Page 73 of The Weekend Getaway

Sputtering, his words slurred, Chris said, “Jason …“

Sarah was confused. “What? Jason? What about?—”

“Killed them … all,” Chris said.

Sarah’s blood ran cold. “Who killed?—”

“Jason!” Chris sputtered, coughing blood, clutching his stomach. “Jason killed them all!”

“No …” Sarah shook her head. “No … that’s not true. That’s not possible?—”

“Take the knife …” Chris wheezed. “And … run … Sarah …”

Sarah didn’t understand what he was talking about. Jason had killed … them all? What did Chris mean? How could that be true? Why would Jason kill … ? Sarah stared at Chris.

He stared at her with lifeless eyes.

“Chris … Chris!” Sarah pleaded, shaking him, feeling for a pulse, lowering her head, positioning her ear over his mouth, praying she would hear?—

“Is that fat fuck dead yet?”

Jason’s voice was in her head now, cutting through the heat and humidity. Through the dank, putrid stench. His words were cruel and cutting. Unbelievable. Sarah had risen to her feet and turned to face him.

Jason had sneered at her.

And then he’d slammed his fist into the center of her face.

Lying still on the ground, her cheek pressed against the dirt, Sarah bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry out. She couldn’t call attention to herself. Jason thought she was knocked out. Unconscious.

She wanted it to stay that way.

If she was going to escape him, she might need to play dead.

Her gaze drifted, settling on the bound hands of the person sitting next to her. The ropes wound around his wrists. Another idea slipping into her mind, Sarah stared at the corded straw, inching her hand toward the ropes …

CHAPTER 64

PHIL

Wrestling against his constraints, Phil glared at Jason.

“So, I’m guessing you want to know how you ended up like this,” Jason said, smirking as he waved a large knife back and forth in front of Phil’s face.

His confusion turning to rage, Phil bucked and wrestled with the ropes binding his hands together, grunting and groaning the curses he couldn’t speak.

“Well, it’s a long story,” Jason said, squatting in front of him, slamming the pointed blade of the knife in the dirt, inches away from Phil. “But, we’ve both got time.”

Grimacing, Phil twisted onto his side, trying to get onto his knees so he could?—

The kick in the gut came hard and swift, knocking every ounce of hope out of him. Moaning, Phil collapsed onto the dirt, curling himself into a fetal position.

On his feet, Jason scowled at him. “I know you’re used to calling the shots and I know you don’t think much of me, but you are going to listen to what I have to say!”

Whimpering, fearful of further injury and mistreatment, Phil nodded his head.

“Now, I don’t plan to belabor the point or take advantage of my captive audience,” Jason said. “But I won’t leave out any details.”

Swallowing, Phil stared up at Jason. Backlit by the waning orange sunlight, his features obscured and shadowy, he appeared like an apparition. A tropical boogeyman spoken about by drunk sailors who spent their days drinking rum in thatched hut bars, trying to scare tourists.

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