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I stand, and as we pack up our things, I can’t help but wonder if maybe the tide is finally turning in our favor.
29
WYATT
“So let me get this straight. You infiltrated the Davenports’ staff, convinced one of them to poison her, and then, while questioning her, you killed her?” I ask through my laughter.
Fucking Owen is worse than me when left to his own devices.
“She more than earned it. I’m only pissed I didn’t get to savor it,” Owen retorts, and I can’t argue with that.
They arrived back at the house about two hours ago. We let the party continue for another hour before kicking motherfuckers out. Now we’re sitting around the den in our basement. A live feed of Samantha is on the screen, so we don’t miss the moment the hag wakes up.
Wes groans. “What if she didn’t answer all the questions in time?”
Owen shrugs. “It takes up to thirty minutes before strychnine causes any lasting damage, according to Lev’s very detailed notes.”
“And you used to think I was being overzealous. My meticulous notes helped you time a murder perfectly,” Lev gloats.
“You can meet Quinn since Blair didn’t get the honor,” Owen quips.
Peering around the room, I grin, enjoying the banter and lightheartedness. I can almost feel the shift. Where despair once resided, now determination thrums like the drums of war.
Sebastian claps his hands, garnering our attention. “Okay, we need to discuss what we learned before and determine what we’re doing with the leech.”
“We could use the smelling salts,” I offer. “Or,” I pause because I’m nothing if not dramatic. “We can just leave her to stew. The cameras are on, and we’ll know as soon as she wakes.”
Drumming his fingers on the arm of the recliner, Lev inquires, “Are we sure she’s not wearing some device?”
“Unless it’s embedded in her skin, there’s no way,” Wes states.
“She wasn’t wearing a locket or any other jewelry?” Sebastian presses.
I shake my head. “Outside of her earrings, there was nothing else. Why?”
Owen leans forward and recounts Blair’s admittance to sending an unknowing Samantha to our houses with a listening device.
“Should we wait then?” I inquire, but that thought makes me want to go in there and turn the mattress over. The jolt she’d get from her face smacking the floor should wake her. However, her waking up covered in horse jizz has a greater benefit. Plus, it’s far more amusing.
“The room she’s in is soundproof, and I’m sure Lev has some signal blocker running,” Wes notes.
Once Lev confirms a jammer is on, they divulge what they learned.
“She faked her rape?” I yell, and Sebastian nods.
I open my mouth to express my shock until I remember all Samantha’s done to this point. Faking her own kidnapping and rape is sadly not her worst offense.
The temptation to smother Samantha with a pillow now and fuck the consequences is strong, but losing Owen when I know we’re close to being free from the cunt’s claws is stronger.
“How high was that dose?” Sebastian inquires. “Shouldn’t the effects be wearing off by now?”
“I have no idea. Wyatt switched her drink with one of ours,” Wes explains. “Let’s give her another hour to wake on her own.”
We all grunt our agreement, then rehash our plan, going through what evidence we have and what we still need.
Forty minutes later, we’re discussing the status of where Teagan is with deactivating the chip in Owen’s arms when a squawky whine bleeds my ear drums.
“Wesley,” Samantha croaks, and I turn in time to see her sit up in the bed and stretch.
