Page 109 of Speechless
“Murderer? Fuck that, I’m the exterminator, bro. Taking out the vermin one rat at a time.” Cain’s attention switched back to the outside world, then his hand shot up in the air. “Wait! Wait!”
Connor hit the brake and sent the truck skidding sideways, wrestling it to a stop as the wheels struggled for purchase. “What the fuck, Cain?”
But Cain was already leaning into the backseat, snatching up the torches and tossing one to Connor before he barreled out of the truck. Connor left the engine running and whistled for Luna, hustling through the drifts after his brother as the flashlight beam switched on and cleaved through the darkness.
It was bloody eerie out here. The road ran through a thick section of woodland, heavy with snow-laden trees and gloomy shadows that set the hairs on the back of Connor’s neck on end. “What the hell did you see, Cain?”
“It’s around here somewhere!”
Cain was clambering onto the side of the road, torch swinging slowly from left to right. Connor wandered along the road, doing the same with his own flashlight and wondering what he was looking for.
Luna darted past him, nose lifted and sniffing, then bounded along the banking about twenty feet behind Cain. She let out a yowling whine, then plunked her butt down in the snow and signaled her find.
Both men charged down the road after her, plunging through drifts that came up nearly to their waists in places. A weird chunk of blue fabric, almost black in the torchlight, twisted haphazardly out of the snow.
Connor’s chest went rigid as he recognized the fabric, and he grabbed it with a shaking hand. He knew what it was before he fought to rip the distorted material from the snow—so did Luna by the way she smelled it all over and wagged her tail.
“He brought her this way,” Connor said darkly and fisted the solid material. “She won’t be far.”
“What is it?” Cain asked, running his beam over the long stretch of fabric. “Jesus, Connor. Fucking Jesus, is that—”
“My bathrobe. Jenna was wearing it this morning when Hadley arrived.” Fuck, had it only been this morning when the nightmare spilled its greasy guts over their lives? “Hadley took her while she was wearing this. It was all she had on.”
Cain’s face was a mask of horror. “But if that’s here and she’s not…fuck, bro, she’ll freeze to death. Naked in these temps? Her life expectancy is nil.”
Something stirred on the night air. An engine, Connor realized as his head cocked. He stroked Luna’s head as a reward, listening carefully. It was definitely an engine, but not his. This one had just started, was struggling to turn over with the cold if the way the motor was grinding was any indication.
His gaze searched the woods in front of him. “You know of any properties around here, Cain? Anyone who lives around here?”
“No, it’s all woodland as far as I know. Some of it is privately owned by some mega-rich townie, but from what I’ve heard he keeps it as a tax break. There’s no house, no electric, no running water. Just several hundred acres of trees.”
The engine caught, revved to life, and Connor saw Cain’s ears perk up. “I think there’s more than just fucking trees,” he said suspiciously. “It’s a fair distance into the woods, but somebody’s doing something in there.”
“Well then, let’s go wait and see who comes out.”
“No, we need to get back to the truck, shut it down. If he comes out, I don’t want him to see us if we can help it. We go on foot. My priority is Jenna, down the line. Sire’s a big, fat bonus if we get the chance.”
Cain grinned. “Open season, motherfucker.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jenna desperately wanted to go back to the shed.
The shed was cold and numbed her flesh so she couldn’t feel the majority of her injuries. Here, in the warmth, her skin felt stretched to splitting and throbbed viciously in time with the slow, stuttering beat of her heart.
She tried her best to curl into the least agonizing position she could manage in the rigid dog bed Sire had thrown her into, but her torso wanted no part of it. Sticky with sweat and blood, she panted through the pain as Sire sprawled regally on the couch in front of the roaring log fire with a glass in one hand and the TV remote in the other.
She listened to the channels flick over from one show to the next.
Her mouth couldn’t produce any moisture. Her hands…she wanted to cry at the condition her hands were in and couldn’t. Every drop of fluid in her body leaked from her pores. Her eyes slid back to her swollen hands, more than twice the size they should be and so discolored she didn’t recognize them as hers.
Ligature wounds from the wires cut deep, and on her left arm, the swelling travelled down toward her elbow. She didn’t know if it was part of having an untreated broken arm, but it didn’t look good.
Who was she kidding?Nothingabout her looked good.
Her eyes ticked around the room, a room she’d spent two years on her hands and knees cleaning, until she found the clock on the wall. Her heart sank.
Ten-thirty p.m.