Page 92 of Ready Or Not

Rachel sucks in a breath but says nothing. I turn and rip out chunks of the drywall, yanking on the insulation and ripping it out with my hands. Thankfully, the studs are two feet across, so there will be no problem squeezing between them.

A flashback fills my mind, and then I remember the taste of the grape popsicle. Those were always my favorite.

I dry heave.

“That’ll hurt later,” Rachel deadpans.

I hope it fucking does.

I turn to kick through the remaining wall. This one is harder, with the siding also holding it in. But the taste of grape flavoring fills my mouth, and I want anything other than that taste. I kick harder and harder, over and over.

“You got it,” Rachel’s voice is bored.

I glance around. Sure enough, there’s a hole to the outside.

Elation fills me. Manson will not win.

“Let’s go.” I motion at Rachel.

She crosses her arms. “This is the second story.”

“Yeah, and while we’re stating facts, the sky is blue.”

“Not always.”

“Jesus, Rachel,” I whirl on her. “You’re coming with me, even if I have to throw you out of here.”

She shakes her head. “Why do you hate Manson, Riley?”

Not this right now. I can’t fucking do this. I start toward her.

“Let me get dressed!” She moves to the dresser and throws me a change of clothes. “Here. If we’re going to murder someone, at least don’t wear the same clothes you wore to the last one, for the love of God.”

I glare at her.

She gets dressed quickly, and I frown at her, but I also switch out my clothes. She picks out pants, which is an abomination, but she glares at my tattoos. She also makes me switch shoes, so thank god Manson is a maniac planner and has multiple outfits and choices in this room.

When she’s standing beside me at the hole, she mutters, “You hate Manson because he gives you no choice, but you do the same thing for me.” She turns her angry gaze on me. “So fuck you, Riley Kennedy. Fuck you.”

49

Cacao and Cocaine - Sofia Isella

I’ve had it with these two. Absolutely had it. They’re the most stubborn, blind people on this planet. Stubborn, blind, and dangerous. And I’m forced to go along with it.

After we dropped out of the wall, Riley grabbed a truck key from the bushes in the front yard and put me in a truck I know she doesn’t own. And because I’m pissed, I do the only thing I can do—I cross my arms, face away from her, giving her the silent treatment.

My head is a confusing place. Despite everything, it was hot to watch a soaked Riley literally break through a wall while claiming me. Her nipples were visible through her shirt, and her eyes were so angry they made me wet.

And that’s when I decided I needed therapy. Lots and lots of fucking therapy. In fact, I don’t think I should ever leave the office.

“Who are we killing now?” I ask it harshly. It’s meant to distract me from thoughts of Riley’s nipples. To remind me thatshe’s absolutely insane. That we’re most likely on our way to murder someone.

Riley doesn’t answer me for a while, which does great at pissing me off. But when she does speak, I immediately swallow. “My green armchair, Rachel.”

I glance over at her. She still looks pissed. At least, I think she’s pissed. She’s frowning and looking straight ahead. Then, she says softly, “At least, one of them.”

There was more than one? Against my will, my throat tightens.

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