Me: I’ll be home later, doll. Promise.
I place the phone back in my pocket and let out a long breath. It’s all going to be over soon.
Ten minutes later, I hear familiar voices, and I smile to myself. I lean forward, looking through the holes, and watch the Founders all walk into the room. The guys hid Scout over in the back corner so they won’t see him immediately. But they do realize Henley isn’t there.
The heavy door closes behind them. They turn around and watch it.
“What the fuck?” my father barks out, walking over to it. He tries to open it, but it’s locked from the outside. That’s how these doors are designed here at Death Valley.
I pull the rag soaked in vodka out of my back pocket and stuff it into a bottle I had sitting up here, picking up a Zippo.
“What is going on? Dax?” He shouts my friend’s name, trying to yank it open.
“I’ll call Ryan.” Mr. Scout sighs, pulling his cell out of his back pocket. He calls up his son, and a phone starts ringing in the back of the room. Mr. Scout uses his cell for light and comes up on his son. “What the fuck is this?” he shouts.
Scout yanks on his bindings while mumbling—trying to tell them what’s about to come. They just stand there looking at him as if in shock.
“This is payback for all those years ago.” I finally speak,
Four heads snap up to look at me through the holes in the ceiling. “When you four set fire to Spring Valley, killing everyone.” I light the end of the rag. “Good luck clawing your way out.” Then I drop it. The bottle shatters, and flames heat the room, warming me up above them.
They start screaming, and I light another one. I drop it right on Scout. Flames lick his body as he thrashes, and he screams behind the tape.
It’s poetic really, if you think about it. The way they’re dying. Twenty-five years ago, four best friends set this place on fire because they wanted to escape this prison. But they didn’t just kill the evil. No, they killed the innocent and took the evil with them. But it stops now. With us—the Reapers.
I sit back and listen to them screaming, smelling their flesh melting off their bones, and I smile.
You’re free, little doll. Well, of them. I’m going to keep you forever.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
GRAYSON LAW
I SIT ON the couch in my mother’s study. Derek sits to my right, Monroe to my left, and Rellik chose to sit in the black leather high-back chair by the bookshelf. He looks content. All he’s missing is a cigar and a naked woman on his lap, and he’d be in heaven.
James gets my attention, sitting at my mother’s desk at the head of the room. “They’re late,” he growls.
Just then, the door opens, and in walks the DA of Westbrook County and Judge Mayes.
“John. Mark.” James stands and shakes their hands.
“James, what is so important that we had to come over to your girlfriend’s house?” Judge Mayes asks, sitting down with his back toward us. They haven’t noticed us yet.
“Fiancée,” he corrects with a smile. “And I’ve got some papers here that I want to go over with you.” Opening a manila envelope, he pulls out a stack of papers and hands it off to them.
Each get a copy of their own. “What …?”
The air shifts in the room as they realize what they are reading. “Where did you get this?” District Attorney John asks.
“From them.” James points at us.
Both he and Judge Mayes turn to face us. “What the hell?” He shoots to his feet.
“Good to see you again, Judge.” Dax nods at him. “Have to say I’m glad it’s under better circumstances.”
“We have business to discuss,” I state, smiling at the look of terror in their eyes.
“See,” Dax begins, “we found all of these documents in our father’s studies last night.”
After killing Scout and the Founders, we spent the night digging through each Founder’s study. We tore them up, knowing that Henley had only found a very small part. We needed proof of everything. There is always a paper trail because if not, then it never existed, and no potential blackmail. Our fathers weren’t dumb enough not to keep records of the extortion.
“And you can keep those. We have copies,” I add, waving my hand.
Judge Mayes slams his stack on the desk.
“So many copies,” I go on. “Of all your bribes.” My eyes slide to John. “Like how the DA kept the truth hidden regarding Scout and Brenda.”
His jaw sharpens. “What do you want?” he asks through gritted teeth. His documents are currently being wrinkled in his death grip.
“We want the fire at Death Valley last night forgotten,” Rellik answers.
The DA frowns. “What …?”