Page 55 of Along for the Ride

I nod.

We get out of the car and approach the front door. Aside from the car in the driveway, everything else looks the same. Even the curtains in the windows haven’t changed after all these years. With Karson and Gentry behind me, I pool my courage, use the hem of my shirt to cover my fingertip, and ring the doorbell.

Silence answers. No footsteps approach. No blinds draw back.

“Well, we tried,” I say. I turn for the SUV, but Gentry grips my arm.

“Where do they keep the spare key?” he asks.

My shoulders deflate, and I point to the wreath on the door. “In a metal box behind it. It’s magnetized.”

Before retrieving the key, they pull gloves from their pockets and slip them on. This singular act makes everything too real. Too final. My throat constricts, and I’m choking on my need for air.

“You can’t,” I say on a strangled breath.

“Can’t what?” Gentry asks, genuinely confused.

“You can’t kill him.”

Karson and Gentry raise their eyebrows at me.

“We aren’t going to,” Karson says with a smirk.

“Ican’t kill him. Get that out of your head right now. I’m not one of you.”

Karson grits his teeth and struggles to keep his voice down. “How can you not feel homicidal when someone makes your body react so strongly to the thought of them? When they traumatized you to this point? Man up, thief. You have every reason to want him dead. Accept the blazing hatred for someone who hurt you, then embrace it. Let it cleanse you.”

I swallow. He’s right. But I can’t do this. “If you two want to kill him, fine, but I’m not doing it.”

“We’re gifting you a prize,” Gentry says. “You’ve fantasized about how you’d like to end this fucker’s life, and we’re making it possible. Sure, we could kill him, but we can’t kill him the way he deserves. By your hand.” He grips my shoulders with gloved hands. “Wanderer, listen to me. There are two kinds of people in this world: them and us. This is your chance to learn where you stand. Can you do this?”

I look into his dark eyes and finally draw a breath. “Yes, sir.”

“Good fucking girl.” He fists my hair and pulls me closer. As he kisses me, his length presses against me, and I don’t know if it’s because his lips are on mine or because we’re about to commit murder.

Probably both.

“We can fuck when this is over,” Karson says beside us. “My idea of foreplay is waiting inside, so can we get this show on the road?”

When Gentry releases me, I look at Karson, set my jaw, and nod. I’m ready to face the piece of shit.

Karson reaches into the bag on his shoulder, pulls out another pair of gloves, and slides them into my hands. “Put these on. Gentry will bitch and moan if you leave any prints behind.”

I slip them on and try not to grimace when I notice what looks like old blood on the fingertips.

We enter the house, and I feel as if I’ve walked into a time capsule. All pictures of me have been removed, but everything else is exactly how I remember it. We silently search downstairs, but we find no sign of my stepfather in the living room or kitchen. The only other room is my old bedroom. My heart refuses to beat as we near the door.

Memories rush forward. Of the times my childhood was taken from me. Of the times the man who was supposed to protect me chose to hurt me instead. I don’t want to cross the threshold before me, but I don’t have a choice. With a shaking hand, I reach for the knob and turn it, opening the door just enough to peek inside.

This is no longer my bedroom. It’s been converted into an office, complete with a bookshelf, computer desk, and a large leather chair. Someone sits in that chair—a man wearing a pair of headphones as he watches something on the large computer monitor in front of him. I recognize the balding patch on top of his head, though it’s grown a bit since I last saw it.

My throat constricts again as I close the door, and I freeze. Heat burns in my chest and crawls up my neck. I struggle to breathe. This reaction is completely out of my control. I never thought I’d see this man again.

I never wanted to.

Gentry turns toward me, a genuine look of concern on his face. “Shh, wanderer,” he whispers. I don’t think he expected such a visceral reaction from me.Ididn’t even expect this type of response. “It’s him, right?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

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