Page 138 of Wasted
Cillian froze with his hand on Victoria’s forearm. Listening.
They’d stopped moving.
A slam. Maybe the driver’s door.
Footsteps broke through the walls of the van. Shoes crunching on snow.
Cillian squinted at the darkness. There had to be something in the van that he could use as a weapon. He could see much better now, past where Victoria sat with her legs stretched in front of her to a solid wall that must divide the front seats from the cargo area.
Nothing but floor and the walls of the vehicle met his searching gaze. No weapon.
Well, a fist had always been enough for him. He’d have no problem handling a wimp like Massey.
Cillian scooted toward the doors. A good double-legged kick should be enough to knock the coward on?—
The doors swung open, letting in a rush of cold air and the dark night, brightened only by snowflakes swirling all around.
Cillian stared into the white-flecked darkness, his knees drawn in toward his chest, ready to kick their abductor.
But the man stood too far back. Aiming a gun.
Cillian lifted his focus from the weapon to Massey’s face.
“Warren?” Victoria’s shocked one-word question escaped at the same time Cillian registered the face of Warren Morris. Sydney’s brother?
The lanky teenager stood in the snow in his usual blue jacket and dark jeans, the gun shaking in his bare hand as he pointed it at them.
“Warren? What are you doing?” Disbelief twisted Victoria’s tone.
“You made me do this.” He aimed his gaze at her, his lips working. “It’s your fault.”
What? The kid had gone crazy. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Warren, but why don’t we just talk this out?” Cillian scooted toward the bumper.
“Freeze.” The kid had watched too many cop shows. But Cillian paused. Warren was just edgy enough to pull the trigger, on purpose or by accident. “Don’t move.”
Cillian lifted his hands, palm out. “Okay. But you don’t need that gun. We’re all friends, remember?”
“You’re not my friends.” He jerked the gun barrel at them. “You’ve messed up my whole life.” He looked at Victoria. “Everything was going great until you wouldn’t leave it alone.”
“Leave what alone, Warren?” Her voice was gentle. Kind. To a kid who might shoot her. “Do you mean Sydney?”
“No. No.” Warren blinked away the snowflakes that landed on his eyelashes. “The old man.”
The kid had lost his mind. What old man was he…
Realization lit in Cillian’s mind. “Thomas Briscoe?”
“I didn’t mean to kill him. It was an accident. He was supposed to be asleep.”
Cillian looked over his shoulder at Victoria.
She’d turned to face Warren head-on. Her gaze met Cillian’s, shock lifting her eyebrows.
Cillian swung his head back to Warren. “You broke into his house?”
“Just to take some stuff. He was filthy rich. Never could’ve used all that money, but I needed it. We needed it. For Sydney and me. And her kid.” Warren’s voice sounded more and more strangled. He needed to calm down or he’d shoot them without even meaning to.
“And then Thomas heard you and woke up.” Cillian offered the prompt for the confession. Maybe the kid would lose some tension if he got the truth off his chest.
