His gaze sharpens as he says calmly, “Boss wants you too.”
Keller.
I know it without them having to say his name.
A million questions run through my brain, but it’s clear… this wasn’t the plan. At least not the one my sister thought she was in on.
But none of that matters, because as one of their hands reaches down to grab me, the only thing I can think of isfight.
“No,” I shout before my body begins to thrash.
But it’s no use.
They’re bigger than me, and I know I don’t stand a chance.
A second later, a hood is yanked over my head, and my vision disappears.
The world tilts violently as I’m hauled to my feet and dragged forward. Snow packs into my boots, and my shoulder screams as I stumble, barely able to keep up as they pull me along.
Kat’s crying somewhere ahead of me. “Kat!” I sob. “Kat, I’m—”
Something slams against my side, and a scream slips past my lips. “Don’t say another fucking word,” a deep voice snarls in my ear. It’s familiar, but I can’t place it. “Make another sound, and we’ll kill you both. Boss’s plan still works if you’re dead. You understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper before cold plastic tightens against my wrist.
A headlight flares bright through the fabric of the hood as a door slams open. I’m shoved forward, hard, into the back of what feels like an ATV, and Kat is thrown in beside me, her body trembling violently against mine.
The small door slams shut, and the engine roars to life before it lurches forward, carrying us deeper into the trees and farther away from the ranch.
From the house.
Fromthem.
Chapter fifty-two
Lawson
Beau’satthecounter,stealing pieces of ham off the cutting board every time he thinks no one’s looking.
“I swear to God,” Lincoln mutters, setting a basket of rolls onto the table, “if you touch one more thing—”
“Ihelped cook dinner. SoIcan take as many bites as I want,” Beau argues. “Anyway, a chef has to taste his dish. It’s called… pre-tasting.”
Jasper snorts from where he’s snacking on cheese and crackers as if we’re not about to eat dinner. “You’re pre-ruining it.”
“Relax,” Beau says. “If it tastes bad, all I have to do is blame you.”
“Blame me?!” Jasper shouts. “I didn’t even touch anything. How could it be my—”
I slide the pan into the oven harder than necessary. “If it tastes bad, no one’s getting the chocolate cake I made. Got it?”
That shuts them up—for about three seconds.
“Hey,” Jas says, glancing toward the window. “You think Abbie’s bringin’ back some of those carrots? Because I—”
“She said she’d be quick,” I cut in, wiping my hands on a towel.
I look outside again.
