
Tripp swallows and Warren narrows his eyes. Heston unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls them over his forearms.
I throw the nearest item to me, which happens to be a lamp, against the wall and it shatters. Broken glass covers the floor. The release of anger does nothing to calm me down, unfortunately.
I turn toward the group with my eyes dark and stance wide. “I don’t care how hard it’ll be to get in. We’re going to that house. Be ready in two minutes.”
The floorboards groan as I stalk out of the room and back into the kitchen. Now that my money isn’t a secret, maybe I could order a helicopter to air-drop a case of whiskey right now. For the right price, it’d be here fast and I could use a stiff fucking drink.
My eyes widen slightly and my mouth drops open. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it immediately. It’s faster than moving in on ground. Perfect visibility too. We’ll air raid their asses.
I whip my phone out from my back pocket and scroll to my contacts. Hitting one of the few numbers I keep on speed dial in case of an emergency, I put a hand on my hip, tap my foot, and impatiently wait while the dial tone rings.
Finally, a click sounds on the line.
“Dax.”
In a low and serious voice, I snarl into the phone. He’s a three-hour drive away, but can fly here in less than half that time.
“I need a chopper. Now.”
Chapter 33
Blythe
Something old? My dusty pink boots that have carried me through the happiest times in my life. The prairie rose necklace from my Mom and Dad would be my something new.
I’d steal the little black bottle of perfume from Kee’s collection for my something borrowed.
And the something blue would be his eyes.
I know it’s a drug-induced dream that I’m having. I’ve already woken up twice, just long enough to look down at the blood dripping from the cuffs around my wrists and then drift back into the abyss.
The person who said the memories of your life flash before your eyes on the verge of death lied. It’s the future you’ll never have that invades your every thought. Made-up fairy tales swirl around behind your eyes reminding you of what could have been, but never will be.
