Page 109 of The Souls of Lost Lake
“Pippin, I need to figure out—”
“You don’t need to figure anything out.” He offered a small sideways smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Pippin, you’re freaking me out.”
“And you are asking too many questions.” He grabbed her arm. His fingers bit into her skin.
“Hey!” Wren scowled and wrenched her arm away.
“Come with me.” Pippin tipped his head toward the cabin.
“No.” Wren curled her lip at him.
“Yes.” Pippin took a step nearer to her. “I’m not asking.”
Wren stared at him, then pushed against him, reaching for her truck door. “Get out of my way, Pippin.”
It startled her when her brother’s hand clamped onto her wrist, his grip a vise. “We need to talk.”
“I don’twantto talk.” Wren twisted her wrist, but Pippin only gripped it harder. She whimpered, “Pippin?”
He yanked her away from her truck. Wren fell against him, and he curled his arm around her throat, tugging her back against his chest. Leaning into her ear, he clicked his tongue. “I won’t let you hurt Dad.”
Wren wriggled under his hold.
Pippin shoved her forward, and she careened onto the ground.The skin on her palms scraped across the gravel. She looked incredulously at Pippin while crawling backward. “What are you talking about?”
He stood over her. “I’m talking about protecting my father’s name—and my mother’s memory.” Reaching down, he yanked her up. Wren’s neck cracked as her head whipped forward. Her brother had become a villain.
“Where are you taking me?” Wren wriggled her wrists, but the plastic zip tie her brother had tightened around them bit into her skin.
Her truck jolted over a pothole. Pippin shifted gears, ignoring her.
“Pippin!” she snapped, but fear was crowding her throat. Her phone had fallen out of her pocket in the tussle with him on the ground outside the cabin. He’d overpowered her quickly, and in an irrational moment of random thought, she regretted ever quitting her martial arts lessons in fifth grade.
Pippin tapped the steering wheel, ducking to look out the windshield and up toward the sky. “Looks like it might rain.”
“Pippin!” Wren struggled with her wrists. Her ankles, also bound with a zip tie, were bleeding. “The ties are too tight,” she whimpered. There had to be mercy in him somewhere.
“You know,” Pippin said as he turned the truck onto an old logging road, which was mostly grass and ruts with two narrow trails for tires, the middle grown over by long weeds, “the more you struggle, the worse it’ll get. Zip ties are a beast.”
Wren stared at him in exasperation. He was so unaffected. Like they were out for a sibling afternoon jaunt in the woods. The truck hit a rut, and she bounced on the seat, her shoulder banging into the door.
Pippin pulled the truck off the trail, driving into an alcove surrounded by trees. He shifted the truck into park and shut off theignition. Saying nothing, Pippin hopped out of the truck, rounded it, and opened Wren’s door.
“Come on.”
“Where are we?”
He didn’t answer.
“You need to let me go.”
Pippin gave a cynical snort of laughter. “That request never works. You should know that.”
Wren stiffened as Pippin reached for her and tugged her from the truck. She fell against him. “What did you mean you’re protecting Dad’s name? Mom’s memory? What do you know, Pippin?” She jerked away from him, but Pippin pushed her ahead. Tree branches scraped her face as she fell to the ground. Her knee cracked against a tree root, and she cried out.
“Oh. Sorry.” Pippin leaned over and flicked open a knife. “Forgot your ankles were tied.” He laughed. “Stupid of me.” He slipped the blade between her ankles and the zip tie, slicing through the plastic.
