Page 53 of Rampage

We're halfway to the gate when headlights sweep across the front of the house, the distinctive sound of tires on gravel freezing us in place.

Reid reacts instantly, pulling me behind a large rhododendron bush. We crouch there, hearts pounding, as a car door slams shut.

"Frank's truck," I whisper, recognizing the engine's rumble. "But he's supposed to be in jail."

"Something's wrong," Reid hisses into his radio. "Target is on-site. Need immediate extraction, south side."

A male voice crackles through the radio static, the sound barely audible over the thunder of my heartbeat. "Negative. Police cruiser just pulled up. Hold position."

I press myself deeper into the shadows behind the rhododendron, its waxy leaves brushing against my face. The earthy scent of soil and mulch fills my nostrils as I peer through the branches. My stomach drops like a stone.

Frank.

His hulking figure stands silhouetted in the harsh yellow glow of the porch light—a nightmare in the flesh. His shoulders look broader than I remember, his stance wider, more imposing. He's gesturing with those hands I know too well—hands that left bruises on my skin, hands that threatened worse.

And beside him, the uniform is unmistakable. Officer Jenkins.

"Jenkins," I whisper, my voice barely a breath. The name feels like acid on my tongue, burning all the way down.

Reid's arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, steady despite the danger. His breath is warm against my ear when he speaks.

"Bastards are working together," he murmurs, his voice a controlled rumble of rage.

Through the gaps in the foliage, I watch Frank's angry gestures. Even from this distance, I recognize the set of his shoulders, the way his head juts forward when he's building toward an explosion. Jenkins stands before him, nodding repeatedly, his posture deferential but familiar. This isn't their first meeting.

"What the hell is he doing out?" I whisper, fear crawling up my spine like icy fingers. "He was supposed to be in custody."

Reid shifts slightly behind me, his body coiled with tension. "Friends in high places," he mutters darkly.

Jenkins returns to his cruiser, the car door creaking open. He reaches inside and pulls out what looks like a manila folder. Papers. Official-looking documents that he hands to Frank with a nod.

"What are they doing?" I ask, squinting to see better in the growing darkness.

"Nothing good," Reid replies, his voice tight. "Mason," he whispers into the radio, "we need eyes on that paperwork. Can you get a visual?"

The radio crackles softly. "Negative. Angle's wrong from my position."

Frank unfolds the papers, holding them under the porch light. His face transforms as he reads—a slow, terrible smile spreading across his features. A smile I recognize from my nightmares.

"He looks… happy," I whisper, dread pooling in my stomach. "Whatever those papers are, they're giving him exactly what he wants."

Jenkins claps Frank on the shoulder—a gesture between conspirators, between friends. My foster father nods, then turns toward the house, keys jingling in his hand.

"We need to move," Reid says urgently. "Now, while they're distracted."

But my legs won't cooperate. I'm frozen, watching Frank unlock his front door. The metal lockbox suddenly feels heavy in Reid's backpack, its presence burning against my consciousness.

"Lily," Reid's voice cuts through my paralysis, firm. "We need to go. Right now."

I nod, forcing my trembling legs to respond. We crouch lower, edging along the perimeter of the yard, keeping to the shadows of the fence line. Each step feels like moving through molasses, my body fighting against the magnetic pull of terror.

The gate is just a few yards away when Frank's voice booms from the porch.

"I know you're out there, Lily."

I freeze mid-step, ice flooding my veins. Reid's hand clamps over my mouth, stifling the gasp that escapes me.

"I can smell your fear," Frank continues, his voice carrying across the yard. "Always could. You think you got away, but you never really left. Did you, sweetheart?"

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