A few minutes later, something more fitting comes into view. We park behind a small copse of pine trees—just far enough to keep in sight without being spotted.
It’s a three-story house.
It’s remote as fuck.
If there’d been more than one of its type in this area, we’d have to have searched them all…but there isn’t. The only other houses are a few one-level ranch-style lots, most of them closer to the road.
Despite what Cass demanded, we didn’t come with an arsenal. We all have Kevlar vests on under our shirts, but only Zach and Cass are carrying.
I never handle guns, and this is no exception.
Apollo also declined. I have a hunting knife on me, Apollo a switchblade. But we’re only supposed to be backup for Cass and Zach, and we’re merely going in to scope the place and see if this is where Trinity is being held.
“You sure you want to go in there unarmed?” Cass asks, twisting in his seat and grabbing the headrest. “I mean, you could just wave it around. It doesn’t even have to be loaded.”
I shake my head.
The last time I touched a gun, I almost killed two innocent girls, and traumatized an entire family.
If I’d had a sliver of doubt left that I wasn’t a normal kid, that day changed everything.
It was a Saturday. Pissing with rain. My foster parents had a lunch date with friends, and their four daughters had decided to stay at home and watch sitcom reruns instead of going with.
I don’t know who bought the bottle of booze, but it was almost empty by the time I walked past and saw them passing it around. I wasn’t going to rat them out—I was just going to take it away. Our parents had made it pretty fucking clear how they felt about underage drinking. I mean, the youngest was thirteen. No one that young should be drinking anyway.
But when I tried to take it away, they ganged up on me. Thought it was a game. They were drunk, and I guess they’d been eyeing me for the past few weeks, because they tried to get me to kiss them.
They even started taking their shirts off.
A normal kid my age would have gone with it. But they were my sisters, and it was wrong, and the harder I resisted, the more intent they became.
My brothers think I’m a pussy because I never hit on any of them. I can’t even imagine what they’d say if I told them the truth about what happened that day.
Because it wasn’t just kissing.
They tried to get my pants off. And that shit triggered me worse than anything I’d experienced since we’d escaped the basement.
I snapped.
Lisa was the youngest.
She was so beautiful. Long blond hair, bright blue eyes.
I was just trying to keep her back, all of them. I shoved her too hard, and she took a tumble.
Ha. Took a tumble.
She slammed into a glass coffee table, face first. She almost lost an eye. I didn’t see her again after that, but I have no doubt the accident disfigured her.
So much blood.
And then the screaming began.
I had to keep them quiet.
I know what happens when kids scream. Adults don’t like it.
Kids are meant to be seen, not heard.
I grabbed two of them, put my hands over their mouths. The third was unconscious on the floor. I don’t even know how that had happened. If I’d done something.
Still don’t.
And that’s how they found us. My foster parents.
Me with an undone fly, their daughters half-unclothed, and I’m holding two of them tight so they can’t scream anymore.
Blood.
Limp bodies.
The mother passed out.
Henry—my foster dad—was holding a gun. At first, I thought they’d just arrived. I couldn’t understand why he’d carry a gun around with him.
But later, when the red haze receded and memories came flooding back, I realized they’d been there long enough to see what was happening and then Henry went to get his gun.
Because I was lost.
Out of my own body.
I didn’t hear them begging with me to let their daughters go.
I just saw the gun. And then I tackled Henry to the ground. I pressed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, but thank fuck the safety was on so nothing happened.
And I kept pulling that trigger until the police came and arrested me.
Zachary got everything sorted out, of course. Since no one actually died, and he’d offered to pay for Lisa’s plastic surgery—and then some—the charges were eventually dropped.
“I’m sure,” I tell Cass.
“Looks empty anyway,” Apollo says. “Maybe we’re too late.”
We sit in silence for a moment, and then all flinch at the faint pop of gunfire.
“Shooting range,” Zach says.
Me, Cass, and Apollo nod.
And as if that’s the signal, we file out of the car and head for the house.
“Is that…” Cass points.
I nod my head. “A grave.”
“Is there a…”
“We’ll have to check later,” I tell him. “Keep moving.”
We’re at the back of the property, headed for the patio doors. It’s the first set of doors we found, and one of the sliding glass panels is standing open.
It’s too quiet.
Surely there would be something. Voices, a radio playing, a television set. Unless, like Apollo said, we’re too late.
Or this is a dead end.
Who’s to say they even own this property anymore?
But the neatly dug grave out back gives me a shred of hope. We’re too far away to see if it’s empty or not, but there’ll be plenty of time for that once we’ve gone through the house.
I hear a faint noise. Cass holds up a hand. We stop to listen, but hear nothing.
Could have been Zach and Apollo, going through the front.
But then I hear it again.
It’s faint, but it’s undeniably a gunshot. Me and Cass frown at each other, but we don’t dare say anything.
“Shooting range,” Cass murmurs.
I nod.
We keep moving.
Through an entertainment area. Down a hall. I see a shape, and tap Cass on the shoulder, pointing.
It resolves into Zachary, stalking down the other side of the passage like a cop in an action movie. We glance at each other, and then he nods and looks up.
Downstairs cleared.
Cass and I are closest, so we go up the stairs first. As soon as we turn to head down the hall, I hear a sound again.
A panicked sob. A choked breath. Fabric and clothes rustling urgently.
My heart’s in my fucking throat, but Cass puts up his hand like he knows all I want to do is bolt forward.
I guess he also recognized the voice making those sounds.
Trinity.
Chapter Forty-Two
Trinity
The pain is so intense, I can’t even scream. It’s as if the bullet knocked every atom of air from my lungs. I drag in a horrible groaning gasp and slide to the floor.
I reach up, but I can’t bear to touch the hole in my chest. Instead, my fingers shake in the air a few inches away.
Somehow, through the violent buzzing in my ears, I hear Nick chuckle.
Then I’m flying up, the pain intensifying as Nick twists the grip he has on the front of my blood-stained dress. “Hurts, don’t it?” he says. “Should be thanking me on your hands and fucking knees, Missy, ’cos now you won’t feel anything else.”