Ready Or Not (The Hunter’s Club #2)

Chapter 48

48

I Wish a Bitch Would - Delilah Bon

I’m fuming.

And when I fume, someone usually ends up dead.

Manson locked us in the room, and I’ve been counting down the minutes since he’s been gone. Not only does my head feel oddly lighter, but my entire body is buzzing on this strange sort of high. It’s like a rage high, and it makes me want to laugh every time Rachel looks at me funny.

She tries to shove me in the shower, which I accept only because I want to say something to her. When the water is on and steaming, I jump under it with all my clothes on, yanking Rachel after me.

“Riley!”

“Rachel,” I mock, slamming her into the shower wall. “Oh, hello, little deer. I think you forgot some rules.”

She struggles under me, her soft body writhing, which only turns me on. I tighten my fist in her clothes. “I make an order, and you follow it. Got it?”

“Riley, I–”

“What is it with you two and your incessant need to wear out my name?” I curl my lip at the thought of how close she is to Manson. Like they’re best buds now. “You’re coming with me.”

Rachel turns her pretty eyes on me. “Where?” she spits. “We’re stuck here.”

I cock my head. “Are we, Rachel? Or are you just saying that because you want to kiss Manson’s ass again?”

Rachel glares at me. “There’s a difference between ass kissing and common fucking sense! Your hair had to go!”

I bark a laugh. “This isn’t about my hair, Rachel. So here’s how this is going to go. I’m going to leave. You’re going to follow me. No questions asked.”

“What?” She blinks falling water out of her eyes.

“I just said no questions asked.” I shove away from her.

“No, you can explain to me what we’re doing.” Rachel follows after me. “Tell me what you’re doing, or you’re just as bad as Manson!”

I snort, getting out of the shower. I’m dripping wet, but I need to get this buzzing out of my system. Killing that man didn’t help, and I can only assume it’s because the other two are still breathing.

Not for long.

I march out into the bedroom. It’s been just long enough that if Manson is going to town, he’s in the middle of nowhere, with spotty service. I cover up the cameras so he can’t see what I’m doing.

For a fleeting second, I want him to see it. I want him to see and stop me. To wrap me up in those strong arms and get rid of all the chaos floating in my head.

But that would mean Manson would win, and he could look down on me and pity me. I think if I could be afraid of anything, it would be that.

Rachel follows me, wrapping up in a towel as I glance out the window and then estimate the spacing of the studs in the wall. Her eyes get wide as I turn and donkey-kick the drywall.

It breaks with the first kick.

Rachel sucks in a breath but says nothing. I turn and rip out chunks of the drywall, yanking on the insulation and ripping it out with my hands. Thankfully, the studs are two feet across, so there will be no problem squeezing between them.

A flashback fills my mind, and then I remember the taste of the grape popsicle. Those were always my favorite.

I dry heave.

“That’ll hurt later,” Rachel deadpans.

I hope it fucking does.

I turn to kick through the remaining wall. This one is harder, with the siding also holding it in. But the taste of grape flavoring fills my mouth, and I want anything other than that taste. I kick harder and harder, over and over.

“You got it,” Rachel’s voice is bored.

I glance around. Sure enough, there’s a hole to the outside.

Elation fills me. Manson will not win.

“Let’s go.” I motion at Rachel.

She crosses her arms. “This is the second story.”

“Yeah, and while we’re stating facts, the sky is blue.”

“Not always.”

“Jesus, Rachel,” I whirl on her. “You’re coming with me, even if I have to throw you out of here.”

She shakes her head. “Why do you hate Manson, Riley?”

Not this right now. I can’t fucking do this. I start toward her.

“Let me get dressed!” She moves to the dresser and throws me a change of clothes. “Here. If we’re going to murder someone, at least don’t wear the same clothes you wore to the last one, for the love of God.”

I glare at her.

She gets dressed quickly, and I frown at her, but I also switch out my clothes. She picks out pants, which is an abomination, but she glares at my tattoos. She also makes me switch shoes, so thank god Manson is a maniac planner and has multiple outfits and choices in this room.

When she’s standing beside me at the hole, she mutters, “You hate Manson because he gives you no choice, but you do the same thing for me.” She turns her angry gaze on me. “So fuck you, Riley Kennedy. Fuck you.”