Page 183 of Heresy

“Break into houses often?” I ask, my voice whisper soft as I’m eyeing Damon.

“Nah. I get locked outside a lot at my place. This is how I get back in.”

Ezra’s stare snaps Damon’s direction. “You do what?” He narrows his eyes. “Is that why the sliding door never opens right?”

“You two are not getting into this right now,” I interrupt. “Time to go in.”

We slip in one after the other without a single sound while Taylor stays outside to keep an eye out. After making our way into the living room, I point to each door while assigning who goes where.

The twins get in place, then I nod my head for them to go.

Rushing through my assigned door, I can’t decide who I hope is in the bed more: Scott or Brinley?

Brinley because I need to know she’s safe, and also because she’s mine. I’ve made that decision, and she’ll just have to live with it. She can get as mouthy as she wants. I’m still not letting her go once I have her back again.

Scott … simply because I want to kill him. No, it won’t go that far, but he’ll definitely be staying a few days at the hospital for what he’s done. I want to be the one who puts him there, not one of the twins.

There’s motion in the bed as I approach, a subtle shift as the person’s foot slides out from under a thin sheet.

From what I can see from the shadows, it has to be Brinley. The body size is too small to be Jerry or Scott.

I grab Brin and shake her to wake her up.

“Hey. It’s me. Whatever you do, don’t scream.”

Her eyes blink open, and a high-pitched scream tears through the silent room. Slapping my hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, I lean closer, still not quite able to make out her face in the darkness.

“Brin, it’s me. Shane. Don’t scream.”

I can tell she’s staring at me by a tiny reflection of light in her eye. She seems calm, so I pull my hand away.

Another high-pitched scream tears through the room, only this time, it’s met by another.

…

Turns out we’re at the wrong house.

Now all four of us are standing in the living room staring at two captives who are gagged and bound, absolute terror rolling behind their soft brown eyes.

Each woman is wearing a white nightgown, one with short white hair and the other with brown that is turning grey.

If I had to guess, one is in her mid-fifties, at least, the other easily in her late seventies.

I pace in front of them, racking my brain about what to do now.

Passing Taylor, I stink eye him. “You struck out again. What the hell is going on with you?”

He practically hisses his response. “I didn’t strike out. This house has something to do with Brinley’s mom.”

“Maybe back before Brin was born but certainly not now.”

Taylor shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m just going by where Brinley told me to look.”

A woman clears her throat loudly from the couch and mumbles beneath her gag.

We turn to look at her.

Using her bound hands, the younger of the two motions to her gag, silently asking if she can remove it.

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