Page 28 of Can't Stop
I lick my lips and remember the promise I made to Dalton. If he were captured, I agreed I would go for the truck.
But I never promised I would leave him.
Chapter Sixteen
Dalton
Wherever Rayna is, I hope she’s safe. That’s the prevailing thought as I allow Samuel to tie my arms to a chair in the corner of a massive bedroom on the first floor. A bed stands by the window, the gauzy curtains draping over the canopy top catching bits of moonlight, but I can’t make out the figure resting in the center of the mattress. They’re a dark shadow, obscured by the curtains.
Once Samuel has tied down my wrists and ankles, he calls for his parents to enter the room. They join him in front of me, followed by the grandmother.
“Are murders always a family affair for you weirdos?” I ask.
The mother’s brow furrows. “Murder? We don’t commit murder. Sacrifice isn’t the same thing.”
“Murder is murder, asshole. Just admit that you get joy from killing people. It’s not so bad.” I smile up at her and try to wiggle my wrists free, but it’s no use. I’m tied down too tightly.
“Don’t let him confuse you, Samuel. We know why we do this. That’s all that matters.” Ma Psycho sidles up to her son and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Once we have the girl, the ritual can begin. We’ll have your brother back. Won’t it be glorious?”
I blink up at them, but I don’t interrupt this weird moment. Maybe I can learn something that will help me.
“Where’s the squirrel?” the father asks.
Samuel motions to me. “We don’t need it anymore. We have him.”
“Now isn’t the time to get cocky. Get the squirrel and bring it in here,” the father says, and I’m surprised when Samuel trudges out of the room like a five-year-old who’s just been informed they’re grounded. The father turns back to me. “Where did she go? She’s still in this house, isn’t she?”
I shrug and smile up at him. “Couldn’t tell you. I told her to run if I got hemmed up, so she’s probably miles away from here by now.”
“Without you or the squirrel?” He laughs down at me.
“Well, without him,” Samuel says as he comes back into the room. “The squirrel’s gone.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. If Rayna found Van Gogh, she probably is miles away. Good for her.
The mother steps closer now, and I can see just how deep each wrinkle sinks around the sides of her mouth. In the low light, she looks like a bulldog. “What’s so funny? The sacrifice occurs on Halloween night, whether we have the girl or not. Your death gives him another year tethered to our world.”
“What, and you think Rayna’s pussy will wake him up? Lady, he’s dead.” I laugh a little louder, not because this is particularly funny, but because I don’t want them to hear what I hear.
An engine. And it’s drawing closer.
Seconds later, the room fills with light as headlights aim toward the window. I brace myself as the wall explodes in a burst of glass, wood, and sound. The truck’s hood crumples as it crashes into the bedroom and knocks a dresser into a shower of splinters. Furniture flies across the room and collides with more furniture and possibly bodies. I can’t see anything through the debris cloud. Incredibly, every bit of the flying shrapnel misses me.
Rayna bursts from the cab as the dust begins to settle, her squirrel clutched tightly in her right hand. “Did you miss me, bitches?”
I look around. The initial explosion knocked down all four of the psychos, who now groan on the ground as they try to register what just occurred. The grandmother clutches her fox and cries, and the mother looks like she might have struck her head. Blood oozes from a gash beside her eye. The father lies motionless. Samuel is the first to stand, but Rayna has both of my hands untied before he finds his feet.
“Hurry,” I whisper. “We have to get out of here while they’re still in shock.”
Rayna keeps working on the binding on my left ankle while I work on the right. “Get out of here? I didn’t come back just to save you, Dalton. These pieces of shit are going to die.”
Samuel groans and leans against the wall. Chunks of plaster paint his skin in places, and several small cuts create red tracks through the white. When he sees that his father isn’t moving, he drops to his knees beside him and begins rendering aid.
The moment my legs are free, I leap from the chair and grip the shotgun lying near the grandmother. She whimpers and scoots backward, clutching her fox to her chest. I don’t have the heart to terrify her, so I whip the barrel toward the mother.
“On your feet,” I say. “Looks like plans have changed.”
She looks past me, at the bed currently resting at an odd angle. I pass the gun to Rayna because my curiosity has me in a chokehold. Then I make my way to the bed.
