wrist. I put my hand over Dena’s mouth and feel the faintest of breaths.
Almost immediately I have a headache, the smell of gas is so strong.
“We have to get them out of here,” I say, already pulling Dena.
“I’ll call nine-one-one.”
“There’s no time!” I’m dragging Dena to the door. “They’ll die. Let’s get them out and then call.”
“What about—”
“Molly!”
She shuts up and grabs Shannon, helping me drag two bodies out onto the grass. We leave them there. Sucking in clean air, we both tear back in for two more, finding superhuman strength as I pull Candace and Molly takes Ashleigh, who moans but doesn’t wake up.
My arms are on fire as I clunk Candace down the single step and practically thrust her to the grass. She doesn’t even flinch.
Oh, God, don’t let her die. Don’t let her die.
“Let’s get Bree!” Molly says, and I start to run with her, then catch a glimpse of the motorcycle that shouldn’t be here.
“You get her,” I say, hauling past Molly to the back of the trailer. “He might be back there.”
I don’t know why or how, but I have to look.
Molly grabs my arm. “Don’t, Kenzie!” She yells through the hand she has covering her mouth and nose. “We have to get out of here. This thing could explode any second!”
Horror rocks me. She’s right, but …“Just let me look, Molly. I can’t let him die. Get her.” I give her a shove toward Bree and bolt down a little hallway to a darkened bedroom.
“Levi!” I call, but there’s only silence. I hear Molly grunt as she works to get Bree, and I peer into the bedroom, seeing no one. A wave of nausea grips me as the gas invades my body, making me gag, but I force myself to go over to the closet and throw the door open. I can’t let him die.
But there’s no sign of Levi. I stick my head in the dingy bathroom in the hall, also empty.
“Kenzie!” Molly screams at me from outside, a note of sheer panic and terror in her voice. “Kenzie!”
“Coming,” I call, running back to the living room, the effort taking everything from me as weakness presses on my body. I take one second to look in the kitchen, fully expecting the gas burners to be on.
But the stove is electric and it’s off.
So where is the leak?
I hear a clicking sound, a steady, insistent tap-tap-tap coming from somewhere. The walls? The floor?
There’s a low rumble, like a volcano about to—holy crap, I have to go. Forcing myself to run, I throw my whole body outside, rolling on the grass right into Candace’s body just as everything explodes, a mushroom of fire and heat like I’ve opened a furnace and stuck my face in.
Instinctively I throw myself backward, the noise of the explosion echoing over the forested countryside, a sickening, deadly sound I know I’ll never forget.
I roll away from the heat, squinting into the reflected orange tinge of the lawn for Molly, scanning in panic when I don’t see her.
“Molly?” I scramble to my feet, spitting dirt and ash from my mouth. “Molly?”
Is she at her car? Calling for help? Had she left her phone in the car? I cling to that hope, pivoting to check on the girls and nearly buckling in relief when I see Candace, Dena, and Shannon waking up. Ashleigh turns over and Bree starts to cough.
They’re alive!
Still moving on autopilot, I know I have to find Molly. I run to the car, stumbling and coughing, certain I see her inside. I grab the driver’s door because it’s closest and yank it open, another wave of raw relief when I see her leaning against the window, eyes closed.
“Molly?” I slide in, reaching for her. Was she overcome by the gas? Did she faint from shock? What the heck? “Molly!”
Another smell sucker-punches me, this one pungent and sharp, like vinegar. What is that—
With a gasp, I whip around to the backseat, meeting the dark, threatening, murderous eyes of Jarvis Collier and the glint of a blade he slides right under Molly’s jaw. In his other hand, he has a rag drenched in something that must have put her into a sound sleep.
“Obviously, it was a mistake to put you on that list.” He gestures the rag toward the steering wheel and flashes the knife at Molly’s neck. “Age, Quinte.”
CHAPTER XXIX
Age, age. Age … drive, imperative mood. Quinte … Fifth.
“Don’t hurt her,” I whisper, grateful I can make any sound at