“Words, Miss Hill, do very little in the grand scheme of things.” He snaps his fingers and indicates I should follow. I gnash my teeth and walk grudgingly into the kitchen. He points at a few bags from a hardware store on the counter. “Everything you need is right here.”
He’s serious. It’s already been decided. I either set the blaze myself or let him do it and kill Nate in the process. “I can’t—I don’t know how to set a fire.”
Ferro gives me a look that says he’s not that stupid and neither am I. “It’s simple enough that even you’d understand. Pour the accelerant on the floor, light a match, and walk away.”
“But, the neighbors, they’ll say they saw us here.”
“No one will mention me or you. That yellow bus of yours is all but forgotten. It’s amazing how little it takes to bend a man’s will. A few dollars and they suddenly have no morals at all.”
My jaw is locked, and I don’t say anything for a few moments. My gaze cuts to the bag on the counter. I do this and save Nate, or I don’t and let him die. Ferro is a liar, so there are no guarantees my ass won't end up in jail. Even more upsetting is Nate. If he ever finds out. He won’t forgive me for this.
“So what’s the plan? Burn the house and then buy the land?”
“Not that it matters to you, but yes.”
“That will leave Nate with nothing.”
“That’s not my problem, Miss Hill. Your involvement guarantees Nathan lives. His life is in your hands. Nothing else matters compared to that, does it?”
“You suck.” I growl, wishing I could hurt him. But I can’t do anything. I’m caught in the middle.
Ferro walks over, towering above me, getting so close that I reflexively back into the cabinets. He’s in my face, his voice low and seductive, “I’ve heard how much you enjoy sucking cock in the kitchen, Miss Hill. I never could say no to a woman on her knees. Do it and beg me to spare you. I might reconsider.”
I don’t hesitate. My hand flies, ready to punch Ferro in the temple. At the last second, he reaches out and grabs my fist, crushing it in his hand. “Don’t fuck with me, Miss Hill, unless you want to be owned. You’ll lose.”
He twists my wrist as he crushes my knuckles. I let out a yelp as he forces me to my knees. His eyes glint like he’s enjoying my pain. I try to jerk away, but he’s too strong. I’m about to do something desperate to make him stop when Ferro releases me. “If I don’t hear this home burned to
the ground by midnight, I’ll take care of it, and you’ll still owe me a favor.”
CHAPTER 11
How can that man be Nate’s father? He’s evil. I remain on the floor for several minutes after Ferro leaves, cradling my wrist in my hand. He didn’t break it, but it’s screaming. I glance around at all the things that will burn. Every last trace of Nate’s life, of his mother and father, any happy memories he had will be gone. But Nate will live. That’s all that matters. That’s the part I can control, so I need to pull my shit together and get to my feet.
I stand and walk over to the bags from the hardware store and pull out the gallon jugs. If I torch the place and it’s deemed arson, Nate won’t get anything from insurance—especially if they think his girlfriend did it. And I don’t trust Ferro. The neighbors all see that bus and know I’m here. A plan forms in my mind, and I can’t think of anything better, so I open the cabinet next to the stove and pull out a frying pan. After filling it with grease, I turn on the stovetop.
My conscience dies in my chest as I open the bottle of smelly green liquid and splash it on the floor by the stove. I trail it across the room knowing it’ll ignite instantly and go up without a trace. They’ll think it was a grease fire that got out of hand. They’ll also believe a stupid college girl didn’t know that dousing it with water would make it worse. In truth, I can’t cook, but even I know that.
I place the jug of oil on the stovetop, close enough to the burner to melt, and back away. It’s over half full. My heart is thumping in my throat. I’m not this person. How am I supposed to stand there and watch Nate’s home burn? But that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Trembling, I pull out my cell phone and hit the three digits, 9-1-1. I don’t press send. I put the phone back in my pocket, grab a book of matches from above the stove, and light one. The grease is smoking, and the bottle next to the pan already has a hole in the side. Oil drips down the front of the appliance and onto the floor. I stand there, waiting for the trail of oil to spread, to get bigger. When it doesn’t move beyond the initial pool, I grab the broom and smack the bottle. It goes flying and crashes into the wall where Nate pinned me. Oil streaks across the wallpaper as the bottle hits and then skitters across the linoleum, spilling the rest of the contents across the floor.
I’m not this person. I’m not. I can’t do this, but I already have. The grease on the stove catches fire, and an orange flame flickers in the pan, engulfing the entire thing. Tongues of fire dance, tall and thin, spreading, becoming thicker every second. The flames jump from the pan to the stovetop, licking the walls. I have no choice now. The room is filled with smoke and I can barely breathe. I strike a second match and drop it to the floor in front of the stove. It ignites, racing rapidly across the room, burning away the green liquid in a flash. Before I can blink, flames are consuming everything. The fire on the stove spits, hissing as it grows. The fluid on the floor meets up with the spilled grease, and the room fills with thick black smoke.
I back out of the kitchen and move toward the front of the house. I need to wait a few minutes to make sure it doesn’t go out. This house has to burn to the ground, or Ferro will come back. I cover my face with a hand towel from the bathroom and back away from the spreading flames. When I press my back to the front door, I try to wait, but I’m terrified. The flames don’t stay contained to the kitchen. They spread down the hallway, to Nate’s room, and now they’re coming for me. Wallpaper melts off the walls as the intense heat rolls toward me. The fire pops and crackles as it inches forward, consuming everything in its path. I toss the towel into the fire down the hall.
With my back to the door, I twist the knob and rush outside, coughing up a lung. I leave the door open, feeding the flames, and stumble onto the porch with my phone in my hand. I don’t dial. Instead, I press it to my ear and say loudly to no one, “There’s a fire!” I give the address and cough relentlessly, lingering too close to the house.
As I end my fake call and slip my phone back into my pocket, the moving guy from across the street rushes over and pulls me away from the house. He’s a thick man, all muscle, and the type of guy who would run inside. He asks me, “Is there anyone else inside?”
“No.” I cough so hard I double over and clutch my stomach.
He stands with me as more people gather. The flames at the back of the house reach up to the roof now. There’s a loud explosion and the sound of glass shattering as black smoke begins to billow up from kitchen windows. “I’ll call for help.”
“I already did.” I start crying and tell him I was cooking, and the grease caught fire. I lie through my teeth while praying it looks like stupidity and not arson. Maybe I should have trusted Ferro, did things his way, and left. But I couldn’t risk it. If Ferro lied about anything, it could mean jail for Nate and me. At least if things go to hell, I know I tried everything I could.
Explaining to the moving guy, I manage between coughs, “I couldn’t put it out. Throwing water on it didn’t work. It’s almost like it made it worse.”
The man blanches and looks back up at the house. “You threw water on a grease fire? Are you burned?” He doesn’t scold me for something so stupid. He just looks me over.