slower and by the time I turn up the long tree lined drive leaving to the house, I am trembling.
I pull up next to my mother’s black Cadillac, breathing so hard I’m practically panting. I need to get out of the car. She’s in danger, and I need to help her. But I can’t move. I drop my forehead onto the steering wheel as a flood of memories, the sound of screaming, the places on my body they hurt, sting now with phantom pain. The crunch of gravel under tires jolts me back to the present and I almost burst into tears of relief when Stone’s silver Ranger Rover pulls in behind me.
“You okay?” he asks when he pulls my door open. He crouches down beside me.
“You don’t have to come in. I’ll go. I called 911 and they’re on their way, okay?” he speaks in a steady, reassuring voice and rubs his big, warm hand down my back.
My breathing grows steadier and I nod.
“I want to go. I need to.” I add when he looks like he’s about to argue with me.
He helps me out of the car. We walk toward the house of horrors. But, with Stone holding my hand, the cloying fear recedes, and vengeful anger takes its place.
A scream from inside smacks into my consciousness like a runaway freight train. It shatters everything, but my need to help my mother. I break into a run and ignore Stone’s shouts for me to stop.
I scream my mother’s name and my voice as loud as a raging wind as I cross the threshold into the house. I run through the living room and down the corridor and burst into the room where the sounds are coming from.
I walk in to find a stark-naked Weston cuffed to the bed, his legs spread eagle, his arms bound above his head. His screams stop when he sees me.
“Oh my God, stop her, she’s going to get me killed.” I look around the room and don’t see my mother, and then I hear the sound of the toilet flushing.
I rush over to the bathroom and see my mother dumping bags of brown powder into the toilet, a satisfied smile on her face.
“Mother?” I call and she shrieks and drops at the bag and turns toward me.
“Oh my God, child. Don’t sneak up on me like that. I didn’t hear you over that man’s wailing. Apparently if all of this heroine goes missing, I won’t have to kill him myself. The Mexican Cartel will.”
I stare slack jawed at her, unable to formulate a response.
“Regan?” Stone bellows my name.
“We’re in the bathroom. She’s fine.” I yell back out to him just as Weston starts shrieking again.
“Oh, Stone is with you. Perfect. I was thinking we could burn this place down before we leave. What do you say?” she asks, as if she’s discussing what we should eat for dinner.
“Mother, the police are on their way. Stop flushing those drugs and why is he naked?” I ask her in exasperation.
She reaches into a bag on the floor beside her and pulls out a bottle of honey and holds it up with a smile. “I was going to pour this on him, leave the door open and let the bugs have at him until the cartel showed up.”
“You fucker!” Weston shrieks and I dash out into the hall and make for the room.
Stone is holding a knife under Weston’s balls and he’s got a hand cuffed around his neck.
“I’m a doctor. I know how to cut this so that not even the best surgeon could make you right,” he says and Weston howls bloody murder. A trickle of blood drops onto the sheet between his thighs.
I grab Stone’s wrist and tug. I might as well be trying to maneuver a mountain.
“No, baby. I want to finish what I started the last time we were all together.” His hand around Weston’s throat tightens and the man’s face turns red, his eyes turn to me pleading for help.
Looking at him is hard. Despite his current predicament, he looks well. Better than Jack did, and certainly better than Rebecca looked last time I saw her. It’s not right that he’s had a moment of comfort. But I don’t want one more entanglement with this man. I don’t want to lose one more person, or minute because I gave him more power than I should have.
“You can’t. It’ll make it easier for him to get off.”