Page 66 of Lock Me Out

And they’re all armed, just like we are.

Shit.

The three of them are just as surprised by the presence of my brother by my side. Cecilia gasps while Mike makes a horrified, choking noise. George finds his voice first. “You’re dead,” he whispers, eyes bulging. “You’re fucking dead.”

“This isn’t the first time a resurrection happened.” Nix reaches behind himself like he’s going for his gun.

“Don’t move,” Mike growls, aiming his pistol at me. “Or this one says goodbye.”

“How is this possible?” Cecilia looks back and forth between us. I remember her as always being so put together, but times have changed. She’s looking rough—roots grown out, circles under her eyes, pale skin.

“It’s easier for me to answer questions when there’s not a gun in my face,” Nix mutters.

“Too fucking bad.” George moves first, stepping closer, eyeing us warily. “Keep your hands visible. Don’t fucking move.” He steps up behind us, taking our guns while Cecilia and Mike hold us in place with their weapons.

How the hell are we getting out of this? Three against two. Granted, one of them is a woman and probably wouldn’t take much to overpower, but she’s armed.

And once George is through with us, we won’t be.

His gun’s muzzle presses against my lower back. “Now, into the basement. One of you tries anything, the other one gets it first. Got it?”

We don’t have a choice, even though I know we’re only making it easier for them to do whatever they have planned. They fucking lured us here. Are we that easy to predict?

“And what are you going to do to us down here?” Nix asks as he steps through the open door and starts down the stairs to the finished basement. It’s a pointless question—the further we go down, the more I can see. There’s plastic on the floor and a pair of chairs side by side.

“Have a seat,” George mutters, and this time he stands in front of us while Cecilia and Mike bind our wrists behind the chairs, cinching the ropes tight enough that I grind my teeth while glaring at the man facing us.

Just like earlier today, he’s sweating, making his head glisten. His eyes hold just as much cold hatred. “Now that we’re all together, it’s time to start telling the truth. What happened to my son?”

“Would that be Dennis, or the one you really cared about?” Nix chuckles, smirking at the way Cecilia’s mouth falls open.

Without saying a word, she pulls her right hand back and slaps him across the unscarred side of his face. “How dare you? You killed him, too, didn’t you? You murdered my boy! You’re a monster!”

“Why are you here and my son isn’t?” George’s voice shakes with rage, but it’s the way his gun trembles that concerns me. He’s unstable, capable of anything. What is he going to do?

“Do you want the truth? Fine, I’ll give you the truth.” Nix spits out blood—Cecilia hit him that hard—before continuing. “Bradley is dead. It’s his body in my grave.”

“You killed him!” Cecilia wails, turning to her husband, forgetting to aim at us. “I told you! I told you he did this!”

“We set the fire to my dad’s house,” he continues, speaking over her like she doesn’t matter. “I got out, but he didn’t. That’s the truth. But your little boy was in it with me,” he sneers, staring at Cecilia. “Don’t forget that. He thought it was a great idea to burn the place down.”

“Liar!” she shrieks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody completely lose it the way she is right now. With her eyes bulging, she jabs the gun in his direction. “That is a lie!”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” he replies. “Either way, he’s dead. And so are Dennis and your little girl, thanks to them abducting Leni and holding a knife on her,” he continues, looking at Mike.

Mike’s been quiet through all of this, but now his face darkens, his chin trembling, his nostrils flaring like an animal ready to attack.

“I am the one responsible,” Nix concludes. “My brother didn’t have anything to do with it. Only me. So if you want your revenge, I’m the one you kill. Let him go unless you want more trouble.”

“From you?” George asks before barking out a laugh edged with insanity. “Right. You’ll be dead, remember? How will you give us any trouble?”

“I never said the trouble would come from me. It’ll come from the cops,” he reasons.

“Don’t do this,” I mutter, but he ignores me.

“Remember, I’m already dead,” he says. He sounds so casual, matter-of-fact. “So if I disappear, who will care? But if Colt disappears, that’s when you’ll have a problem. And according to what he already told me today, George had a little bit of a problem steering his BMW in the school parking lot. I wonder how long it would take for security footage to be pulled up. I bet they got a really nice shot of his plates before he tried to run Colt down.”

The fact that he doesn’t take the time to think any of this out in his head tells me this is part of what he was mulling over during the hours we spent waiting until it was safe to come out here. He spent the time running through potential scenarios, while all I did was fantasize about how satisfying it would be to end George’s life. If we get out of this, I’ll have to thank him.

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