Page 57 of Cry Baby
“Fantastic.”
I snorted despite myself.
Fucking idiot.
The walk continued for another ten minutes before Jailbait stopped in front of an old Victorian mansion I’d driven past a hundred times without paying much attention to it.
The place looked abandoned from the road. Tall iron fencing surrounded the property, and vines crawled over the cracking stone foundations. Several windows in the vast space were dark, while others glowed faintly behind heavy-looking curtains.
Ryan looked up at the house and let out a low whistle. “Damn, are we gonna fuck here…?”
Jailbait didn’t answer.
Instead, he pushed the gate open, and the sound made my ears itch. It groaned on the rusted ass hinges, and then Caliger shuffled inside after him.
The gate fell shut behind them, and I cursed before moving across the street. “Son of a bitch.” I glanced back toward town and shook my head.
Ryan’s truck was still parked behind the bar, most likely, so unless Jailbait planned on carrying his drunk ass ten miles, they weren’t just stopping here on the way somewhere else.
Curiosity got the better of me, as it always did, and I crossed the empty street, reached the gate, and pushed it open just enough to slip through.
The hinges complained, and I bitched back at them to shut up.
“What was that?”
I froze.
But the voices faded away after no more sounds came.
I still didn’t chance it. My training told me to wait.
So, I did.
One.
Two.
Three.
Counting usually helped me center myself. My twin had always done that shit. And I had always helped him. But that was before…
No more footsteps sounded, and when it was finally just the wind moving through the trees, I forced my feet forward. Satisfied that I hadn’t been caught, I eased the gate shut behind me.
The yard was bigger than it looked from the road by a fuck ton. Grass brushed against my jeans, and I wondered again if this place was actually abandoned and Jailbait had just yanked Caliger in here to fuck and dash.
The stone paths disappeared beneath tall weeds, and I couldn’t find where they ended. An old fountain sat crooked in the middle of the lawn, dry enough to have collected leaves for years, and rusted with some red residue that looked like blood.
“This place is creepy as shit,” I muttered to myself.
Somewhere around the back of the house, Ryan laughed again.
I headed toward the sound.
One.
Two.
Three.
