Chapter 23

Lauren

“You son of a bitch!” Chase snaps at his uncle, lifts his head off the carpet, his lips peeled back in a rictus.

Terrence gives another rumble of laughter, which, by now, I can say with certainty is the most sickening sound I’ve ever heard. “Easy, Chester,” he says. “That’s Granny to you.”

How can he laugh after confessing to killing his own brother, to deliberately making his sister-in-law go insane, to trying to kill his own nephew, to killing an innocent man?

Oh, Chase. I can only imagine how he feels right now.

How I wish I could go to him, wrap my arms around him and make him forget all this cruelty and nonsense with my kisses.

He’s there, right across me, suffering. Yet here I am, held at gunpoint, trapped in the clutches of a maniac.

He’s moved to kissing my neck now, the feel of his tongue against my cold, sweaty skin revolting. His hand has moved higher, cupping my breast through my uniform and my bra and I can’t stop shaking. My teeth chatter. My lips quiver.

Everything this… monster does makes me sick to my core but there’s nothing I can do.

Chase isn’t the only one helpless. So am I.

I thought I could help him. I thought I could be of use to him. But looking at him now, I’m a burden and I’m a fool.

A fool to think I could ever help him beat these monsters. A fool to think that I could save him, that I could poison all these bastards and rescue him.

The plates are empty, the thugs who have finished eating the chops pick their teeth. As for Terrence, he’s still eating, only half his portion done because of all his narcissistic monologue.

“Do you want to know how he died?” he goes on without the smallest flicker of remorse. “He begged for his life, you know, but Bert here…”

He points to the man with the sunglasses.

“He cut his neck open.” Terrence imitates the gesture with his steak knife. “And then they stuffed him inside your dad’s sarcophagus and burned it.”

Chase’s face falls.

I push the image of James’ face out of my mind, staring at the pork chops that are still on the plates.

I thought I placed enough leaves but maybe I didn’t. Or maybe the other herbs neutralized its effects. Or maybe it wasn’t even the lily-of-the-valley, after all.

All those doubts go through my head, which I hang low. Hope drains out of me.

Terrence isn’t doing anything because he’s busy eating but once he’s done, he may very well kill Chase as painfully as he can while I watch and that thought makes me cringe more than the hand on my breast.

And when Chase is done? Who knows? They’ll kill me, too. Or I might kill myself. I won’t care anymore once he’s gone.

Once he’s gone.

I blink away tears.

Why does this have to happen? Chase didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for this. Why do I finally get to experience love only to have it taken away from me by the cruelest means possible?

“Oh, Chester, it’s been so much fun.” Terrence wipes his mouth. “Maybe this time, I’ll kill you myself. Then I’ll have more fun. Maybe I’ll…”

He stops; Bert coughs beside him.

“Maybe I’ll…”

Bert coughs some more, his hand over his mouth. Then he keels over on the carpet and starts throwing up.

“What the fuck?” Terrence stands up. “Not on my carpet, you moron. Go to the–”

He stops talking again as his stomach gives a loud burble. He places a hand on it, wincing.

It’s working. The poison is working!

As if to confirm it, the man with the long hair stands up, and runs from the room, clutching his stomach.

“Hey!” Terrence calls after him, sitting on the couch as he grips his own.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Chase swings the chair he’s tied to at the goon behind him, knocking him off his feet. I make my move, jerk my head back into Steve’s face. His nose snaps and he yells.

The gun drops from his hand, his arm falling away from me. I reach for the steak knife on the cart, driving it into his thigh as I slide the gun across to Chase.

“Chase!”

He catches it in time, shooting George.

That makes four goons down.

Pulling the knife out of Steve’s bleeding thigh, I run over to Chase, using the jagged blade to cut the ropes that are binding him to the chair.

“You’ve got serious knife skills,” Chase praises, his tone laced with pride and surprise.

I drive the blade mercilessly through each coil of rope. “I know.”

One by one, they fall away and we run out of the room, leaving Terrence on the couch in shock, confused as to what’s going on, Bert on the carpet still throwing up, George unconscious, possibly dead, and Steve frantically trying to stop his nose and his thigh from bleeding.

We jump over Jeff’s curled body in the corridor, unsure if he’s passed out or immobilized by the pain.

“Are you all right?” Chase asks as we run down the stairs.

I nod.

“What did you do?”

“Lily-of-the-valley,” I answer.

“Whatever it is, I’m proud of you,” Chase says between gasps for air. “I told you that you could poison someone if you wanted to.”

“I remembered.”

We reach the bottom of the stairs. I head to the front door but Chase pulls my arm.

“This way to the garage,” he says, pulling me in the opposite direction.

Running down the hall, I bump into Maggie.

“Sorry,” I mumble without stopping.

“Cindy?”

“Call the cops. No time to explain.”

We run out a side door and Chase leads me down a path through the garden.

“Now what?” I ask him as I catch a glimpse of the garage. “Just hop into a car and get out of here?”

“That’s the plan,” Chase tells me. “And hopefully get to a police station so I can put my uncle and his thugs in jail.” He pats the papers in his pocket.

We reach the garage, which looks more like a parking building, big enough to hold twenty cars. It’s empty, though, except for a patrol car.

A patrol car? What’s a patrol car doing here?

“Fuck! He got rid of all of dad’s cars,” Chase mumbles as he slips into the driver’s seat of the patrol car. “And mine, too.”

He opens the dashboard compartment, finding a set of keys there.

“That’s weird,” I remark out loud.

There’s a badge in there, too. I pick it up and gasp at the picture of the police officer.

“What?” Chase asks as he drives out of the building.

“It’s Detective Allen,” I tell him, clasping a hand over my mouth. “He was the one who came to the ranch looking for you.”

“Fuck,” Chase mutters, speeding up.

I toss the badge into the dashboard compartment. “Do you think he’s…?” I shake my head. “No. He’s still alive, right? Your uncle didn’t boast about him being dead.”

Chase shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t know.”

A fresh knot forms in the pit of my stomach.

Chase steps on the gas, and the car grinds over hedges and around the fountain.

I look ahead, seized with worry at the sight of the tall gate.

“Um, Chase, tell me you know how to open that gate.”

“Put your seatbelt on,” he grunts.

As I struggle to comply, my hands shaking more than the rest of my body, a bullet hits the windshield, and it cracks.

I lift my head, eyes wide with horror.

Steve is at the gate, shooting at us.

Chase keeps driving, laser focused.

Steve shoots again.

The second bullet pierces the windshield, grazing Chase’s shoulder.

I scream.

I’m still screaming as the cruiser rams into Steve and the gate. The force propels me forward and I smack my head on the dashboard.

Blackness.