Shattered (LOST #3)(42)

Most days.

“What’s he thinking now?”

She tilted her head back to stare up at the buildings. “If he’s already spotted us, then he’s trying to decide if he should kill Molly or if he should just run.”

Cross swore. “Why not just kill her and run?”

“Because Molly hasn’t begged to die yet.”

“Uh, what?”

Sarah smiled. “If she hasn’t begged, then that means we have time.” She hurried toward the cruiser. The uniformed cop was already pulling out vests for her team. Sarah suited up. We have time. As long as Molly kept fighting.

Because this jerk is playing by my father’s rules. And that scared her because . . . I thought I was the only one who knew about the way his victims’ last few moments ended.

MOLLY HADN’T BEGGED for death. The bitch was covered in slices. He’d cut her deep, but she wouldn’t beg.

He could smell the river—and her blood. The two scents mingled around him as he stared at the tip of his blade. It was a dark red now, thanks to Molly. “I can end it all for you. Just like he ended it for your mother. All you have to do . . . is ask.” Ask me nicely, Molly. Beg me to do it.

But Molly’s lips were clamped shut. She had tear tracks on her face. Her skin was ashen. And the bitch wasn’t talking.

He whirled away from her. The monitors on his right were blank. After the fire, they’d shut down. He’d had that signal bouncing right to him.

And . . . signals. Fucking signals! He realized right then the mistake he’d made.

He grabbed for Molly’s phone. He’d been so pissed to learn that Sarah had escaped. He’d called the shrink and she’d fed him bullshit about proof of life. He knew that now . . . bullshit. “You were tracing my signal,” he muttered as he threw that phone against the wall. Stupid, stupid mistake. Rage had led him to that mistake. It was just . . .

Sarah should have burned. Her beautiful skin should have melted, leaving her as ugly and scarred on the outside as he knew she was on the inside, and Molly should have begged. They weren’t following the plan. They weren’t doing what they were supposed to do! He’d set everything up. Worked so hard . . .

And it was all unraveling. He put the palms of his hands against his eyes. “They’re going to come now, Molly. Time’s up.”

“They’ll . . . find you,” Molly whispered.

Oh, that was cute. He turned toward her. Smiled. “No, sweetheart. They’re going to find you.” But that, too, had been part of his plan.

He’d just wanted to hear her beg first. She’d been supposed to beg. He was the one who was strong. She knew that. Beg me!

But time was running out. He stalked toward her. Put the knife right over her heart. Molly was on the floor, sprawled. Still trapped in the remnants of the chair. He’d checked her rope, made sure it was too tight for her to slip away. Molly didn’t get to escape.

She had a part to play first.

“Do you want to go fast?” he asked as he tilted his head. “Or do you want to bleed out slowly?” Of course, the plan was for her to go slowly. For her to live just long enough to talk with Sarah or the cops. To tell them . . .

Who I am.

She spat on him. Right in his face. His rage exploded. He hit her, hard, punching her.

Molly screamed.

SARAH HAD JUST been about to enter Warehouse 508 when she heard the scream. Her head jerked to the left, to the building just a few feet away. All of the warehouses in this stretch were old, appearing abandoned. The businesses had closed up and the places had become virtual graveyards.

A perfect spot for a killer.

But there was so much area to cover there . . . So much . . .

“She’s screaming,” Sarah said as she whirled and hurried toward the building on the left—it looked like an old clothing factory. She could just make out the faded sign on the side of the building. “She’s close.” That scream had seemed to echo back to her. “Come on!”

Detective Brent West was running with her, and he had his gun drawn. Jax was right behind her.

“NO CHOICE?” HE demanded. He’d busted Molly’s lip. Blood dripped down her chin. “How about I choose for you?” Because she had to go slowly. Had to live long enough for the great Sarah Jacobs to rush in . . .

But then an alarm sounded. A little safety measure he’d installed so that he’d know if any visitors tried to get too close to little Molly Guthrie.

“No.” He backed away from Molly. Saw the red light flickering. They’re in the building. “No!” He wasn’t ready for them, not yet. He rushed to the window and looked out. Cop cars were out there, too many of them. The cops were fanning the street and searching and someone was in his building already.

Someone was coming for Molly.

Was it Sarah? Was she there? It didn’t matter. He’d left some surprises around the area. Those surprises . . . oh, they’d be going off very soon. Maybe Sarah would be getting those lovely scars, after all.

Hadn’t the cops and that LOST team learned anything that day? Some lessons just had to be repeated, again and again . . . until the point took root.

There were lots of buildings there. Lots of doors that could be opened.

Lots of places that would just go . . . boom.

“Did you choose, Molly?” he murmured. Molly had been so quiet. He turned back around.