AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I made sure I was buckled, then pressed the gun to her head.
“This is full of silver,” I announced in a calm tone. Because of James, I felt eerily comfortable knowing when I made the threat, I was prepared to follow-through. I hoped I wouldn't have to, but in my heart I'd already decided I could if it meant getting to Rachel in time. “Pull onto the shoulder right now and you will live to pick up my pieces at a later date.”
The truck slowed and rumbled twenty feet off the road, crushing brush and wild daffodils. Winona lifted her hands off the wheel as we rolled to a complete stop.
“Careful, Lambchop.” She spat a tooth into the cupholder. A pearlescent fang glimmered in her feigned smile. “One wrong move and I'll have enough to claim self-defense.”
“Ask for trouble and you shall receive.”
“You wouldn't dare.”
She had handcuffs somewhere on her person, but I didn't trust my skills—or her compliance—enough to ask her to retrieve them. Instead, I instructed her to unbuckle, put her hands on her head, then, once I was sure no one was coming, exit the vehicle. She wasn't trustworthy, not even on an empty road with her phone and firearm removed and on the dash. I also couldn't risk her contacting Augustin La Motte before I arrived.
Never considered myself barbaric, but as her feet touched the ground I altered my aim and shot her through the back of her right knee. The woman screamed and fell against the wildflowers.
“I'll call this in as a werewolf taken out by a sheep,” I promised, sliding into the driver's side as she writhed and cursed and rolled onto her back. Blood stained her jeans and pooled into the weeds. I slammed the door on her angry, pale face.
A safe distance away, I called Jorge to get access to the address August and Caelan had been sent to. Plugged the number into my phone's GPS, figured out how to turn the lights on, and twenty minutes later was crossing the Avon border into Simsbury.
Rachel Walker lived in a woodsy spot on a quiet cul-de-sac of upper middle class homes. Hers was a two story blue colonial at the top of the curve, landscaped with a brick driveway and small, flowering shrubs. Well-maintained. Relaxing. A ‘leave your work at the door’ kind of home. In the middle of the afternoon, the street was quiet. Caelan's truck was already there, pulled in front of her garage. Conspicuous, then again, she had witnessed a horrific event. It wasn't unexpected to see police.
Her door was unlocked when I tried the handle. The home was quaint and picturesque: warm browns on the floor and peachy walls.
“Rachel?” I called. Given August’s intention, a loud interruption seemed the better alternative to slinking around.
No answer.
I moved into the kitchen, stopping at the counter, where an owl-shaped mug of coffee was ice cold.
“Caelan?”
“Oh, fucking hell.” August grabbed and hauled me into the living room, past leather furniture and a glass coffee table. He pushed me onto a plush, oriental carpet, set his foot on my back so I couldn’t stand and hollered at an open slider leading to the back deck. “Get your ass inside, bro!”
It was futile, but I attempted to push myself onto my knees. “Where's Rachel?”
“Where's Winny?”
“Where she deserves to be.”
He ground his heel into my spine.
Caelan acted a lightning rod for the tension between us as he entered. His hands were free of blood, but when he saw me, he looked away and I knew she was dead. The weight of August’s boot lightened, but I collapsed back against the carpet, disgusted, angry.
“How could you?”
“You are an exception, not the rule.” He moved to help me stand.
I scrambled off the floor before he could reach me. “Was she alive when you arrived?”
“August slipped tetrodotoxin into her coffee earlier today.”
“Did you a favor,” the sheriff of Louisiana snorted. “Shouldn’t’ve.”
“There nothing you can do but comfort measures at that dosage, Marcy.”
August's cell rang. He shoved me onto the nearest chair, phone pressed to his ear, then dragged his brother in front of me. “You fucking keep your claws on this sheep, you hear? Win, hun, where are you?” He disappeared into the kitchen.
Caelan didn't move as I marched into his personal space, lifting my hand to cup his cheek and keep him from skirting my gaze. His face was hot, feverish. “Did you kill Rachel?”
