Page 137 of End Game

“Noooo.” Blood rushed to Kayla’s head as she strained to get to safety. Her body teetered for a breath-stealing second, then tilted in the right direction. Kayla’s triumph was short-lived.

Unable to break her fall with her hands, she crashed to the floor. Pain shot through her nose and what little breath she had disappeared on impact.

“Ow.” Her smooshed boobs would never be the same.

She lifted her head and felt warm blood trickle down her upper lip, then plop onto the rug below. The air was better at this level, but still laced with smoke. And the heat continued to intensify. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like if she stood up.

“Kayla,” Jillian said, swiping hair out of her daughter’s eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“Paralytic in wine. Small dose. I can use my hands and feet. Some.”

“Let’s get you out of here.” Jillian grasped her beneath her arms and attempted to drag her toward the front door. She barely managed three inches before she huffed to a stop and fell back on her butt.

“Leave,” Kayla pleaded. “Before it’s too late.”

As if the fire wanted to put an exclamation mark at the end of her sentence, burning plaster dropped from above and landed on the sofa where she’d been thirty seconds ago.

Jillian surged into action. She gained her feet, though she stayed in a low crouch. She flipped the ottoman several times until it cleared the accent rug beneath its wooden feet. Then she stepped between Kayla and the burning sofa, heaving it backwards, once, twice, not stopping until it had cleared the rug, too.

The physical effort must have sapped a good deal of strength in her already exhausted body. Kayla knew her close proximity to the flames must be burning her exposed skin. But the stubborn woman wouldn’t listen to her pleas to leave.

Turning back to Kayla, Jillian flopped her over onto her back.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here.”

“There’s no time!”

“Let’s hope you’re wrong.”

The older woman knelt near Kayla’s head and curled the edge of the rug for a stronger grip. “Stay still, Kayla.”

“Mama—”

“Shut up and don’t move.”

Kayla did as instructed, while her middle-aged, cancer-riddled mother dragged her dead weight across the hardwood floor, toward the front door that Elsie had left wide open. No doubt to feed the flame.

She continued to wrest control away from the drug in her body. Now, her legs and arms could move, though the movements were jerky.

As they inched closer to freedom, an overwhelming sense of dread sank into Kayla’s bones. “Not the front door. Bedroom.”

Jillian coughed. “Why?”

“Not sure. Safer, I think.”

Her mother didn’t question Kayla’s instincts. She simply altered course and headed toward the master bedroom, not far from the kitchen.

As Kayla slid by the open door, she caught sight of the back of Sybil’s house. A light illuminated the patio, and sitting on a cushioned chair was Elsie, sipping from a champagne flute, watching them burn.

The betrayer’s eyes widened, and Kayla did the only thing she could have in that moment.

She jerked her hand into the air and lifted her middle finger.

72

By the time Ash crawled his way up the last few feet of the ridge behind Sybil’s property, flames had completely engulfed the smaller guesthouse.