Page 8 of Property of Fang
My pulse quickens. “Don’t stress yourself while you’ve got a headache. I’m sure it’ll all make sense soon.”
“Will it?” Darla asks. “Because I’ve been doing the same, and all I can come up with is that Mary-Beth did a good fucking job of making enemies out of all of us.”
“Who says anyone else was to blame?” I offer, testing the water. “Like I told fuckface upstairs, she could have done it accidentally in her delirium.”
Darla lifts an eyebrow while Nandi cracks an eye open a fraction.
No takers, then.“I’m more concerned about The Kid and Eleanor,” I redirect. “We can’t change what happened to Mary-Beth. But shouldn’t we do something to help them?”
“Like what?” Nandi murmurs. “Got any bright ideas, sparky?”
“Do you?”
Darla snorts.
Fuck it all.The more time that passes since shit went south with Mary-Beth, the bigger the web of lies I’m forced to weave. Idrop back on my haunches and scrub both hands over my face. I’d kill for a cigarette about now—something to take the edge off.
This isn’t how things were supposed to go.
But I guess life really isn’t like the movies. There’s no conveniently unlocked door. No loose brick in the wall that leads to freedom. No plot twist that turns the captive sympathetic. And absolutely no reason for the assholes upstairs to have a come-to-Jesus moment.
Fuck!I slam both palms to the dirty floor at my sides and crane my neck back to stare up at the ceiling. “Hey!”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Darla hisses, grabbing for me.
I scurry sideways out of reach and yell again. “You up there! Where the fuck is The Kid? What have you done to Eleanor?”
“Shut up,” Darla hisses. “Are you trying to get usallkilled?”
“What is she doing?” Mila murmurs, panicked eyes moving to Kathy.
The redhead abandons the mutilation of her cuticles and draws her knees up, glancing to the ceiling.
“Why can’t I hear anything?” I yell, frustration tightening my hands to fists.
“Fuck,” Darla whispers, hustling across the floor on her knees. “What the hell has gotten into you?” She attempts to clamp her hand over my mouth, but I dodge.
“Don’t you want to know?” I whisper-hiss at her. “They’ve been gone for ages, and neither of them has made a fucking sound. What if they’re dead now, too?”
“Then yelling won’t do anything but ensure you get a place beside them,” Nandi snipes.
“I’m nervous,” Mila whines.Is she ever anything but?The woman scratches at the scabs on her arms.
Darla opens her mouth to say something, yet freezes when Eleanor’s voice cuts through the timber overhead. “We’re fine.”
Sure. And they don’t have a gun to her head while she says that.
“Prove it,” I holler back.
There’s a murmur or two followed by heavy footsteps and the scratch of something dragging. The front door clicks open, this time the slam of feet on the grass audible as they approach the cellar.
“Now you’ve fucking done it,” Nandi murmurs, resting her head back again.
I shrug, earning a scowl from Darla.
The bolt slides free.
We all freeze, attention on the door as it opens swiftly and The Kid comes tumbling through the gap. She barely makes a grunt when she hits the floor, shoulder first.
