“He might be, or you might’ve just lied to my face. I know now you’re a liar and can’t be trusted.”
“He is.”
Warren cupped his ear. “I don’t hear any car.”
“Fuck you,” Scott spat, edging closer to the door that led to the panic room.
Warren swung the secateurs. “This time you won’t be escaping through a bathroom window…”
“It’s not a window,” Scott snapped, throwing open the door. He dropped to his knees as Warren tried to grab him and began crawling.
“What the hell…” Warren murmured. “A tunnel?”
He laughed, and Scott heard him scrambling behind him, following him through the fairy lights until they got to the corner of the house. Scott stood up, then clambered up the narrow staircase to get to Thomas’s floor and the panic room.
The room to panic in.
Warren surged up the steps, swinging the open secateurs. Scott cried out at the pain to the back of his ankle; he kicked, catching Warren in the face.
“I’ll make you pay for that.”
Scott stumbled into the panic room, clutching the thigh of his bad leg. The open wound soaked his sock and trainer, and each step shot white hot pain up his calf.
Warren charged him before he took in anything of the room, slamming Scott up against one tank, then another, before sinking his fingers into Scott’s hair and twisting.
He paused his assault. “What the…”
Warren looked around while clutching Scott’s hair, dragging him along while he turned to get a good look at the room.
“What the fuck is this?”
Warren pulled Scott over to the closest tank, peering in. “Snakes.” He laughed. “That should’ve been obvious.” He threw Scott against the tank, and blood smeared the glass. He could see John on the other side, taking an interest in the harsh vibration of Scott’s nose meeting the hard surface.
“I’ve got your money,” Scott told him through busted lips.
“I told you downstairs, it’s not about the money.” Warren peered into Lucy’s tank. “I don’t see it…”
Scott prayed that she’d escaped and was slithering her way across the room to bite Warren’s ankle. “Now there’s a pretty one,” Warren murmured by Scott’s ear, taking him to another tank. Scott couldn’t remember the name of the snake behind the glass, but she was wrapped around a branch, flicking her black tongue. She had a triangle-shaped head, and Scott vaguely remembered Thomas telling him to beware of the triangle-shaped head; it suggested the snake was venomous. Scott knew this one was, but Thomas had said it was only a baby. Her venom wouldn’t be potent enough to kill. She was tan yellow with brown oval spots lined with black.
Scott had thought she was rather beautiful.
Warren slammed Scott's face into the glass, once, twice, then the glass broke, dropping in and out of the tank. For a moment, Scott thought Warren might hold his face there, let the snake bite him, but instead he let Scott go and crumple into a heap on the floor.
He curled up in the foetal position, but Warren kicked him in the back until he spasmed and cried out, rolling over to lie flat face down on the floor.
“That’s better, Scott,” Warren said softly.
He got down on the floor, pressing a knee to Scott’s back.
“Hands,” he ordered.
They were hidden beneath Scott’s chest, clutching at his shirt.
“Now, Scott, or I’ll cut your face.” He leaned over Scott to look at him, humming as he inspected the damage. “I’ll cut itagain, deep enough that it’ll scar.”
Scott lifted himself up enough to get his hands out, then slipped them behind his back. They were shaking. Warren grabbed on to them, pinning Scott with his knee while he fastened the cable ties around his wrists.
“Much better.” Warren sighed. “Do you remember what I wanted to do to you first?”
