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Watching them, I felt a pang of something like longing. They had such an easy rhythm, such obvious comfort with their dynamic. Would Daddy and I ever have that? Or was our relationship too complicated by revenge plots and murder attempts to ever be so straightforward?
After we'd finished eating, Daddy leaned close to my ear. "I need to talk to Jono for a few minutes. Will you be okay here with Bolt and Annabel?" I nodded happily, but just after he walked away, Annabel announced she needed to go potty.
Bolt glanced over at me, and I assured him I was fine, and pointed to Daisy, and said I was going to talk to her. Besides Tik Tac was also hovering as usual, so I had added security. Bolt nodded and scooped Annabel up, and I stood, intending to go over to where Daisy and Maria were, just as my phone buzzed in my pocket. I was surprised at first because no one called my new phone except Ricky and Daddy, so I fished it out and read the text.
Very cute. Hope you’re having a nice party. Not sure your new friend will look as pretty after we set fire to the clubhouse she just walked into. Bombs planted just like the whorehouse. Your only chance to stop it happening is go back to your cabin. Now.
And we’re watching.
My blood turned to ice. I looked up frantically, scanning the area. Daisy had just disappeared into the clubhouse with Maria. Annabel and Bolt were heading toward the bathrooms in there. Daddy was deep in conversation with Jono near the grill, his back to me.
I froze, paralyzed with indecision. If I ran to Daddy, whoever was watching would see and set off the fire bombs, and if it was someone here, they obviously had access. There were a lot of people. A lot of kids.
No. I couldn't let anyone else get hurt because of me.
With my heart pounding, I casually pocketed my phone and began walking toward the cabin, trying to appear normal while fighting the urge to sprint. I kept my eyes forward, not daring to look for Daddy. If they were watching, they'd know if I tried to signal for help.
The distance to the cabin felt endless. My legs trembled with each step, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps that I fought to control. I thought of Daisy's kindness, of Maria's warm smile, of all the people inside the clubhouse who had no idea of the danger.
As soon as I reached the cabin, I slipped inside and locked the door behind me. My hands shook so badly I could barely manage the deadbolt. I pressed my back against the door, sliding down until I hit the floor, tears streaming down my face.
The phone buzzed again in my pocket.
Good boy. Now stay there. And remember, we're watching. Any attempt to warn them, and we push the button.
I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as I rocked back and forth. What had I done? I'd walked right into their trap. Now I was alone, and Daddy wouldn't know where I'd gone. He'd be worried, maybe angry, but at least he'd be alive.
Unless there was no bomb at all. What if this was just a trick to get me alone?
The thought had barely formed when I heard a soft knock at the back door.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The knock came again, more insistent this time. I rose shakily to my feet, lookingaround for something—anything—I could use as a weapon. My eyes landed on a heavy cast-iron skillet hanging above the stove. I grabbed it, the weight reassuring in my trembling hands, and crept toward the back door.
At the same time, my phone buzzed. I pulled out my phone to check the message.
Open the back door now or we blow the clubhouse. Your choice.
My blood turned to ice. If I ran, people would die. If I screamed, people would die. If I warned Daddy somehow, people would die.
With a trembling hand, I reached for the deadbolt on the back door. The metal was cool beneath my fingers as I slid it open, every instinct screaming at me to run. But I couldn't. Not when so many lives hung in the balance.
I gripped the skillet tighter in my right hand as I turned the knob with my left, pulling the door open just a crack.
"Smart boy," came a voice from outside. "Now put down whatever weapon you're holding and step back."
How did they know? I hesitated, the skillet suddenly feeling inadequate against whatever waited outside.
"Three seconds before I press this button," the voice warned. "One..."
I dropped the skillet with a clatter and stepped back, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst from my chest.
The door swung open, revealing two men in dark clothing, their faces obscured by black ski masks. The taller one held what looked like a remote detonator in his gloved hand. The other pulled a black package out of his pocket.
"Not a sound," the tall one warned, stepping inside. "You know what happens if you try anything."
I nodded, tears streaming silently down my face as I backed farther into the kitchen. The second man followed, closing the door quietly behind him.
"Stand still," he ordered, and I watched in horrified fascination as the second man pulled out a syringe.