Page 21 of Keeping Her Under
No dog barks.
Just silence.
My heart racing, we walk down the carpeted hall to the back of the house. I looked up the floor plan online, having found an old listing for this place. It was bought a few years ago. Sold for market value. Two beds, one bath.
And the master bedroom is the next door on our right.
We stop outside it, one on each side of the frame.
The silence is broken only by the beating of my heart.
By the anticipation of toppling the first domino that will end up with taking Summer as my wife.
Asher looks at me, then nods at the door handle. He raises the gun as I reach across the hinges and place my fingers on the brass L.
One heartbeat.
Will he hear us when I open the door?
Will he wake up fighting?
Does he sleep with a gun on the side of the bed?
Two.
I twist it slowly, listening for the smallest of creaks.
Asher’s finger slides along the trigger, but it doesn’t curl around it.
The door swings open and –
Utter silence.
No.
Wait.
There’s a slight snore every few seconds.
My cousin glances at me, then slips inside. He’s left the can of gasoline in the hallway, so I bend down to pick it up before entering behind him.
The room is dark, the curtains black-out beauties that’ll let him sleep during the day for when he’s on night shift. I slip through the shadows towards the bed while Asher hangs further back, his gun raised and ready. He holds it with one hand as he digs into his pants pocket with the other.
Reaching Ryan’s sleeping form, I unscrew the lid on the can of gasoline. The sharp smell of it fills the room, and I glance down, my body tense.
His face twitches, his eyes screwing together.
My pulse screams, anticipating him waking.
Fighting.
Forcing Asher to kill him. Forcing me to think of another way of getting into Summer’s room.
My pulse beats louder. Almost a wail.
But my hands are steady. Precise.
I pour the gasoline onto his face.
