Page 50 of Ready Or Not

“Riley, enough.”

“No, Manson.” Her voice gets angry. “You told me to prove myself. So I’m doing it.”

“Offer is off the table.” I keep Bluetooth on, throw my phone in my pocket, and fly down the road, doing a hundred to get to the last place she was seen. “I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“Already have. That threat won’t work anymore, Manson. I’m going to find a new target, and you’re gonna stay out of my way. Got it?”

“No, don’t you—” the line goes dead.

“Fuck.” She could be anywhere by now. There’s no way she’s still at the station.

I check anyway.

Nothing.

Despite my rage, there’s a flicker of amusement. I’m done running around the town. I have to strategize. Research. Find out everything I can about Rachel and everything I don’t know about my wife so I can take her down once and for all. And by down, I mean under my thumb and out of trouble. When I find her, I’m never letting her out of my sight.

24

Grave Half Empty - Diggy Graves

The time Riley’s gone is some of the longest of my life. She’s gagged and cuffed me, and the only comfortable spot I can find is lying on my side on the floor with my hands twisted behind me.

As I lay on the ground, smelling the old carpet, I realize that Riley is starting to make a whole lot more sense. She feels nothing, and anything she does seem like she’s feeling is fake.

I try to shift to a more comfortable position, and the smell of feet hits me so hard that I almost gag. As much as it terrifies me to be with a sociopath, there’s no more guessing here. Everything Riley does is driven by intellect or impulse, not emotion. Which means things have just become a million times simpler. It takes the guesswork out for me.

Riley wants to get back at Manson and win whatever competition they have going on. Somehow, I became a part of that, so I just have to figure out hownotto become a part of it.

Time drags by painfully slowly. When I hear the rumble of the bike, I shudder in relief, and it’s quickly followed by a hollowfeeling in my stomach. Was I actually excited to see her again? Do I have a self-preserving bone in my body?

When Riley breezes through the door, she releases me from my spot and then tells me to get ready and that we’re going out. She brings out a change of clothes for me and herself, and relief rushes through me. Honestly, anything other than being trapped in that tiny room.

We mount up on Riley’s bike, and she takes off again. I wrap my arms around her, ignoring the electricity I feel at our touch and reveling in the speed. The freedom.

I expect Riley to stop at another house, but we don’t. We pull into a small cemetery off the side of a country road. The lead-up is dirt, and Riley slowly rolls to a stop.

Getting off the bike, I pull my helmet off before she can help. “Where are we?”

Riley just grabs a bag out of the saddlebags and walks up to the cemetery. It’s fenced with pretty white wood, not dilapidated and falling apart like most of them. Which means that whoever owns this has money.

Riley walks to a fancy marble headstone and then stares down at it.

I follow slowly.

Pam Kennedy. The date of death reads a few years ago. We stand there, with the fall sun beating down on us and the long grass swishing around the outside of the cemetery.

“Who is this?” I ask.

“My mom.” Riley starts unbuttoning her pants.

“What are you–” I step back as Riley drops the bag, yanks her pants down, squats over the grave, and starts pissing on it.

I stare in shock. It’s silent, except for the sound of pee on the hard ground. When Riley is done, she yanks her pants up and grabs the bag. She pulls a can of spray paint out, starts shaking it up, then pops the lid off and starts spraying the headstone. Istand back until she’s done. She painted the word “whore” in red over the white marble.

I swallow.

“Rot in hell, Mom.”