Page 149 of Stand: Part One
Camaro went to her food bowl while I attempted to swallow down some grapes. No matter how many times Darren had tried, my stomach just wasn’t meant for massacres.
“You’re lucky to be alive, you know,” Scott remarked as he maneuvered slowly through the dining room.
I paused for a moment, caught off by his comment. “I’m aware,” I replied, keeping my eyes to myself as I focused on my plate.
“I’m actually pretty impressed that you managed to steal a gun while being tied to a chair, and firing off two fatal rounds without experiencing any return fire. And in the dark, no less. How the hell did you pull that off?”
My stomach clenched as I reluctantly swallowed the grape I’d been chewing, making sure my movements were consistent and unbothered. Scott was fishing, which meant he was not totally sold on my lies. And if he wasn’t certain, then neither was Darren.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Like you said, I got lucky. Unlike Clive and Owen,” I answered before taking a sip of my orange juice. It soured in my mouth almost immediately.
“Clearly,” he clipped.
“What did you do with their bodies?” I asked, tilting the conversation.
“They were taken to an incinerator.”
I glanced back up at him. That was it? “Will they receive a burial?”
Scott cocked a brow at my question. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t honor failures,” he answered in the obvious.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Will their families at least be notified?”
Scott leveled me with a glare of annoyance. “They didn’t have families. They were both orphaned felons who ran security for their gang leaders before they went to prison for the attempted murder of their rivals’ kids.”
Jesus.
I nodded solemnly at the history lesson. “They never told me about their past.”
“Nor should they have. The less you know about them, the better.”
“Whatever,” I replied before reluctantly swallowing another piece of fruit.
Two minutes of awkward silence later, I’d eaten all I could stand and stood from my seat.
“You know you need to eat more than that,” Scott reminded me.
A scowl immediately formed on my face. “Fuck off, Scott. Today is not the day.”
He tsk’d. “Darren won’t be happy.”
“When is he ever?” I growled, bypassing him for the huge-ass outdoor patio while Camaro ran to catch up to my side.
Plopping down on the outdoor carpet, I pulled Camaro down to sit with me. I ignored Scott as he took a seat against the wall about twenty feet away. Apparently, he was the resident babysitter today.
“Come here, pretty girl,” I cooed to my dog. “You smell so nice and clean.”
Wrapping my arms around my Rottie, I shivered at the thought that I had almost lost her last night. I’d never been more grateful for her excessive grooming schedule.
If I had to watch my dog die too, I didn’t know what I would do, but it certainly wouldn’t involve letting Matt leave alive, rescue mission or no rescue mission. Camaro was the closest thing I had to a friend right now and the only one I could find comfort in.
For the next hour, all my brain would allow me to do was endure a playback of everything that had happened last night and everything I needed to do now. I’d witnessed a lot of brutal murders and torture over the years, but I don’t think any of them had been as painful to watch as Clive’s and Owen’s.
