The second explosion had put the already-frightened animals into a wild, unleashed frenzy. They’d squealed and kicked at their stalls, while the dogs in the kennels bayed and whined mournfully.
Best yet, from his vantage point he’d been able to see the house, watched as the door had opened and she’d appeared with a pathetic little fire extinguisher. Just as he’d expected. Her auburn hair had been wild and free, her face without much makeup twisted in fear, her body thin and supple, small and athletic with high breasts and a tight, perfect little ass.
Frightened, scared spitless, but still in control, she’d flown out of the house, across the gravel lot, toward the stable.
Everything had begun to work perfectly.
Except a man had shown up out of nowhere.
Someone unexpected.
Someone who’d been hiding nearby.
The proverbial fly in the ointment.
His smile disappeared as he remembered the interloper.
Fortunately, Shannon had talked him into releasing the dogs while she’d dealt with the horses.
As the stranger had taken off for the kennels, she’d thrown open the door of the stable and started running to the far end. Again, predictable. It gave him enough time to close the door to the parking lot and latch it, cutting off her escape, assuring him that they would be alone. That the stranger wouldn’t return and interrupt them.
Now, he took a long swallow of Coke as the sun crested the eastern hills, a blazing ball of fire that gilded everything and pushed away the lingering vestiges of night.
His tongue flicked to the edges of his lips as he remembered waiting to pounce. How his muscles had ached, his blood singing with anticipation, something akin to lust flowing through his body.
It had taken all of his patience to wait as she’d unleashed the animals one at a time, working her way backward, toward him and the balking mare, the fidgety buckskin he’d already frightened by flicking a butane lighter in front of her face, close enough to singe the bristles on her nose. The horse had reared and screamed in terror, still smelling him as he’d waited, still sensing the lighter with its long, hot flame.
So by the time Shannon reached her, the dun-colored mare was out of her mind with fear. In a lather. It had taken all of Shannon’s skills to get the horse out of the stall. Even then the animal had managed to wound her.
And she hadn’t so much as let out a sound.
So brave.
So filled with a sense of righteousness.
And so doomed.
The pitchfork had been handy and thorough.
He could have killed her if he’d wanted to; but that would ruin his plans. And much as he tasted the blood lust, he had to be patient.
There were others who had to pay first. He drained his bottle and tossed it into the bracken, startling a nest of finches that fluttered and swooped at the disturbance.
He wanted Shannon to survive until after the others died. If she couldn’t witness their deaths, then, at the very least, she would experience the pain of the loss, imagine their torment, know that she, too, would not survive.
No one would.
Chapter 9
Shannon felt like hell.
Her entire body ached.
Her face pulsed with pain.
The back of her head felt as if it might explode.
And above it all, she had trouble waking up, her eyelids felt as if they were weighted down and when she licked her lips, her tongue was thick and awkward, her mouth tasting sour, her teeth scummy.