Page 97 of Rival for Rent

The thought hit my chest like a stone.

“Perverts,” Myers sneered, forcing me down the stairs. “Trying to convert kids to be like you. Shoving your filth in everyone’s face. It’s disgusting, and it needs to stop.”

There it is, I thought wryly as I descended the steps. I knew someone would accuse me of grooming sooner or later.

“Your daughter is twenty-one years old. She can make her own decisions.”

“He’s myson,” Myers snapped. “And he’d never have made this one if he hadn’t been led there. You filled him with your propaganda. And you’re not stopping with him. You’re going to let more kids come to your center. Give them operations.”

“We give them haircuts,” I said, exasperated despite the fear crawling under my skin. “We don’t have fucking surgeons on staff. And most kids who show up come with their family’s support, or at least permission. If they’re under sixteen, they need it.” I stopped on the landing and risked a glance over my shoulder. “Having your family’s support makes a huge difference in the mental health of all queer teens, not just trans ones. Maybe you and your daughter could—”

“Just shut your mouth and walk.” He shoved the gun more firmly against my back.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I said, continuing down. “But I still don’t see what killing me is going to accomplish if you think the board is going to find new funding.”

“That’swhyI have to kill you,” Myers said. “If you kill yourself in shame because of that video, it’ll tarnish the center’s reputation. No one will want to be connected with it then.”

Personally, I thought his logic was a little iffy. Wouldn’t me killing myself underscore the whole point of how LGBTQ+ people faced extreme societal pressure and needed more support? But my brain latched onto something else he’d said.

“How did you find that video?” We’d reached the bottom of the stairs now, and he shoved me towards the kitchen. “I thought it was scrubbed from the internet.”

“The part of it you can see, maybe. I’ve got a friend at the FBI who works cybercrimes. They can search every part of the internet, even the dark web, for your face.” He let out a laugh—a sharp, unpleasant sound. “I didn’t even expect to find anything. Thought I’d have to pay someone to make a fake video with your face on it. But he struck gold. Now grab that rope.”

I saw a smooth nylon rope, about an inch thick, coiled on the kitchen island. I drew back like it was a snake, which only pushed me harder into Myers’s gun.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said quickly. “If you could pay someone to make a video of me, you could do it to someone else on the board. Plant evidence, fake crimes—anything. You don’t have to resort to murder. That only makes things harder for you.”

“And leave you alive to tell everyone what you know? I don’t think so.”

“People are going to find out anyway. My security cameras had to have seen you come in.” I paused. “Wait, howdidyou get in?”

“The same way I bypassed your alarms. I called the company two days ago and told them to shut everything down for a few days while we laid a trap for your stalker. They’d already given me access to your account to review footage from last week. It’s not that hard to impression a key from a blank, if you’ve got enough time. And since your cameras were conveniently turned off, I had all the time in the world to do that last night—even with you blundering downstairs in the middle of it.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered. “IthoughtI heard something. But there was no one there when I checked.”

He’d been right outside the house when I’d looked. And he’d still been there when Mason and I had fucked in the kitchen. He might even have still been there when we’d gone back upstairs and fallen asleep wrapped around each other. But I hadn’t seen him.

“You took so long opening the door, you gave me plenty of time to hide.” Myers jammed the gun harder into my back. “I told you to grab that rope.”

Even if he didn’t shoot me, I was going to have a bruise there later. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Did bruises still form after you were dead? I really should’ve watched moreCSI.

I reached for the rope with a trembling hand. I was out of questions, out of stalling tactics, and I still hadn’t come up with an escape plan. I really was going to die.

“Now tie it into a noose,” he ordered.

“I…I don’t know how,” I said, my voice shaking. It wasn’t a lie. I’d never liked violent imagery, never seen a noose up close. I always looked away during scenes like that in movies.

He made another disgusted growl. He sounded like a bullfrog with bronchitis. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not,” I said, trying to sound a little more confident. “I really don’t know how. Can you do it?”

“And let you run out of here?” Myers said. “Not happening.”

It had been worth a shot.

“Turn around,” he barked. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

I turned slowly, holding the rope in both hands. His instructions were confusing enough that I didn’t even have to fake being slow—I genuinely didn’t get it at first. But there was only so much fumbling I could do before I got it right.

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