Page 193 of Split You Open

There are four guys hanging by the front door, seven more lingering along the driveway. They’re all alert with their guns raised—listening to the horrific cries of pain coming from the woods. Moving in silence, I make it nearly all the way around the house before returning to my original spot. Strange… There's no one moving inside the house.

Is this a trap?

I hesitate.

There’s a lot of men outside but why isn’t there anyone inside? Something isn’t adding up. There’s three black SUVs parked out front. Each one has a driver either sitting inside the car or standing beside one. The seven armed men are creating a tight circle around the vehicles—is Dixie in one of them? Or are they waiting for someone inside?

It feels like a trap.

“Fuck, how much longer do you think we got before we can roll out?” a sentry asks his pal anxiously as I creep closer to the front door. “If that’s Anchor, we’re all dead. We should be moving out now.”

“It can’t be him. How would he know where to find us?” a second sentry hisses.

A third shushes them both. “I just searched how long it usually takes and it says it can be anywhere from a few minutes to a goddamn hour.”

The first man groans. “We don’t have an hour. Do you hear that shit going on?”

“It’s already been thirty minutes—should someone go check?” the fourth man pipes up.

“Yeah,” the first snorts derisively. “How about you go in and do it?”

The second shakes his head. “No way.”

“You know…” the third guy hedges. “The boss will be mad but we could just light a match. That shit is supposed to be highly flammable.”

“He’ll have your balls.”

The second sighs loudly. “Well, if you don’t want to check and don’t want to light this place up, we just have to brace ourselves for trouble and wait for the cue to leave. The money is worth the risk at this point.”

My brows knit together as I scowl. What are they talking about?

Another grenade goes off, much closer this time. All four guards flinch and raise their guns higher. I go for my own gun. Reaching back, I pull out the silencer from my utility belt. Carefully, I twist it on, keeping all four men in sight.

Before I can lift it, the barrel of another gun presses against the back of my head. The hard steel against my skull doesn’t scare me as much as the thought of failing to save Blair.

“Call your friends off,” the man behind me snarls. “Now, before I⁠—”

I whirl around, grabbing the man’s wrist at the same time, and raise it just as he fires off three rounds. Keeping hold of his arm, I jerk the man forward so that my knee can meet his gut and my head can meet his nose. Disarming him, I use his own gun to end his life.

Shouting near the house tells me my cover’s been blown.

Slipping back into the darkness I put distance between me and the house only so that I can come up on the other side of it a few minutes later. When the unattended side door comes into view, I make a break for it. I kick open the door and instantly bring my gun up, ready to kill anyone on the other side.

There’s no one.

Tense and on high alert, I grit my teeth and cautiously move through the laundry room that I’ve entered. There’s a short hallway, empty and dark, that I make my way down next. I pause just before the threshold of the next room. Flattening myself against the wall, I listen for any signs of life.

It’s silent.

Quickly, I turn the corner with my gun up and ready.

There’s no one here. There’s not even any furniture.

Leaving the room, I continue down the hallway. The smell of dust and moth balls permeates the still air. It’s so thick, it's nauseating. I can practically feel the dust coating my throat as I take calculated steps forward. Each step is slow and steady. Something as small as the squeak of a floorboard could give away my presence and get me fucking shot.

I enter a dining room next and find it just as empty as the last two rooms. Pausing, I strain to hear something, anything, that will tell me there’s life in this house.

Other than the thundering of my heart, there’s absolutely no sound.