“Oh, no, little peacemaker.”
I recoil as he reaches for me, curls his knuckles, strokes his fingers down my temple, my cheek—and reignites the hot pain where he touches my frost burned skin.
“I’m going to burn everybody in Heart’s Edge alive. Right down to ashes,” he purrs with a deep, hideous pleasure darkening his voice. “And then they’ll know exactly how it felt when my mother died, charred and choking on her own charcoal-blackened lungs. And he’ll be right in the middle of it. My father and all his little friends...and so will you.”
It takes everything I have not to shake. I don’t understand his logic, his reasoning.
Much later, I realize there isn’t any.
He taps his fingertips almost playfully to my nose. “Sorry for this. You’re not from this fucked up little town. But you chose your side, Peace, and you looked at me just like them. Like I was nothing. Like I was just this hollowed out puppy. It’s time for me and Jenna to leave this place behind. In our dust, where you all belong.”
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap, and also crap.
“What are you going to do? I don’t understand,” I whisper.
I’m not expecting him to tell me. Not really.
I’m just trying to stall him for a little while longer.
Especially when I see movement.
We’re in some kind of tent, I realize, and there’s a frosted plastic window stitched into the fabric. Over Justin’s shoulder, I catch a glimpse of someone.
Clark.
He’s looking inside, his face white with fear.
Oh, thank God.
Someone who knows we’re here.
Someone who can help.
But I’m dragged back to Justin as he lets out a short, barking laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he mocks, folding his arms over his chest, looking down at me with contempt. “You just do your job. Give Chief a little more incentive to come running for you. The fool loves you more than he loves his own son and daughter. That’s why I have to take her away. That’s why I have to take you away from them, too.”
“That’s not true,” I whisper. “You have no clue how much Blake loves Andrea. He’d die for her.”
“Maybe he will,” Justin snarls, giving me the most dead-eyed look yet.
I shake my head sharply, but past Justin, I’m watching Clark, hoping not to give him away. But he’s got to do something besides stand there.
“You’re wrong. You’ll never get Blake,” I spit back at Justin. “You hear me? You’ll never GET BLAKE.”
Please, I plead silently.
Please let Clark understand. Let him find Blake before it’s too late.
Justin has no intention of letting anyone get out of here alive.
He swings around, hefting a thick tank with a strap on it and a nozzle, and it takes me a second to figure it out.
It’s a flamethrower.
“Don’t worry,” he says, his nasty, cunning smile returning, making him look like a nightmare scarecrow come to life. “One way or another, I’m going to get everyone. Then Heart’s Edge will know how it feels to really burn.”
20
Percussion Shock (Blake)
Too many damn people.
That’s all I can think right now as I bolt out of my Jeep and through the gate, back on the carnival grounds.
There are too many people, hundreds, and fuck if calling ahead didn’t do a single thing to help.
I’d warned them.
Leo, Warren, Doc, even Langley.
I told them, while I barreled my way down the road toward the grounds at top speed, breaking every fucking speed limit in the county while I barked into my phone.
Justin’s crazy.
He’s obsessed.
He’s the arsonist.
And he’s out for revenge against the people he thinks failed to save his ma, Constance, and failed to save the girl he was obsessed with...
...and now that dumb kid is about to ruin his life.
It doesn’t matter who’s to blame right now.
We can talk guilt, unfortunate circumstances, and how somebody always gets hurt when evil companies like Galentron cause tragic hotel fires.
Later.
After I see my daughter and my woman alive in one piece. The fact that Andrea’s not picking up her phone and neither is Peace has me scared shitless.
Crazy or not, I have to fucking stop Justin from inflicting his pain on anyone else.
A whole lot more people, because apparently the townspeople aren’t listening when Warren and the others try to get them to leave.
Most folks don’t even hear the announcement.
They’re too caught up in their chatter and funnel cakes to cast more than odd glances at the crazy men waving their arms around everywhere and shouting.
I shove my way through the dazed, milling crowd, toward Leo, who’s closest, standing on the fence around a pen with thickly furred woolly sheep dressed up in cute costumes for kids to play with.
“Hey!” I bark, reaching up to snap my fingers for his attention. “Andrea! Where’s Andrea?”
Leo stops shouting and looks down at me, then growls and vaults off the fence in front of me. “No goddamn clue, man. I’ve turned this place inside out, and I can’t find her or Peace.”
I swear under my breath, pacing roughly left and right.
Fuck.
I need a plan.
Shame all my training and emergency response skills go right out the window when it’s my daughter and the woman I love possibly in danger.
I make myself stop, take a deep breath, press my fingers to my temples, and calm down. Just like the way Peace would. I can almost hear her soothing voice washing over me.
Wait.
That ain’t my imagination.
I hear Peace. Her voice echoes over the intercom system mounted to the power poles spaced around the area.
She’s singing.
This slow, intense, oddly distorted version of “Ring of Fire” I’m not sure what old Johnny would ever make of.
And it sounds like she’s never wanted to sing anything less in her life. The pain and fear in her voice make every word tremble. It’s ugly and unmistakably different from those soaring sweet notes from the heart I love so much.
Leo lifts his head, staring up at one of the mounted speakers. “What the hell is that?”
“Trouble,” I mutter. Just like that, people start clustering toward the middle of the carnival grounds, milling around and staring, whispering among themselves in curious tones. “And we’d better put an end to it now.”
That’s when I realize I’m hearing Peace’s voice twice.
Once over the intercom.
And echoing from the center of the carnival grounds.
Where people are streaming toward her, gasping out. Some seemingly delighted by what they’re seeing like it’s some kind of show, others crying out in concern.
I shove my way through the crowd, using my size to my advantage to part the sea of people.
Until I reach the front.
I stop, staring in horror.
Peace stands on the tall wooden stage that’s been erected for the silent auction later tonight.
She’s perched on a stool and surrounded by a literal ring of fire.
Some kind of accelerant must’ve been sprayed down on the wood and ignited. Now, it leaps up around her, and she’s trapped on all sides, no more than two feet of space in any direction from the stool where she huddles, strumming her guitar.