The Last Housewife (89)

I squeezed my trembling fingers around the hilt. The last time I’d held a knife was in the kitchen; before that, one of Don’s old antiques, lifted gingerly from its velvet box.

“Put that down.” It was the Disciple, of course, stepping closer with a rope held taut between his hands. He, the Lieutenant, and the Marquis circled the Chief and me, their eyes bright with excitement, traveling from Dorsey’s splayed body to the quivering knife in my hands. Their gazes slid past Nicole like she was already invisible.

“She won’t hurt me,” the Chief said, though he remained tensed. His eyes met mine, those stubby lashes blinking quickly. “The podcast freak. Who would’ve thought?”

“You killed her.” I couldn’t stop my voice from trembling. I’d acted quickly, instinctively, to the sight of Dorsey hurting Nicole, and now I was left with the cold, hard truth. I was surrounded, outnumbered, and I had no idea what to do next. “You’re going to prison.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” the Marquis said smoothly. “Especially you.”

“I knew there was something wrong with you,” said the Lieutenant, tilting his head. “You were going to be punished tonight at the party, in front of everyone.” His voice was deadly empty, same as the night Nicole first brought me to him. “What are you…some kind of undercover cop?”

“There’s no way,” the Chief said quickly. “I’d know.”

I did quick math. There’d been screaming, yet no one had come to investigate. The woods around us were empty save for Paters and daughters, who wouldn’t blink to hear it. Jamie was too far away. How could I save myself?

“Put the knife down,” the Disciple barked, taking a step closer.

I backed away. “Touch me and I’ll slit his throat.”

“Do it, then, for Christ’s sake.” The Chief looked at me with lazy confidence.

Stab him, the voice urged. Take him off this earth.

“Enough fucking around,” said the Lieutenant and leapt.

It happened so quickly. My knees bent, fingers tensed around the blade. The Lieutenant grasped, but I twisted away, knowing this was it, my last chance, and if I didn’t kill them, they would put me on the forest floor next to Nicole, the earth swallowing me like Laurel. Do it, I screamed, breath coming hot and fast, legs kicking away, knife lifting to thrust. Do it for Laurel Nicole Clem Nina Katie—

But my hand was shaking too hard. Here, in the crucial moment, life or death, I couldn’t hurt them. I was weak. I hated that more than anything—that in the end, they were right.

The Lieutenant feinted and I spun away, right into the solid trunk of the Disciple. It was a well-practiced entrapment, quick and merciless. The Disciple smashed his fist into my temple and I fell.

***

I became aware of a gentle bouncing and opened my eyes to the inside of a hood. It was dark, the fabric scratchy. Immediately I jerked, panicking, kicking something solid pressed against me.

Breathe, I told myself. Breathe, and think.

The rocking and sound of wheels rolling over gravel told me I was in a car. The Paters were taking me somewhere. My hands were bound behind me, and I was on my side, head pressed painfully against the floor, on the same side where I’d been cracked by the Disciple’s fist. The knife was gone, of course, but there—I twisted, felt sharp metal bite into my breast—somehow, miraculously, they’d missed the recording device hidden in my bra. I swallowed a low groan and got to work on my hands, which were mercifully tied with rope, not the zip ties Don used to prefer.

After minutes of tugging and pulling, the knot eased a millimeter—enough for me to fold my fingers and yank my hands free. I tossed the rope and pulled off the hood.

I blinked. I was in the back of a van, and Nicole lay on her side, facing me, like we were lovers curled in bed. From this angle, I couldn’t see the gaping wound in her head, but the red strands of her hair were matted with blood. I almost moved to untangle them, then realized I was in shock.

The Disciple’s voice came from the front of the van, followed by the unmistakable sound of the Lieutenant, with his slight Dutch accent. All I caught was the end of a sentence: “…what Rachel will do with her.”

My head whipped to the small car window. Outside was a valley full of trees, their leaves a riot of color, like the forest had caught fire. Above the valley rose a single dark mountain. Atop it stood a stone house, like a lone castle, keeping a watchful eye over its kingdom.

It had to be the Hilltop. The home of Rachel and the Philosopher. I was going to see them again, after all this time, face-to-face. Don had run just like my father, but I’d found him. After eight long years.

The van wound up the mountain, drawing nearer to the manor. They would open their gates and welcome us inside, expecting dutiful Paters; cold, submissive female bodies.

They didn’t know the van was a Trojan horse.

I kissed Nicole’s temple as we rounded the corner and whispered, “Look. You made it.”

Vengeance lying in wait.





Chapter Thirty-Four


By the time they opened the back doors, I had my hood on, my hands back inside the knotted loop of rope, except this time, the knot was loose, not biting. Rough hands grabbed me, pulling me upright, and yanked off the hood.

“You awake?” The Lieutenant’s pale-blue eyes stared, his blond mustache twitching.