Chapter Three
“Rainey?”
My eyes peeled open, blinking through the cloud of cherry blossoms. My next class was around noon. Afterward, I’d have to turn my decision into action. Some peace and quiet in the arboretum wasn’t too much to ask for.
“Rainey? It is her,” said Zara.
The girls crowded in around me, squeezing on the bench. Paris slung her arm around me.
“Is this where you hide out?” she asked. “Not a bad spot.”
Putting it mildly. This was the most beautiful spot on campus. Beds of roses, daisies, and petunias split into differing shapes by the twisting walkways. The arboretum, tucked away on the edge of campus, was the only spot that hadn’t yet been taken over by the Ruckus partiers. It was a little slice of peace.
Some odd miles straight ahead and I’d be on the farm again.
“I’d rather not use the word hiding,” I said. “Makes it sound like I’m afraid of Cairo and Jacques.”
“Jacques? What does he have to do with anything?”
“Didn’t you hear what happened in their ethics class?” Amy hissed.
I sat up straight. “Apparently you have. How? I was kicked out an hour ago.”
“The video of you giving Jacques Stone a cock wash was uploaded fifty-nine minutes ago. He’s going to kill you.”
Couldn’t be certain if I was more disturbed by her lack of irony saying he’d kill me, or that she called my dumping water on him a cock wash.
“I don’t think you should come to Ruckus Royale tonight, Rainey,” Zara said. “They’re bad enough sober. Throw in the booze, drugs, and power-tripping as the Kings of Ruckus, and they’ll make an example of you.”
“She’s not missing out because of my brother,” Paris said. “And he’s not making an example of anyone. Especially if you’re not walking around tonight alone. Come with us.” She kissed my cheek. “We’ve got your back.”
Like you did last time,I thought, even on the heels of another. When your brother trussed me up and brought me so close to orgasm, a gust of wind up my skirt would’ve finished me off.
“I’m not sure I’m going,” I said. “There’s something I have to take care of. Might run late.”
“What?”
“It’s personal. Can’t get into it right now.”
“You’re so mysterious,” she teased. “Text me after you wrap up your supersecret thing. I’m DD, so I’ll pick you up if we haven’t left yet.”
“Did you figure out the clue?”
“It was pretty easy,” Amy said. “Nigri colles viduae means Black Widow Hill. Party by the canyon. My kind of venue.”
Black Widow Hill was not known for the spider it was named after, nor was it a hill. It was an easy, sloping incline that lifted you up, then pitched you into the canyon floor below—down a fatal drop to the crystal clear river bottom. Crystal Canyon, the namesake of the town we once were. The hill used to have another name too.
“It’s not Black Widow Hill.”
“Yes, it is. That’s what it means.”
“It’s not,” I repeated. “I figured it out the night of the party. Popped it into Google Translate and got Black Widow Hill in less than a millisecond. I knew right off that it had to be anywhere but there.”
“You lost me,” Paris said.
“They said we were all invited if we could find it. A hint it wasn’t going to be as easy as a simple translation. I looked up all the possible meanings of the Latin, then I looked up all the possible meanings of the English. Another word for hill is drumlin, and a famous Black widow in our history is—”
Amy clapped, bouncing up and down in her seat. “Mayam Westchester! It’s Westchester Drumlins. Fucking hell, Rainey, you’re a genius.”
“Nah, it’s a lucky guess.” Brought on by the hours and weeks I’ve devoted to learning how to crack codes and clues. “With my luck, it’s another clue wrapped in a clue.”
“No, this has got to be it,” Paris said. “Westchester Drumlins is perfect. I can’t believe I didn’t see that. An old abandoned home on the edge of town. Spooky enough to give the wannabes a thrill. Secluded enough for the hardcores to fuck, drink, dance, and snort without the cops busting in.”
“Would they?” I asked.
Paris fished a bowl of strawberries from her bag and offered us some. I helped myself, settling in with the sweet treat. It wasn’t the solitude I was looking for, but most often, distraction was ten times better.
“One of the reasons Gran would bolt us inside is because the sheriff locks the station door and pretends no one’s home on Ruckus night.”
She laughed. “Yeah, just like Gran said you’d get pregnant from kissing. It’s not the Wild West, Rainey. The people in charge accepted a long time ago that Ruckus Royale was going to happen. Some of them even made sure it was held year after year. But, someone is always going to complain.
“Noise complaints and most calls for vandalism are ignored,” Paris explained. “Obviously, if someone is getting murdered, or a fight breaks out, the police will come. If it does get that bad, the cops shut the whole thing down. We’re expected to keep ourselves in check. For the most part, we do. What happens during Ruckus, never leaves the party.”
“We?” I raised a brow at her. “I didn’t peg you as interested in all this stuff. Sex, booze, and drugs.”
“No booze and drugs for me, I’m driving.” She flashed me a lopsided smile. “But you can definitely peg me as interested in sex.”
Paris patted my knee getting up. “Text me once you’ve dumped that supersecret thing. I cannot let you go another year missing out on Ruckus Royale.” She was up, so Amy and Zara were up too. Made sense. They were still more her friends than mine.
“If I can, I’ll hit you up,” I said, waving them off.
My phone buzzed. I checked it and promptly forgot about them.
Dickmaster General flashed on the screen. Hard for even me to tell if I was complimenting or insulting him.
I hit accept.
“Morning, Cairo.”
“Why did you answer?”
“Why did you call?”
“To remind you of what’ll happen the longer you keep me waiting,” he replied. “But you know that, and you answered anyway. Why? Did you want to hear my voice?” No small amount of satisfaction laced said voice.
“Maybe I have some questions for you.” I leaned back on my bench, shutting my eyes to the sunlight. “I won’t get them answered by listening to your psychotic voice mails. You should stop leaving those, by the way. They’re all damning evidence for the restraining order.”
He chuckled. “Who exactly is going to sign a restraining order against me? My father or the woman he’s been fucking for the last four years?”
The sheriff and Judge Stone?
“Touché,” I said. “Do you have a sense of shame or embarrassment? Would posting the voice mails for everyone to listen to work as a threat?”
“Are these your questions?” I heard a thud and voices on his end. “They’re a waste of the three minutes you have till I hang up.”
“Now that I want to talk to you, you don’t have time for it? Yesterday you went on for twenty minutes describing how the fear in my eyes was even sweeter than my pussy.”
“Yesterday the idea of you was tantalizing. Today it’s boring me. I’m sure you’ve heard I’ve got plans tonight. Be more interesting or I’m hanging up.”
“Are you a killer, Cairo Sharpe? Does your lust for fear and dominance ever push you over the edge?”
A long, thick silence poured out the end—unbroken by the noises I heard before. Everything had gone quiet from Cairo.
“Answer me, Cairo. Are you a killer?”
“Hm. I asked for interesting and you delivered,” he said. “How about this one? Send me nudes or I’m hanging up.”
I folded my legs on the bench, gripping my calf in a stranglehold that hurt. Everything hurt. My heart bruised, banging against my rib cage. My lungs screamed for air as I held my breath. My head ached with weeks of fear and stress, and nowhere for it to go.
It was all coming to a head. A ticking bomb counting down my last seconds. And through the fog, there was Cairo. In the waking nightmare since I received that letter, the only time I felt anything other than crushing dread was when I was with him.
I did have a question for Cairo. Another one. A question that was even more important, and that he’d eventually answer for me whether he wanted to or not.
“Are you?” I pressed.
“Why would I be?” There wasn’t a trace of offense in his voice. Anyone else would’ve shouted off at that question. Not Cairo Sharpe. “Lots of stories going around town about the Bedlam Boys and what we do. Someone spreading that we’re killers?”
“They don’t have to. There’s something in your eyes.” I shut mine, seeing Cairo darkly glorious, like he stood before me. “Something burning. Uncontrolled. I’ve seen that look only once before.”
“You haven’t. You’ve met no one like me.”
“Just answer me.”
“Why? What are you looking for, Rain?”
“I want to know how,” I rasped. “How someone can take a soul without losing their own?”
Voice smooth and unruffled, he replied, “Who said I didn’t lose it?”
I breathed hard, the air gusting through the speakers. He sensed my anxiety while I sensed nothing. “Why do you want me? Is it really to check me off the list?”
“Stopped being about that a week ago.”
“Then why?”
“Because you need me, Rain. There’s something in your eyes too.”
I shook so hard I rattled the bench. “Where does this leave us?”
“You’ll find out.”
I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. Glad that he couldn’t.
“Come tonight,” Cairo said. “Westchester Drumlins. Say it.”
“I’ll be there tonight.” I couldn’t have stopped myself agreeing if I wanted to. “What will you do?”
“I told you. You’ll find out.”
The line went dead. My three minutes were up.
MY LAST CLASS OF THEday ended at three, pushing me out onto a campus almost completely taken over. Ruckus Royale had arrived to Bedlam, and no one was holding back the fun.
Westchester Drumlins was on the lips of nearly everyone I pushed past, struggling to get through the crowd dancing in the commons. The place looked like a music festival instead of a prestigious university. Half the student body was out with paint, water guns, and competing sound systems.
A blast of water hit my neck, knocking me back. Wet soaked my white tee and plastered it to my black lace bra. The naked frat boys returned for another shot at messing up my day.
“Assholes!”
They ran off hooting, spraying every girl in range.
I broke free of the party and made it off campus. The town wasn’t in a better state.
Banners hung from shop windows, poles, and apartment balconies. Either welcoming this year’s celebration or warning it off.
I walked through State Street on my way. The whole row was restaurants, little shops, and craft stores—each one split on how to play this.
“Official Ruckus gear,” shouted the stall owner. “Get your shirts, beads, and cups here.”
Venders, stalls, and people spilled out of the shops, taking over the street.
“Want to know where to find the party?” called another. “Twenty dollars for the answer to the clue. Don’t be the one to miss out.”
“End Ruckus Royale!”
A flyer flew in my face.
“Rampaging and trashing our streets, the Royale is an embarrassment.” Frizzy brown hair and bulging eyes blocked my way. This lady had something to say, and apparently, I had to hear it.
“The Royale must end. Do you know how it makes our town look? Like a bunch of savages!” Spittle dotted my cheek. “You and your friends must think it’s all just a bunch of fun. You’re ruining our beautiful town with—”
“Couldn’t agree with you more, ma’am.”
Her rant died on her chapped lips. “Excuse me?”
“Look at me.” I flapped a hand. “I can’t even get home without being hit up for cheap mugs and entered into a wet T-shirt contest. Ruckus is a disgrace.”
“Yes, exactly.” Her frown lines smoothed out, brightening that angry face considerably. “Good to see there are some sensible young people left in this town. Be an example to your peers.”
I plucked the flyer from her hands. “I will, ma’am. Thank you.”
She sent me off with a pat on the back. Holding the pink paper was my hall pass through the protesters. I turned the corner, leaving State Street behind, and trashed it in the nearest bin.
His home was up ahead. I should arrive just as he turned into the driveway like I had the day before, and the day before that.
Constitution Blvd. wasn’t as loud or packed as State. That didn’t mean it was spared by Ruckus.
I passed neighbors hanging up signs warning trespassers they’d either be photographed and reported, or shot. I couldn’t say if it was like this every year. Like I told Paris and her friends, Gran didn’t let us anywhere near town when the calendar dropped us into Ruckus Royale. I did know in the hundred years since it started, no one’s been shot.
Do I know that? Those crazed letters pointed to a tradition as old as Ruckus itself. There wasn’t a town on this planet where everyone lived to old age and died peacefully in their sleep.
Bedlam had its share of missing people. We had domestic violence situations that ended tragically. Accidental deaths. Murders.
I dug into all of them going ten years back, looking for a connection to Ruckus Royale, or a name that continually popped up. I came up with nothing, but then, I wasn’t looking for the birds.
Creeping up to number fifty-eight, I ducked behind their sugar maple tree. The Johnsons weren’t back from work yet. They’d be home in five hours to arm themselves and shoot trespassers. That gave me time to watch his house, wait for him to make a move, and figure out how the hell I’m going to stop him.
A blue Volkswagen puttered down the boulevard. I crouched in the dirt, pulse picking up at the sight of the ordinary car, driven by an ordinary man, coming home from his ordinary tax-preparer job.
Everything and nothing about him screamed psychopath. Now that I knew who the kookaburra was and why nothing was as it seemed, there was only one person who could’ve stopped him laughing. As surely as my grandmother was right about the dangers of Ruckus, I was certain he was the man who sent me the letters. That was a nice feeling—being certain. Because I was certain of nothing else.
He killed the engine in front of number sixty-nine. A slim, tall man climbed out of the car. Attractive man if you went for the long, swoopy-haired, boy-band thing. He wasn’t much older than me. Possibly two or three years. Old enough to be out of school. Young enough to count every year sitting in a prison cell.
Scott Cavendish pulled out his briefcase, popped it open, and grabbed an apple. Leaning against the hood, he turned his face to the sun, tearing off a bite.
“Are you going to hide behind that tree all day?” he called. “Again?”
I froze.
Cavendish tossed his apple from palm to palm. “You can if you want, but my neighbors are itching to see a Ruckuser in handcuffs. I bet they’re calling to report a suspicious person sniffing around the Johnsons’ house right now.”
My nails dug into the bark, driving splinters through my nail bed. Cavendish knew I was here. He knew the whole time.
“Come on.” The soft purr made my hairs stand on end. “You’ve been waiting a long time for this chat. Don’t get shy now.”
I wasn’t ducked behind a tree. I was bare. Exposed. Pinned through the hands and feet, lying naked under a microscope. He’s seen everything. Maybe even the moment I figured it out.
“Come.”
Rising up, I stepped out from the maple and crossed the street.
Cavendish watched me come, smile widening with every step. I stopped just out of arm’s reach, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. Time had made me a liar. The look in Cairo’s eyes. I’ve seen it twice.
“Nice bra,” Scott said. His grin dimpled his smooth cheek. “Did you wear it for me?”
I fisted my jeans, though I longed to clap my hands over my wet shirt. He wanted to unsettle me. A goal he’s succeeded in for weeks. Today I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of scenting my fear.
“You’re not going to deny it,” I rasped.
The apple crunched between his teeth. “Deny what exactly?”
“You know why I’m here, so say it. Admit it.”
“I won’t make it that easy for you, sweet Rain-ey.”
I bristled. My name next to those masticated apple bits churned my stomach. As vile as the way he pronounced it, drawing it out like a joke.
“You tell me why you’re here. Maybe I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
I took a step back. Cavendish didn’t make a move toward me, or look like he wanted to. Still, my instincts screamed not to get close.
“Does the kookaburra laugh or does it scream? Does the mighty kingfisher cry or does it dream? Where are you, kookaburra? Tell me, oh, tell me, why is nothing as it seems?” I recited, watching those shark eyes for a hint of something.
“Cute poem. Got a bit lazy with the rhyme though.” Cavendish shifted and I shot away. His chuckle burned my cheeks.
“Critiquing yourself?” I snapped. “You had the time you were stalking and watching me to come up with something better in your first note.”
He said nothing. He wouldn’t. Cavendish was waiting for me to tell him why we were here, and after weeks of dying to rage in his face, I was more than happy to.
“You’re a murderer.” The words scraped my throat raw. “A killer. A psychopath! You tortured me for weeks, but it’s over now, you twisted fuck!”
Cavendish kept eating that damn apple. “Me? A murderer? What gave you that idea?”
“I finally figured it out. I was taking your clues too literally. Running to zoos and sanctuaries when you said it. Nothing is as it seems.”
He smiled at me like a dog who performed a cute trick. “One of life’s truths.”
“You killed Douglas Herbert. That’s another one.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. I remembered something my sister said. A while back, she told me about a guy she went to school with. Douglas,” I began. “She couldn’t stand that jackass. No one could. Douglas is remembered so fondly now, but when he was alive, he tortured people with his vicious pranks. Funny to him and his friends, but not to anyone else. The laughing jackass, otherwise known as a kookaburra.”
He hummed, bobbing his head. “Clever wordplay. Subtle.”
“That night, Douglas ran off the road. The traffic report doesn’t say why because they don’t know. It wasn’t raining. There was nothing wrong with his car. They figure something must’ve run out in front of him and he swerved to avoid it. Was that something you?” I asked. “Did you plan it, or did you just thank your good luck in the hospital room while you stood over his unconscious body?”
Keeping one eye fixed on him, I drew out my phone. The news articles shone on the screen. “‘There was nothing I could do,’ says Scott Cavendish, friend of Mr. Herbert. ‘All of a sudden the machines went off and nurses were rushing into the room. At least he wasn’t alone when he died. I held his hand and said goodbye.’
“Very touching,” I said. “You could almost believe you cared.”
Cavendish folded his arms, bending one leg on the tire. “Douglas was one of my best friends. Why would I do something so horrible?”
No shock. No horror. He truly wanted me to answer the question. Why did he do it?
“I’ll tell you why,” I went on. “Once I realized this was all about Douglas Herbert, I dug into his life and time before his death. A couple weeks before, Douglas hazed a freshman in a little joke that went wrong. Survive ten minutes of waterboarding and you’re in the fraternity.
“The brothers were laughing and joking it up until the kid stopped struggling. He asphyxiated, and it was someone’s quick thinking that saved his life. The incident scared sense into Douglas. He nearly killed some poor kid and flushed his future down the drain. After that, he went on a mission to make amends.
“He apologized to everyone he hurt, started volunteering in the soup kitchen, and confessed to the crimes he and his friends got away with. Nathan Wade—now expelled—drove the dean’s car in the lake. Sam Dillion—left town—called in a bomb threat to the school, and when they evacuated, he drove by firing blanks, causing a stampede that put two girls in the hospital. Herbert gave everyone’s secrets away, Cavendish, except yours. He conveniently died, alone in a room with you, before your secrets left his lips. Does the kookaburra laugh or does it dream? He does neither thanks to you.”
“Wow,” he drew out. “Such a dastardly plan. Sounds like I got away with it scot-free too. Begs the question, why would I drag all this up two years later? Give you a clue to find and stop me? That’s a pretty stupid thing to do, and from what you’re saying, I’m not a stupid guy.”
“You dragged this up because you got away with it. The motive, the means, the opportunity, it was all there staring everyone in the face, but no one suspected you. You four always had an audience for your cruelty—people to witness what you did even if they couldn’t prove it was you. You want someone to acknowledge how wickedly clever you are. And now that you’ve got a taste for killing, you need an audience this time around.
“This is just a game to you, Cavendish. Another prank. That’s why that disgusting smile is on your face.”
Cavendish clapped. Slow at first, then faster as his laughter rang through the street. “Good, Rainey. Very good. You scared me cutting it this close. I was afraid you weren’t what I thought you were.” He shook his head. “You never cease to impress.”
“You don’t know me!”
He pouted. “After all the time we’ve spent together these last several weeks, how can you say that?”
I advanced and slammed against the invisible barrier made of common sense. “I’m not playing, you miserable fucker. Why did you get me involved? Why me?!”
“Ah. So, this is the part where I deliver my evil villain monologue. Thanks for giving me so much time to prepare.” Cavendish straightened and cleared his throat. “I did run out in front of his car that night. Douglas was going out on that camping trip to clear his head. Work up the courage to betray his best friend since kindergarten.” The first trace of temper colored his voice.
“Douglas found out something about me that he shouldn’t have. He was cool to keep it to himself when he understood loyalty, then that stupid kid almost drowned. Douglas gave me till he got back from his trip to confess myself. Make things right and accept the consequences. It’s the only way I’d be free. The sanctimonious bastard,” he spat. “I knew the route he’d take, so I went up first. Waited for his car to drive down and jumped out in front of him. That was supposed to be the end of it, but would you believe it, he survived two days in that broken-down heap.”
Cavendish tossed the apple over his shoulder. “I panicked when I found out. Had to rush to the hospital to make sure he didn’t get a chance to tell anyone who shone in his headlights. A syringe, air bubble in the IV, boohoo to the doctors, and it was over... until you. Because that’s what you have so wrong, Rain-ey.”
He moved closer, making me trip over myself backing up. “I didn’t get bored. We’re not here because I need the thrill of almost getting caught. This is, and has always been, about you.”
“You don’t know me,” I forced through clenched teeth.
“So you keep saying.” His eyes narrowed. “As always, focused on the wrong thing and letting it take you away from the path. I never wanted any of this to come back up. Douglas fucking Herbert is dead and buried. Let him rot, and I hope that clean conscience serves him well in the afterlife.”
“If you didn’t want this, why are we here?!” Frustration made me scream. Anger made me rip a shoe off and fling it at his head. It struck his forehead, breaking the skin, and leaving a streak of blood and no satisfaction. I wanted to punch his smirk in. Tear out his hair. Break his fingers. I wanted to stomp his crotch and cave his skull. I wanted to ki—
I gasped, staggering farther back as I cut the thought off at the knees. What was wrong with me? What was he doing to me? I was so angry, scared, and helpless, I felt capable of anything.
“Oh,” he whispered. “Now she gets mad.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” I ripped off the other shoe. Just to hold something. To know I could hurt him again if I wished. “Why? I answered your questions, you answer mine. What do you want with me?”
“It’s always been about you. Even before I knew you.” Cavendish paid no mind to the blood streaking down his nose. “I had to give you a reason. The catalyst to push you over the edge, and the proof that I will carry out my word. Revealing what I did to Douglas was a sacrifice. Ugh!” he bellowed, throwing up his hands.
I jumped, heart slamming into my throat.
“People don’t understand sacrifice. They’re not willing to do whatever needs to be done, no matter the cost to them. Weak. Pathetic! But not me, and soon, not you.” Cavendish raised his hand. It took me a terrible moment to realize he wanted me to hold it. “I’ve given away my deepest secret to erase any doubt that I’ve killed before and I’ll do it again,” he said. “Unless you stop me.”
“Stop you? You mean kill you.”
“Yes.”
“You’re insane,” I rasped. “You want to die?”
“I do not, but this isn’t about what I want.” He moved forward, hand outstretched. “This has always been about you. You are ten times the sanctimonious bastard than Douglas Herbert could ever be. You think you’re above us—hiding out with your chickens and leaving the silly townspeople to their silly games. Your ancestors ran out on the fight and your coward ass did too.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“I’m talking about you, me, and Jennifer Wilson. You can’t run away this time. She dies tonight unless you break free of that goody-two-boots, farm-girl act and do what has to be done.”
“None of this has to be done. You don’t have to hurt anyone, Cavendish. You said you don’t want to die, so let’s end this.” I dropped my voice. There was no other word for what I was doing than pleading. “Your job, your family, your girlfriend. Remember what you killed your best friend to protect. It can all be there waiting for you tomorrow morning. No one has to die tonight.”
My speech stirred nothing in his eyes. “Tonight’s as good a night as any other. To die is my birthright, de Souza.” And then he was there, fingers caressing my cheek almost lovingly. “But to die ripping out a piece of your soul, that is my honor.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Then, Jennifer won’t make it back to her job, family, or girlfriend tomorrow morning. I’ll get to see how long you can live with that, before you blow your fucking brains out.”
Teeth bared, I slapped his hand away. “You’re not hearing me. No one is going to die tonight. You confessed to killing Douglas and targeting Jennifer. I have more than enough to take to the sheriff.”
“Go on, then. Send him speeding out here to arrest me.”
I yanked out my phone to do just that, putting distance between us in case he made a grab for it.
“Although,” he said. “You may have trouble getting through. Ruckus Royale’s already started for half the town, so the station’s getting flooded with calls. How long are you going to listen to a busy signal before you get a hold of someone?” Cavendish flashed that grin. “I’m sure you’re not expecting me to stick around until you do.”
I shrugged. “Fine. Go on the run.” I spoke with bravado I didn’t feel. “The cops will know you’re after her. They’ll protect her until they eventually catch up to you. At least Jennifer will be safe.”
His grin widened—a nasty, terrible twist of his handsome face, and I knew before he spoke. “Will she?”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing other than what I promised to do. I’ve had months to plan this. Don’t you think I worked in a few fail-safes in case you caught me before time? And you did,” he said. “When I noticed you lurking around my house, I went with plan B.”
“What’s plan B? What did you do to her?!” My phone rang in my ear. And rang. And rang. And rang.
“What did you do, Rainey? Why did you take so long? Why’d you waste so much time?” He shook his head, reeking with disappointment. “She’d be safe at home getting ready for Ruckus right now if you had killed me sooner.”
“Stop,” I shouted. “Stop pretending this is my fault when you’re the psychotic piece of garbage threatening her. You won’t make me responsible for what you do.”
“You are responsible!” The bellow blew me back. Rage bulged his eyes and dots of spittle sprinkled my shoe. “You did this. We are here because of you!”
“How?” The dial tone was louder than my whisper. “Why?”
“If you want to play the innocent, then go. Run to the station, report me, and wash your hands of the whole thing. It’s what Great-great-grandma de Souza would have done,” Cavendish said, lips curled. “Keep the family tradition going.”
“My family has nothing to do with this. I have no idea why you think you know me, but you’re going to start making some sense. Why did you pick me? Why is it your honor to force me to take your life?”
His gaze drifted over my shoulder. “Interesting. Are they your backup plan?”
“What? My backup plan?” I turned around and screamed.
Cairo and Jacques leaped out of the truck bed, hitting the ground as Roan squealed to a stop, Arsenio and Legend riding passenger beside him.
“This is a treat,” Cairo said. “Couldn’t wait till tonight, could you, Rain?”
“What are you—?”
“Get her,” Jacques barked. “We’re taking them both.”
“We don’t have enough,” Roan said.
“She’s not a sacrifice.” The look on Jacques’s face answered the question. It wasn’t irony. “She’s mine.”
He was going to kill me.
Jacques and Cairo charged.
“Wait!”
A streak cut across my vision. Cavendish threw himself in their path. They slammed into him with an audible sound of bone crunching bone and went down in a heap. I turned tail and ran.
“Get after her!”
“This changes nothing,” Cavendish bellowed after me. “Make your choice, de Souza. Make your choice!”
I ran. Arms swinging, feet pounding, blood pumping loud in my ears, and not loud enough to block them out.
“This one’s tasty.”
“Look at her ass when she runs.”
I bolted around the house and faced the six-feet-high wooden fence. Leaping, I seized the posts, heaving myself up. Hands grabbed my ankles.
“Get off!”
They ripped me down, tearing me free of the fence and leaving bits of my skin behind. My feet secure, my face rushed to meet the lawn. Pain exploded in my head.
The world went black.