Chapter 18 #2
As if that would make it better. As if it would make any of this terrible situation any easier. She knew it didn’t make sense. And yet. Perhaps learning more about their plan would allow her to learn when they would leave, so she could know when it was safe to return.
She grasped the door handle, twisted, and pulled the door open about six inches.
The long hallway was dark. The doors to the two guest bedrooms on the left were open, but no light filtered out. There were three more guest bedrooms on the other side of the kitchen. Her father’s door was closed.
At the end of the hallway, she crouched and cautiously peered around the corner.
The lanterns in the kitchen gave off a warm glow.
Thick tendrils of smoke hung in the air.
In the center of the kitchen, a half-dozen men hunched around the scarred wooden table where she’d eaten breakfast a thousand times.
They were playing some sort of card game, drinking and smoking, placing bets and yelling insults, roaring with laughter, all drunk.
She could make out a thread of conversation over the ruckus—the sound was coming from somewhere closer than the kitchen table. She turned her head to the left and glimpsed a man’s shoulder jutting from the opposite wall into the space at the end of the hallway.
The man wore a leather vest, his hair slicked back in a long greasy ponytail. It was Rex. The others were likely sitting at the bar chairs at the counter peninsula, just around the corner from her line of sight.
“When are the others coming?” She recognized Rex’s low, gravelly voice.
“Phillips went to get them.” Vaughn’s ringing baritone was unmistakable. “He left yesterday afternoon. By the time they gather their supplies, get the truck, and make it back… I’d reckon sometime tomorrow night.”
“I’d kill for a working phone.” Damien’s voice spoke into the silence. “This lack of communication blows.”
“Wouldn’t we all, kid.” Vaughn chuckled. “But look on the bright side. Instead of focusing on what’s been destroyed, focus on what we can build from the rubble. A new world. A new society, with order and rules that make sense—even better than the last one.”
“How many men is he bringing?” Rex asked.
“I told him thirty. We’ll need that many to load all that food.”
“There aren’t enough beds for them,” Damien said.
“They can sleep on the floor, or out in the tiger’s cage for all I care.” Dekker’s voice was smooth as honey, hiding the poison beneath.
“We’ll make do,” Vaughn said. “We always do. This was a lucky break. We need to make sure we transfer every last piece of this treasure.”
“And then we head back home?” Dekker asked.
“Why are you so eager to get out of here?” Rex asked. “You scared of a little tiger or two?”
“This place is creepy. Don’t you feel it? All those savage beasts screaming and howling all night long? It’s haunted. There’s something off here. I don’t like it. We should go back.”
Vaughn let out a booming laugh. “You going all sissy on me now?”
“Nah, of course not,” Dekker said quickly. “I just hate all these damn animals. They’re loud and disgusting.”
Rex sniggered. “Thought you wanted that girl. The wolf girl.”
The hairs on Raven’s neck stood on end. Her stomach lurched. She gripped the door with whitened knuckles.
Dekker swore. “She’s mine.”
“Don’t you worry,” Vaughn said. “She can’t hide forever. You can have her. After we load up our goodies and I get that wolf pelt, you can burn this place to the ground for all I care.”
“Do we all get a pelt?” Rex asked.
“Sure.” Vaughn was quiet for a moment. “That’s a damn fine idea. Imagine us all dressed out in wolf and leopard pelts like ancient Viking warriors. What terror and awe that would inflict on the hearts of our adversaries.”
“Great idea, boss,” Rex said.
“Let me guess, Damien wants the tiger,” Dekker said. He snorted in derision. “You’ll have to grow into that one, boy. You still have to earn your chops. If you’ve got them, that is. Unless you’re too much of a pussy.” His tone was teasing, but something was mocking in the way he spoke.
“Go screw yourself." Damien sounded petulant. “I can take care of myself.”
“Enough sitting around,” Vaughn said. “The night is young! We’ve got work to do.
Dekker, get my gun. Damien, get me some more of this beer, and be quick about it.
” A chair pushed back, scraping against the tile.
Vaughn’s broad back appeared as he shoved the chair into place, tattoos squirming across his neck and bulging arms. “Remember, the white one is mine.”
Heart hammering in her throat, Raven crept back down the hallway to her bedroom, snuck back inside, and shut the door.
She stumbled backward. Her stomach roiled in shock and fear.
More of them were coming. They were going to take all the food in the storage buildings—the food she was depending on to stay alive.
She should have guessed what they would want. Some part of her had known, but to hear it spoken aloud made it horrifyingly real. And Vaughn was going to kill Luna. He was going to kill her right now, tonight.
She had to get out of there. She needed to think things through somewhere else, somewhere safe. She lurched for the window—
The bedroom door swung open.