Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Refuse, and I keep shooting these arrows till they’re either full of holes. Or, I get lucky with my aim, catch the rope, and it snaps—gifting them a cold, watery death. Because you broke the rules again, Rainey. You told the police about me even though I’ve warned you over and over again. I treat you as a friend, but you haven’t done the same for me. It’s time I stopped giving you chances. You won’t talk me out of the decision coming your way. But you can delay it by indulging me and dragging the conversation out as long as you can. So.”
Zoey leaned over me and sliced my binds just like that. She backed up and leveled my bow on the guys.
“What’s it going to be?”
Straightening, I gripped the railing—cold metal biting my skin.
There were two trucks on either end of the bridge, blocking the opening. One was Cairo’s, and the other I saw in the police station parking lot most mornings.
Davidson.
I pushed the name away, focusing solely on Zoey and the healthy stash of arrows in her quiver.
If I keep her talking long enough, I can delay until someone tries to drive across the bridge and sees what’s happening here.
“How do I know you won’t hurt them anyway? I kill myself and then you loose those ropes, collecting another twenty-five grand.”
“If there’s anything I honor, Angel, it’s a sacrifice.” She said that with a seriousness she hadn’t used before. “If you give your life for them, they will be spared.”
“Okay,” I said clearly. “You win. How did you go from that sweet kid smiling with her friends, to a killer?”
“Ah, now that’s an interesting story,” she mused, pointing my bow at Cairo, Arsenio, Cairo, then Arsenio. She laughed as they shouted at her.
“I met Scott while he was working the Youth Center, and he saw something in me. By then, the bullies were harassing me just because they could. It stopped being about my name a long way back.
“Scott took me under his wing. He told me about my legacy and that the people I came from didn’t take shit from anybody. Then, he taught me how to make anyone who hurt me scream.” She winked. “He was a good friend to me. To us. But the guy was paranoid and locked under too many rules. He would not have approved of the little deal I made with the Crows.
“Last year, I made one mistake and he came down on me. Hard. It was no small relief when he got that death wish and ordered you to kill him. Now I’m free to do what I want.”
Scott Cavendish was her mentor and supposed friend, and she cheered his fiery death. That answered the question of if sociopaths could make friends they gave a real care about.
No.
“Why do you think we know each other?” I asked. I took a step closer.
“That’s far enough.” Zoey swung the bow on me. “Hands on the ledge at all times. If you let go”—she flashed and loosed an arrow that struck Arsenio’s thigh—“so do I.”
“Arsenio!”
His muffled cries shred my heart in two.
“Stop it,” I screamed. “You said you wouldn’t if we talked.”
She shrugged. “I’m just demonstrating the consequences. I noticed that when I do, I never have to repeat myself.”
“You don’t.” I strangled the metal. “You don’t have to demonstrate. I’m listening to you. I’m giving you what you want.
“Hold on, Arsenio.” I poured my pleas and comfort into my gaze. “I’ll get you down from there.”
“Ugh. Enough about him. We’re in the middle of a conversation, bitch. Don’t be rude.”
You’re going to see who’s the fucking bitch when I’m done.
“How do we know each other?” I forced through gritted teeth.
“Oh, that’s easy.” She beamed. “We hooked up after your grandma got herself killed.”
I reeled back.
“Yeah. You were pretty messed up over it. Wanted revenge like no one I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Scott came to you through work. He did the farm’s accounts for free. A favor for your grandmother because she brought his mom free produce when she was laid up with cancer and couldn’t get out of bed.”
“Oh my gosh,” I breathed. “Gran was the connection. Not Walker Lewis. How did I not know this? Why didn’t I remember him?”
“You didn’t meet till after she was killed. Why would you? I don’t know who the fuck my parents’ accountant is.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Scott got close to you, and you started talking a lot of crazy, violent stuff. He sent you the letters first—checking to make sure you were receptive to the help he was willing to offer. When you didn’t go running to the police, he told you who he was, and that he’d gladly help you sacrifice Andrew Clein in the name of your grandmother.”
“No,” I cried. “No!”