Page 56 of Property of Scythe
“I bet the guys can be a handful.”
“They are,” he pauses, staring at the computer monitor. “What the hell?”
I turn my head and scan the camera feeds, jumping to my feet in shock when I find Emma bound, standing in the rain as a man in jeans and a dark hoodie stands beside her. He’s got a butcher knife, and I recognize it instantly as the knife the killer used when he showed up at my apartment.
He’s not wearing the clown costume, but I can tell it’s him.The stranger has the same aggressive stance and height. I bet he wore the hoodie to be intimidating since he resembles the slasher that Scythe ran over with his motorcycle.
None of this is a coincidence.
And now the killer’s brought Emma, Mila’s aunt, to tempt me from hiding. I’m betting he knows where Scythe is, and that he’s not here with me. It’s a ploy to get me to come to him. I know it in my bones.
I can’t stay in the panic room. Mila is safe with Hangman. I know he won’t leave her. The only choice is the one I make without hesitation. I have to help Emma.
Boomer is out there, too. I’ve got backup.
Is it stupid not to leave this to Boomer? Probably. I don’t think the killer is going to be happy with Scythe’s brother. It’s not enough. For some reason, he’s latched onto me. I need to figure that out. Maybe I can pretend to be interested enough to throw him off his murder game.
It’s worth a shot.
Mila can’t lose her aunt. It’ll devastate her. Boomer is a sheriff and can handle himself. He’s got a gun. Scythe won’t lose any family members. It’s only me that’s the wild card. Truth be told, I always am unpredictable. That’s how I survived Jerald Carter’s brutal attack. It’s how I didn’t hesitate to throw the Hummer into drive and ram it into the psycho hunting us.
I’m not afraid to stand up to the killer or help save Emma.
I don’t say a word to Hangman because he’ll never let me leave this room. I calmly pull a hair tie from my pocket and twist my long locks into a ponytail. There are sweatshirts with the extra clothes Scythe packed in the room, and I slide from the couch, pull one on, and turn to face Hangman.
“Keep Mila safe.”
“Lottie?” He appears confused, not considering that I’m going to chase down a murderer.
“I’ll save Emma.”
Before he can react, I rush from the room and close the door behind me, hearing the locks engage. Carefully, I push the bookcase back and disguise the panic room entrance.
It’s so fucking dark in the house, but that works to my advantage. The killer doesn’t know I’m coming. I have the element of surprise.
It’s pouring by the time I reach the front porch. The lights are still out, and I crouch behind the wicker furniture, getting my bearings before I go after Emma.
But that’s where I mess up. The delay gives the killer time to disappear. He’s not there, but Emma is. She’s shivering in the dark as the rain pelts her skin. I couldn’t tell before on the monitor, but her mouth is covered with duct tape.
She’s just standing there in the middle of the lawn. Her ankles and wrists are bound with rope. It’s her eyes that send an icy bucket of fear down my spine. They’re wide, frightened, and keep bouncing around, terrified that the killer will return.
He’s close. I can feel it. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I know as soon as I step off this porch, he’s going to attack me. I have to be smart about this, but I don’t have any weapons. All I’ve got is my wits.
I should have stopped and grabbed a knife while I was in the house. It’s risky, but I decide to head back in, grab one from the butcher block, and return to the porch.
The house feels like a tomb when I enter. It’s silent and carries a sense of foreboding, like it’s lying in wait for the killer to jump from hiding and stab anyone dumb enough to linger. Like me. I want to think I’m being brave, that I’m taking back my control and autonomy after Jerald Carter nearly broke me.
I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m not going to be a victim again. I’ll fight. I proved that at my apartment building with the Hummer. Lottie Bishop is no one’s punching bag.
Lightning flashes outside and illuminates everything inside the house for a brief heartbeat. It’s only long enough to ensure I’m alone as I pause beside the window. I wait for anotherflash before I dash past it and reach the kitchen.
The back door is open.
I know Hangman and Boomer would never leave it unlocked if there’s a threat. Either the killer is inside, opened it, or he’s toying with me. Maybe all three options.
I have to be quick. One glance at the butcher block on the island, and I can see all the knives are missing. I almost curse out loud before I lean against a wall and slide down, breathing through a slight panic attack.
He knows. The fucking killer is counting on me needing a weapon. He doesn’t want a fair fight. That’s obvious from the way he broke into my apartment and waited for me. The sick fuck likes to control every aspect of his hunt and kill.
