Page 111 of From Hell

“That,” Cash snorts. “That is what we’re waiting for.”

Pres looks at his watch, the face still illuminated. “Lights out, power out, guns fucking blazing.”

Adrenaline kisses down my spine as the brothers stride into the dark, silent house, leaving me outside. My cousins drew the line at me coming in with them. But unease ghosts over my goosebumped skin at the base of my neck when they don’t come out.

Seconds tick by.

They went to find Simmons for me. That’s all they’re doing in there.

“What’s happening?” I ask Cash on the radio, keeping my voice low.

“Not much. It’s dead as a doornail. And it fucking stinks in here.”

“Of what?”

“Gasoline.”

I instantly regret not going in when the connection crackles, everything erupts into chaos, and then the radio dies. I was hoping it would be easy…get in and get out, that sort of thing, but it’s clearly not.

What feels like hours later, Cash emerges, a machine gun slung over his shoulder, dragging a beat-up Simmons out and down the steps by whatever hair he has left. He dumps him on the ground in front of me.

“One fucking bastard, hand-delivered for you.”

My eyes dart back into the house. “Where’s Pres?”

“He took one in the shoulder. Went to find some Tylenol.”

I doubt Tylenol would help, but I don’t say that, instead I stare down at Simmons, on his knees, panting and bloody at my feet. He’s trembling.

Shaking myself, my heart crashing in my chest, I pull out the gun from my waistband and point it at him.I can do this.It’s only then that I realize Simmons is laughing.

“W—what’s so funny?”

Simmons looks up, his eyes practically glowing. “You are. This.” He indicates to Cash. “It’s pathetic.”

“I have a gun pointed at your head. You think that’s pathetic? Why?” I grit out, trying to keep my calm. Fury licks my insides white hot, fighting the terror that hasn’t let go since we got here. Somewhere in my head, a voice cries,This isn’t me. But it’s like I’m watching a movie. Everything is happening so far away.

Simmons’s sides shake; he’s laughing so much. I stare down at him and then look at Cash, who shrugs.

“The fucker’s lost—”

Bang!

I can’t react fast enough.

In slow motion, Cash slumps over onto the ground. And the burly man with the dark, bushy eyebrows I saw at the auction comes striding out of the house, his gun trained on me.

“Drop it, or I kill him.”

Cash groans where he’s fallen. I drop the gun as Simmons’s amusement slows to a chuckle, and he gets to his feet. He turns away, no longer interested, brushing the dirt from his suit.

“Shepherd, deal with her.”

The burly man, Shepherd, picks up my gun and pockets it. I step back, chest tight, frozen in place, but he doesn’t seem to care. He walks right up to me and smashes his weapon onto my temple.

Lights explode across my eyes.

Then…nothing.