Chapter Forty-Eight
Ansel
Ansel sat shotgun while Harlan drove. Three more SUVs followed in line behind them, carrying a total of thirty-three men ready to raze an entire town to the ground.
When he was a kid, Ansel dreamed about being in charge, of having people follow his orders blindly, and now, here he was, the boss of a small army.
And yet one woman continued to defy him.
They passed the city sign that read holiday, Christmas lights wrapped around the edges.
“Who the hell wants to live in sleepy little towns like this, where everything is cookie-cutter perfect all the time?” Ansel muttered.
“The sign back there said fifteen hundred people, sir, so I assume—”
“Rocky, shut up,” he snapped, turning in the front seat to level him with a lethal glare. “It was a rhetorical question.”
“What does rhetorical mean?” someone else asked quietly.
Ansel rubbed his forehead. “It means I don’t need anyone talking right now.”
The car was silent again, and Ansel went back to staring out the window, anticipation coursing through him as they pulled onto Main Street. All the little shops looked closed. Maybe that was because it was three o’clock in the morning the Monday before Christmas.
’Twas the Monday before Christmas, and all through the town not a person was stirring, not even the girl that didn’t wanna be found.
His mother had loved that story and would read it every Christmas Eve until he was twelve and his father killed her. Later, he’d gone to the school counselor once at the recommendation of his English teacher, who thought he developed unhealthy attachments to women.
Maybe his teacher had been onto something because he spent so much time wanting to keep Kaylee alive, it hadn’t even occurred to him what a danger she could be.
Now here they were rolling into this tiny town with, yep, sure enough, a giant decorated potato in the town square, and he still wanted to take her alive.
They parked the SUVs, and Ansel hopped out.
“All right, first we’re gonna hit the police station—if we can get to the armory, take away any firepower they may have. Rocky, you take point.”
The short, stocky guy didn’t ask questions; he just led the way, his gun drawn.
Everyone else fell into step behind him, with Ansel taking up the rear.
Rocky pulled on the door, and it was unlocked.
About five of them made it inside before he heard a loud boom from an emptying canister.
They were all pushed back by men trying to escape from the inside, coughing and gagging.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ansel asked when he got a whiff of something that smelled like rotten eggs.
Harlan covered his mouth. “What the fuck is that smell?”
“A stink bomb,” one of the guys wheezed, coughing. His entire face was smudged with some kind of substance.
“Get off me,” Ansel said, stalking back out to the square. “Kaylee!” he hollered. “If you’re out there, come to me! I don’t wanna hurt anyone. All I want is for you to come out now so we can go home.”
“I am home, Ansel.” He saw her standing in the churchyard next to the nativity, wearing a sweatshirt and leggings. Her hair was pulled up in a bun. It was darker now, not the blond that he’d love to watch in the sunshine, but she could always dye it back.
“This is my town. These are my people, that’s my police station, and this is my church.”
“Unless you want your cute little town to get razed to the ground,” he said, quickly losing patience, “I suggest you get on over here.”
“And I think if you want me, you’d better come get me,” she said, taking off inside the church.
“Come on,” Ansel said, leading the way across the square, anger burning in his body, coursing through every piece of him.
How dare she run and challenge him? She was supposed to be scared and apologetic.
The men climbed up the stairs together, their boots thundering against the pavement, and he opened the door.
It was dark inside, but he could see Kaylee at the top of the altar, smiling. “Are you here to confess your sins?”
“No, and if you don’t stop playing games, I’m gonna have a couple more sins to atone for.”
“That sounds like a threat, and it’s not nice to anyone.”
He lengthened his strides, wanting to be done with these games, but Kaylee hopped down and took off toward the back. Ansel gave chase.
But when he heard the sliding of a door, he whirled around to see they were trapped inside, and a rapid beeping echoed loudly before several hisses erupted.
A foul, noxious stench engulfed them in a cloud of smoke, and his men started screaming, crying as they raced for the exits.
“We’re trapped,” one of them through the haze.
Ansel covered his nose, and several of his men followed after him as he chased Kaylee down a flight of stairs.
You’re not getting away from me, Kaylee, not this time.