Page 118 of Trapper Road

I have to stop myself from wincing at the sound of her voice. There’s a bitter harshness to it that I never imagined her capable of. It’s impossible to reconcile the Willa I knew with the one I’m looking at now. It seems so unfathomable that they could ever have been the same person.

“You saw,” Mandy responds, waving a hand. “She wasn’t going to pull the trigger.”

“There was still a chance,” Willa argues.

Mandy rolls her eyes. “Sure, whatever.”

This only angers Willa more. “This was my play,” she says, voice hot with anger. “I had it all figured out. Everything was going according to plan.”

“No,” Mandy says. “Your plan was for Vee to shoot Connor.”

Shock rockets through me. What the hell is she talking about? Is she saying this was all intentional? That Willa set us up? Something inside of me shrivels, turning dark and cold. Every word she says is another slice shredding my heart.

“There was still a chance,” Willa argues. “It was going to work until you fucked it up.”

Mandy clearly doesn’t like this. She fists her hands on her hips. “Are you seriously going to blame me for this?”

“You’re always like this,” Willa spits. “You’re a sore loser, and when you see things aren’t going your way, you cheat.”

Mandy’s face turns murderous. “I didn’t cheat.”

Willa continues to struggle against the ropes. She has one hand free, but is struggling to reach the other knots. “You going to help me with this?”

Mandy cackles. “Seriously? After what you just said? I don’t think so.”

“See what I mean? You’re a fucking sore loser.”

Mandy’s cheeks burn bright red. “I didn’t lose! The deal was to get them to turn on each other. They didn’t. You lose. I win. The necklace stays with me. The end.” She starts toward the door.

“You fucking bitch,” Willa spits. “You’re seriously going to leave me like this? Tied up? Bleeding? What do you think’s going to happen when the cops show up?”

Mandy shrugs. “Not my problem.”

Willa’s eyes gleam. “It will be when I tell them you were responsible.”

Mandy snorts, but Willa’s not finished. “You were the one who pulled the trigger. It’s your prints on the gun. Your prints on the knife too. I won’t even have to lie.”

Mandy takes a menacing step toward Willa. “You wouldn’t,” she hisses.

Willa doesn’t appear to be frightened in the least. “Why not?” She flutters her eyes innocently, and for a moment I see the girl I met. The girl who was shy and sweet and flirtatious and needy. It’s shocking how easily she can turn it on and off — how she can so easily slip between masks.

She played me so perfectly. I must have been such an easy mark for her — so desperate to have someone give a shit that the slightest bit of attention and a few flattering words is all it took. I’m mortified by what she must have really thought about me. Was she laughing inside when I was telling her my secrets and pouring out my soul? She must think I’m such a loser.

I hate seeing myself through her eyes. It’s like my worst nightmare.

“You’re the one who made this mess,” Willa continues. “Why shouldn’t you be responsible for cleaning it up?”

Mandy glares daggers at Willa for several long seconds. Her entire body vibrates with fury and indignation. “You want me to clean up this mess? Fine.” She stomps toward me, and for a moment, I think she’s about to shoot me. To finish me off.

I brace myself, waiting for her to raise the gun to my head. Instead she crouches, grabbing something from the floor. My phone, I realize belatedly. I’d dropped it when I grabbed the knife to free Willa.

Mandy turns and stalks toward the door, pausing by Vee to take her phone as well. Then she’s gone, slamming the door behind her.

There’s a moment of silence, Mandy’s absence causing a void it takes a moment for the world to rush in and fill. Eventually, Willa slumps back in the chair. She hisses, her free hand pressing against her side, coming away coated in blood.

“What a fucking bitch,” she mumbles under her breath before resuming work on the ropes binding her to the chair.

Now’s our chance to escape. My head screams in agony, and it takes more effort than it should, but finally I’m able to move. I make it to my hands and knees, and then groan, not sure I have the strength to stand. Not sure I have the stomach for it either as my insides lurch and roll in protest.

---