“Yeah, if you wanted to leave Easton so badly, why not just leave?” I added.
Cheyenne’s scowl turned venomous as she looked at me. “Because it was the only way we could be certain that I would be safe from you.”
A chill went through me and my fingers twitched, curling inward. “Me? What did I ever do to you?”
“As long as you, a descendant of both Theresa Billings and Eliza Williams, are alive and well, none of the Billings Girls are safe.”
“Not this again,” Noelle groused, rolling her eyes. “Did you and your mom both drink from the same cup of crazy juice or what?”
“We’re not crazy!” Cheyenne snapped, whirling on Noelle. “The curse is real. But it ends here. Tonight.”
She straightened up and walked over to me, facing me toe-to-toe. Graham moved slowly behind me and suddenly I felt the cold steel end of the gun’s barrel pressing against the back of my head. I tried to stare Cheyenne down, but all I saw were terrifying black and purple spots swirling across my vision.
“Tonight, Reed Brennan, you are finally, finally, finally going to die.”
“Oh my God,” Noelle said with a laugh. “I take it back. You’re even crazier than your crazy bitch of a mom.”
I knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to distract Cheyenne. Trying to give me a chance to escape. And for a moment, it worked. Cheyenne let out a guttural wail, turned toward Noelle, and brought her fist down and across Noelle’s cheek and jawline so hard I heard the crack. Just like that, Noelle and Kiran both hit the floor. I let out an involuntary scream and Taylor started to cry in earnest. Kiran managed to push herself to her knees and weepily tried to
revive Noelle, but my best friend, my sister, was out cold.
Now my heart began to pump furiously. Cheyenne had taken out Noelle? She was stronger than I could have imagined. My hand reached behind me for the stun gun, but it was too late. Cheyenne had already returned her attention to me. I dropped my hand at my side and lifted my chin, but it was all for show. I was suddenly certain that she was right. I was going to die here, tonight.
“One down,” she said quietly. “Four to go.”
Then Graham lifted the barrel of the gun away from my skull and brought it down so hard I saw stars—right before my knees hit the hardwood floor, and everything faded to black.
SAVING MYSELF
The incessant pounding in my skull brought me reluctantly back to consciousness. For a few long, painful moments I couldn’t figure out where I was. Why were my arms wrenched behind me? Why were my knees throbbing? And what the hell was jabbing into the small of my back?
And then, suddenly, I remembered. The stun gun. The stun gun was still wedged into the waistband of my jeans. My eyes flew open, my heart surging with hope. I was in some kind of lounge room, complete with a wet bar, a circular leather couch facing a flat-screen TV, and a poker table surrounded by tall stools. The lights were on, but dim. My feet were bound as well as my hands, and my jacket—and therefore my cell phone—were gone. Luckily, I still had on my baggy black sweater, which accounted for the fact that Cheyenne and Graham hadn’t found the stun gun while tying me up, which apparently one or both of them had done while I was knocked out. My friends were nowhere to be seen, and neither was evil walking-dead girl, but Graham was on the far side of the room, behind the bar, shoveling ice into a glass. Apparently he was going to need a tumbler full of cold vodka before shooting me in the head.
I wanted to say something to him, but then I realized I could use the fact that he still thought I was unconscious to my advantage. I looked around for a clock and found the glowing screen on the cable box. It was twelve minutes after twelve. If Josh kept his word, he’d be calling the police in exactly eighteen minutes. It had taken us about fifteen minutes to drive here. Which meant all I had to do was stall for half an hour or so and pray my friends were still alive.
Now if only I could think of a way to get my hands free. I tugged my wrists apart and found that the ties weren’t exactly tight, probably because my cast had gotten in the way. If I could tear the twine even a little bit, I should be able to slip it off. Jagged barnacles had worked wonders back on that island paradise I was trapped on over Christmas break, but there didn’t seem to be anything sharp lying around.
And then it hit me. Maybe I didn’t need something sharp. Maybe I could singe the twine with the stun gun, fraying it until I was able to pull my wrists apart.
Slowly, quietly, I leaned forward, dragging the back hem of my sweater upward with my tied hands. I had just angled my wrists over the business end of the stun gun, which was sticking out of my waistband by a few inches, when three flaws in my plan suddenly occurred to me. First, the stun gun made that crackling noise, which would definitely catch Graham’s attention. Second, if I attempted this, there was a solid chance I’d set my cast on fire. Third, there was also a solid chance I’d stun myself.
I glanced up at Graham as he poured brown liquid over the ice. The gun was on the edge of the bar. Screw it. Who cared if I stunned myself? This was the only plan I had, and if I didn’t at least try, I was going to be dead. Which was a lot worse than shocked and twitching on the floor. And if I managed to set myself on fire, it would, at the very least, create a diversion.
I took a deep breath and coughed, pressing the small of my back against the wall as I leaned forward. The stun gun sizzled to life, my coughing covering the sound, and I didn’t get a shock. I did, however, get a whiff of the faintest scent of fibers burning. I just hoped it was the twine and not the cast.
Graham dropped his glass, grabbed the gun, and started toward me. I tugged at my wrists, but they didn’t give. Shit.
“You’re awake,” he said.
I kept coughing, kept pressing, shaking my head. The burning scent filled my nostrils. How long would it be until he caught a whiff?
“Water,” I said. “I need water.”
Graham glanced over his shoulder at the wet bar. My arms ached from the effort of not moving while my body was racked with fake coughs. Any second I was going to shock myself.
“Please, Graham,” I choked. “Water.”
He seemed to decide I wasn’t much of a threat. As he turned and went back toward the bar, I yanked my hands apart as hard as I possibly could and they came free. The twine tumbled, singed, to the floor, just as Graham turned around again. My heart hit my throat. I kept my hands behind my back and shifted so that my butt came down atop the twine. I could feel the warm, burnt ends through the fabric of my jeans.