Page 22 of Can't Stop
“There were a lot of fucking switches, okay? I might have pressed something I wasn’t supposed to!”
His arm bands around my waist, and I take a deep breath. Then the horse begins to rise.
“It can’t handle our combined weight!” I try to hold on to the horse, but Dalton tugs me down.
We crash against the horse to the right of the large bay, and its ass end gives way and rotates with us. When we land, our heads hang off the platform, mere inches from a bed of gravel as we move at light speed.
“Shit, I’m gonna hurl,” Dalton groans, and I concur. If we don’t get off this thing, we’ll be the first humans in existence to commit suicide via a fairground kiddie ride. All the blood is rushing toward my feet.
The large horse continues its jerky up-and-down dance as I stare up and contemplate what it will feel like to be crushed by a ton of metal and tanned horse flesh. I can only think of one way this death could be improved, and that would be if Van Gogh were by our sides.
“I love you!” I shout to Dalton.
He squeezes my hand, lets out a guttural shout, and heaves our bodies from the platform. Gravel, sand, and God only knows what else scrape against my legs and back as I slide across the ground and come to a stop entirely too close to the wheel of death. With my bare breasts jiggling, I scramble to my feet and look around for Dalton.
A few feet away, he sits up with a groan and fingers a small gash on the side of his face. Blood coats his fingertips. Just as I reach his side, the merry-go-round gives a sickening groan, and the large bay crashes to the platform and slides inward. The thick metal rod breaks through the colorful bulbs lighting up the center mast, then lodges within the inner workings. After a few more clanks and groans, smoke begins to pour from the top.
“Shit, it’s gonna catch fire,” he says as he clambers to his feet. He grips my hand and pulls me away from the impending disaster.
Somewhere in the distance, a loud wail pierces the air, followed by a woman’s voice. “The stables are burning! Save the horses!”
Dalton looks toward the voice and shakes his head. “Come on, bones. It’s time to make our exit. Let’s get Van Gogh and get the fuck out of here.”
He tries to pull me with him, but I snatch my hand back as I spot a small figure running toward us.
“No, because fuck them. They tried to kidnap us, and they did kidnap our son. They want to kill you, and I have no desire to find out their plans for me.” I fold my arms over my chest and refuse to take another step. “I’m staying right here. When they try to put out this fire, they’ll have to do it with their fucking eyes closed.”
Dalton sighs and returns to my side. “That old woman doesn’t seem too bothered by our nakedness. Look at her. She’s not slowing down.”
Something explodes behind me, and I flinch, but I keep my gaze trained on the old woman hobbling toward us at . . . well, it’s not the speed of sound, but she’s doing her fucking best. She raises the taxidermy fox and wiggles him at us, and as she shouts something unintelligible, spittle flies from her mouth.
“Wow, she is pissed.”
I scoff. “Super pissed. And I don’t blame her. That’s probably over sixty grand in taxidermy alone, and it’s about to be reduced to ash. I feel a bit guilty, not gonna lie.”
Dalton nods. “Yeah, maybe it would be best if we kept moving. They’ll be tied up with this for a while, and it will give us a chance to snoop.”
“And fuck.” I reach over and give his flaccid dick a squeeze.
I think we can knock at least one more item off that list before we evacuate this shit hole.
Chapter Twelve
Dalton
The house was locked up tight when we arrived, so I broke a window and let us in. It’s not as if we have to worry about the Oak Hollow PD. They were probably first to go once the Psycho Family Robinson got it in their heads that they needed to kill every townsperson.
While I’m curious to know more about these people and what their damage is, my top priority is finding Van Gogh and getting us the fuck out of here. I’ve been doing my best to keep Rayna’s mind occupied so that she can’t think too long about how weird this place is, but if she starts thinking about it too much, we’ll never get out of here. Not until she answers every question her brain can come up with.
We’re currently in Samuel’s bedroom. We already grabbed our things from the basement. Rayna wanted to dress, so I told her I’d wear my gym shorts in the event that one of us needed to strip quickly and scare off the weirdos.
God. I still can’t wrap my mind around calling someone else the weirdos.
“Have you checked the bookshelf?” I motion to a shelf littered with taxidermy manuals and anatomy tomes. “Samuel didn’t exactly strike me as the studious type. Maybe these are just for show?” I take a step toward the shelf, but the frustrated grunt from Rayna stops me.
“He’s not in here,” she says with a resigned sigh. She closes the lid of a trunk she’s been digging through, then flops onto her ass. “Where could he be if he’s not in this house? Where else can we look? We could be here for weeks.”
She looks so forlorn and small, and it’s killing me. I move toward the bed and sit on the edge of Samuel’s very firm mattress, where I pull Rayna from the floor and into my lap. She melts in my arms, her warm breath fanning against my neck as I hold her.
