A quick glance out the window tells me I won’t have to wait too long, so I don’t argue.
He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer as the news flickers to life on the screen. If everything goes to plan, we will have taken out everyone who played a part in Ken’s abduction—his torture…and mine—tonight. Maybe not all of them—who knows how many people were involved during my life? Or how many more girls are out there, suffering the same way? Afraid and alone, wondering if there will be a day when it’s not like that. If there will be a day when they feel the warmth of the sun on their faces and have no chill creeping down their spine when someone calls their name.
I snuggle into Ken’s chest, ignoring the blabbering anchor.
“What’s wrong?” Ken asks, kissing the top of my head. He can be so gentle at times. It reminds me I’m not the warrior he is, but I won’t tell him that. He says I’m just as strong as him, if not more, but he can’t be right.
If I was stronger, I wouldn’t walk away from the rest of the girls out there. I would make plans to find them. I would save them. I would avenge them.
“Nothing,” I lie, not wanting to have this conversation yet. He could walk away from me, from everyone, and facing that right now is too hard. So, like the coward I am, I stay away from it.
George Romero lives in the swankiest town I’ve ever seen. I grew up in a good, safe neighborhood…well, as far as appearances went. But this area…they have spared no expense for the safety of their citizens.
We didn’t risk going through the front gates of the community, finding a spot down the street where we could see the cars coming and going. The deputy mayor is at home right now. Probably snuggled up with a brandy and a cigar. Searching the web for something depraved and sick to get his cock hard.
“There’s his car.” Ken turns down the radio and leans forward over the wheel of the truck.
“That’s a girl driving,” I say, squinting to see better.
“Fuck.” Ken throws the truck into gear and rolls out onto the street.
“What is it?” I ask after we’ve passed the gates.
“His fucking daughter is driving him.” He rakes a hand through his hair. This is a problem. I do not want her hurt. She’s an innocent, and I won’t be part of that.
“Do we turn back then?” I don’t want to wait any longer, but we might not have a chance tonight.
“No.” He turns at the next intersection, following three cars behind the black Lincoln. “We’ll see where she’s taking him. Maybe she’s just dropping him somewhere.”
That could make things easier for us. I pick up the hem of my dress and play with the lace edging.
“You sure you don’t want to change?” Ken asks when he notices my fidgeting. It’s the dress from the playroom. The one I had to wear for them, to give me the little girl appearance they wanted so badly. I’ve even braided my hair into two braids—just like Dragonmate liked. I didn’t have ribbon for the ends, but he’ll have to forgive me.
“No. Not yet.” I flatten my hand down over the skirt, smoothing it against my thighs. It’s wrinkled, and blood stains the bodice, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate the effort.
“Where the hell is she taking him?” Ken grips the steering wheel tighter as we leave the high-end neighborhood. The boutiques and cuisine restaurants have turned into discount stores, pawn shops, fast food places.
“Maybe he’s meeting his mistress.” I roll my eyes.
“He wouldn’t have his daughter take him for that,” he dismisses, focusing on keeping up with them without getting noticed.
The Lincoln turns into a narrow alley.
“Shit.” Ken stops the truck. If we go down the alley, they’ll absolutely see us.
“We can’t lose them,” I urge him.
He pushes out a breath. “I know.” He flicks off the headlights and turns the truck into the alley. Brake lights on the Lincoln give away their position. Halfway down the alley. The red lights turn off as we get closer. The driver side door opens, then slams shut. A girl, not much bigger than me, rounds the front of the car and yanks open the passenger door.
A stocky man, round and tall, climbs out of the car, using the door as leverage.
“Shit. Shit.” Ken takes his foot off the gas and pulls the truck to the side, parking us against a garage door, behind a thick wood utility pole. We aren’t exactly hidden, but no longer in plain sight either. And I have a good vantage point to watch them.
The car door shuts, and he follows the girl to the side of the garage.
“Did they go inside the garage or up to the house?” I ask, having lost them behind the other garages.
“I don’t know. Let’s go, but keep quiet. Don’t make a move until I say, okay?”
“I won’t. Promise.” I squeeze his hand.
We climb out of the truck, easing the doors closed so we don’t alert anyone to our presence. I follow behind Ken, my knife firmly planted in my hand and his gun in his grip. The crisp night air nips at my skin as we move through the alley.
There’s no one beside the garage. Ken glances back at me quickly, then motions for me to follow close behind him. There’s a small garden between the garage and the walkway. Greenery sticks up from the dirt, a sign spring will quickly turn into summer.
“They’re in the house.” Ken’s voice comes out in a hiss.
Lush grass grows between the garage and the house. Someone keeps it up nice, waters it, cuts it. Whoever tends to it won’t let it die. A light flickers to life inside the house, casting a yellow glow on the back patio. A figure walks past the window, throwing a shadow just in front of Ken.
It’s the girl, her hair pulled into a high ponytail.
“Should we knock?” I grip the back of Ken’s shirt, fighting back a giggle.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this moment. There’s nothing but the unknown stretched out in front of us. My insides are trembling, but it’s not from fear. I can sense victory. We are going to finally battle the last demon.
And we are going to win.
“We’re going to storm the door. I have no idea how many people are inside, but we’ll have surprise on our side.” Ken’s eyes shimmer beneath the soft lighting from the house. He’s as eager to fulfill our goal as I am.
I adjust my grip on my knife, the weight of it keeping me grounded as we make our way up the short steps to the door.
The girl passes by the window again. Just as she disappears from my line of site, Ken kicks in the door. His gun drawn and ready, he rushes inside.
The girl screams, spinning around to face us. Her eyes widen when she looks at me, then soften when her gaze passes over Ken. Recognition burns bright.
“Brian,” she says his name delicately, like her lips are cradling it.
My jaw tenses.
“Ella.” His voice isn’t as tender when he says her name, but it still taints the moment. “Where’s your dad? Are you all right? What are you doing here?” He fires off questions, full of concern and care for this girl.
But there’s something manic about her. The way little strands of hair are flying about her head, or it could be she’s dressed all in black from her toes to the top of her head. She blends into the night.