Chapter 15

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Finley frowned as she pulled up at the address Hillary had given her.

“This can’t be right,” she muttered as she glanced around the rundown neighborhood. Many of the houses were boarded up, and those that weren’t had a look of neglect about them. There was no way Hillary Kendall lived here. There must’ve been a mistake.

Just as Finley reached for the gear shift to reverse her car, her driver’s side door opened and the barrel of a pistol was shoved against her head.

“Get out of the car,” a high-pitched voice ordered.

Finley immediately put her hands up and said, “Don’t hurt me. Take whatever money I’ve got. And the car.”

“I don’t want your fucking money. Or your car,” the woman said. She shoved the pistol harder against her skull. “Get out.”

Finley’s heart was beating a million miles an hour. This couldn’t be happening. All she could think about was the life in her womb. If she was shot, her and Brock’s Little Bean would never have a chance to be born. Would never know how much he or she was loved.

Whoever was holding the gun to her head obviously wanted something. Otherwise, she would’ve shot her already…right? Finley prayed that was going to be this woman’s mistake.

Very slowly, she slid out of the car and got her first look at the person threatening her.

“Hillary?” Finley said in disbelief.

“Yeah, it’s me, bitch. Walk!”

Confused, Finley did as ordered. She desperately wanted to make a break for it, but she had no idea if anyone was with Hillary, and she definitely didn’t want to get shot in the back as she ran.

Panic almost overwhelmed her. She wasn’t some soldier or commando. Wasn’t an officer like Brock. When they’d been in the woods and she’d had that knife to her throat, she hadn’t panicked because Brock had been with her, and she knew he’d know what to do. But now it was just her. And her unborn child. A tiny little human who was relying on her to get them out of this.

Finley had no idea what to do or how to get them both to safety.

Hillary forced her to walk into the dilapidated house. As soon as she entered, Finley gagged a little at the stench. Something had died and was rotting in there. She could only pray it wasn’t a human body.

The house was clearly old, the kind built long before open-concept was a thing, with a small foyer that fed into a hallway. Hillary marched her down the narrow passage to a large entryway on the right. A living room. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a lone wooden chair in the middle of the room.

Finley walked over to the rickety chair and held her breath as she sat. With her luck, the damn thing would break under her weight. Luckily, it held, although the creaking when she sat had her holding her breath for a moment.

Feeling much better now that the weapon wasn’t right against her head, Finley took a deep breath. Of course, that didn’t mean Hillary wasn’t still pointing the damn gun at her. She was.

“Lean over and use those zip-ties to attach yourself to the legs of the chair.”

Looking down, Finley saw two white plastic zip-ties lying on the floor at her feet. There was no way they were going to fit around both her ankles and the legs of the chair. She looked up at Hillary to tell her as much, but the woman was glaring at her so hard, Finley swallowed the words.

She grabbed a zip-tie and inched up the leg of her cotton pants. They were kind of like scrubs…nice and roomy. She liked wearing them to bake in because they didn’t constrict and were very comfortable.

Finley wrapped the tie around her ankle and, just as she’d thought, there was no way she was going to be able to get the damn thing to fasten around the leg of the chair. Her breathing increased as she momentarily gave into panic. Then she took a deep breath.

“What’s taking so long? Hurry up, bitch!”

Finley looked up and asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you fucked up my life!” Hillary spat.

Surprised at the venom in her tone, Finley said, “I don’t even know you. I think you’ve only come into the bakery once.”

“That was to scope things out. To come face-to-face with the cunt whose life I was going to ruin, just like she ruined mine!”

Flinching at the absolute hatred in the woman’s expression, Finley was relieved that she’d at least diverted her attention. As the woman went on and on about how bad her life was, Finley leaned down again and did her best to make it look as if she was wrapping the zip-tie around the chair and her ankle. In reality, it was only around her ankle, fastened in the back. If she didn’t move her feet away from the chair, she could pray that Hillary might not notice.

The noise the tie made as the plastic zipped closed made the other woman cackle in glee. “Now the other one.”

Dropping the hem of her pants leg over the zip-tie to hide it, Finley held her breath as she did the same with her left ankle.

Hillary was so busy pacing while saying something about her knee and Roanoke and heroin, she still didn’t notice that her captive wasn’t actually attached to the chair.

Finley’s heart was beating furiously in her chest. Her arms were shaky with adrenaline, but she couldn’t think of anything to do next. Yes, she’d gotten one over on her captor with the zip-ties, but if Hillary was going to shoot her, there wasn’t much Finley could do about it.

To her utter relief, the thought that she was now bound seemed to make Hillary let down her guard. The pistol she’d been pointing at her the entire time lowered.

“It’s all your goddamn fault! If you’d just kept your fucking mouth shut, this wouldn’t be happening to you! You had to go and blab about my supplier’s truck! He freaked out and refused to come to Fallport anymore, so I had to go to him. And driving to Roanoke every other day is a pain in the ass and hard to miss. Then my clients got spooked after what happened with Pete and Cory, so they aren’t buying from me now—and there went all my money! My supplier refused to sell to me. I had to find other means to get my high. That means was heroin, you bitch! I’d avoided hard drugs for so long and now I’m a fucking addict—all because of you!”

She continued with her tirade, but Finley tuned her out. The woman was obviously crazy. She’d have never even said anything about the damn truck if Pete and Cory hadn’t kidnapped her. If the hell that was Hillary’s life was anyone’s fault, it was her own.

Finley let Hillary rant on as she furtively searched the room to see if there was anything she could use as a weapon. She could probably use the chair she was sitting on, bash it over Hillary’s head, but with the way it creaked and groaned as she shifted, it would probably break into a million pieces and do little damage.

She needed to get hold of the gun, but she’d never shot a weapon in her life. What if she couldn’t figure out how to work it? And she really didn’t want to have to kill Hillary. She just wanted to get away.

“Are you listening to me?” Hillary screeched.

Finley looked up at her and nodded. “Yes,” she said in a much firmer voice than she’d expected to hear. Inside, she was quaking; outwardly, she seemed as calm as if she was meeting a good friend for lunch.

“You’d better be! Because I’m the last voice you’re ever gonna hear. No one will know what happened to you. The fire will burn through those zip-ties and everyone will just think you were in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

Finley frowned. Fire?

Before she could ask Hillary what she was talking about, and possibly beg for her life—because at this point, that seemed to be the only option she had for getting out of this—Hillary spun away.

Finley tensed. This was her chance.

But the other woman had turned around again before Finley could even move. She was holding two one-gallon jugs Finley hadn’t even noticed…and they were filled with some sort of liquid.

“What, you aren’t going to beg for your life?” Hillary asked with a huge grin on her face.

Finley had been about to do just that, but she didn’t get a word out before Hillary went on.

“It won’t do you any good. And now you know who I am, so I can’t let you go anyway.” As she drew closer, Finley braced. Hillary put one of the jugs on the floor, and unscrewed the cap of the other. She was still holding the pistol, so some of the liquid splashed out of the container.

“Shit!” Hillary swore as the liquid splattered her shirt and hands.

Finley’s insides froze as a familiar smell hit her nose.

Gasoline.

She knew exactly what this insane woman had planned for her.

As if reading her mind, Hillary upended the contents of the first jug over Finley’s head.

Gasping in shock, Finley immediately began to cough violently as she inhaled fumes from the gas. Any idea of fighting back receded as the only thought in her head was getting some much-needed oxygen into her lungs. Her ears began ringing, and she vaguely heard Hillary laughing maniacally.

Before Finley could catch her breath, Hillary was pouring the contents of the second jug onto her lap, soaking her clothes.

It hurt to breathe and some of the gas leaked into her eyes, making them burn viciously. Everything around her wavered as her eyes overflowed with tears, her body instinctively trying to flush out the toxic liquid. This situation had gone from bad to worse.

Rivers of tears were still streaming down her face as Hillary threw the second jug to the floor, then backed away a few feet, a triumphant look on her face.

“Please, don’t do this!” Finley choked out. If this woman wanted her to beg, that was what she’d do. She’d do anything to live.

Desperately, she thought again about jumping up from the chair and using it as a weapon, but her vision was shit from the gas and it was still almost impossible to breathe through the fumes. Hillary stood between her and the entrance to the living room. If she failed to incapacitate the woman, she’d be shot immediately.

She’d waited too long to fight back. A mistake that was going to result in her death.

And the death of her and Brock’s child.

“It’s too late. You’re gonna burn. Fat makes a fire burn hotter too,” Hillary seethed. “There’s not gonna be anything left but ashes by the time someone calls the fire department. There aren’t any neighbors around here to give a shit. I should know—I’ve sold enough pills to the losers who live in these houses. You should’ve minded your own business, bitch.”

Hillary smiled then. A truly evil smile, as she raised the pistol and pointed it at Finley’s head. “Want me to shoot you instead? Make this nice and fast?” she asked.

Finley wanted to say yes. The thought of being set on fire was enough to literally make her pee her pants. She was so scared. Terrified. One of her hands went to her belly…

No, if Hillary shot her, she’d be dead immediately, without even a sliver of a chance to save herself and Little Bean.

“No? Fine by me. I’d rather watch you burn.” She took something out of her pocket and smirked.

A book of matches.

She awkwardly tore a match from the pack; it was apparently tough to point a gun while manipulating a book of matches at the same time.

“Time to say goodbye, bitch!” Hillary said as she backed away a little more, clearly intending to toss the match from a safe distance. She struck the match on the strike pad.

Everything seemed to happen at once.

The second the match burst into a flame, a large whoosh sounded—and Hillary let out a screech.

The fumes from the gas on her hands and clothes caught fire.

Finley acted without thought. She leapt from the chair, desperate to get away from the fire that was engulfing Hillary’s clothes.

She dropped to the floor, frantically trying to stifle the flames. The screams of pain and terror coming from the woman would haunt Finley forever—but she didn’t pause. She was covered in gas; if she got anywhere near Hillary in an attempt to help, she’d share her fate.

Racing to the front door, Finley was instantly swamped in dismay to find it locked. There was an old-fashioned dead bolt that required a key. She vaguely remembered Hillary pocketing something after they’d entered the house and she’d locked the door behind them.

She wasted a precious second wondering how in the hell her captor had the keys to an abandoned house, before panic almost overwhelmed her again. She could hear keening wails from the living room, louder than ever, as well as the crackling of flames as the gasoline spilled on the floor fueled the growing inferno.

Finley ran toward the back of the house, tripping over a loose board in the hall and landing hard on her face. Blood welled up in her mouth, but she ignored it. All she could think of was the trail of gas she was leaving in her wake. The liquid was dripping off her clothes and hair, and almost deliriously, she couldn’t help thinking of the old cartoons where fire raced along a trail of gas on the ground. She had no idea if that was actually possible or not, but she didn’t want to find out.

Sobbing, Finley found herself in a small kitchen, or what used to be a kitchen. There was a disgusting sink and a space for a refrigerator and stove. She saw the carcass of some sort of animal in the corner, which explained why the house smelled so bad. There were flies on what was left of the animal, and all over the kitchen.

Nausea rose within Finley. She had no time to be sick. She had to get out. The worst thing about this room was that there wasn’t a door.

But there was a small window over the sink.

She didn’t even hesitate. Climbing onto the counter, Finley tried desperately to figure out how to unlock it. Thick smoke began to waft into the room. Finley gave up on the lock and sat on her ass, aiming a foot at the window. She kicked as hard as she could.

To her surprise, it broke easily. Pain arched up her leg from where the glass cut her calf, but she was too relieved to have a way out of the house of horrors to care.

The rest of the glass was easy to kick out, and it was at that moment when Finley had second thoughts. She wasn’t sure she could even fit out of the window.

Then she thought about the baby inside of her—and determination welled. She would fit. There was no way she was coming this close to escaping, only to fail now.

Taking a brief second to look out the window, she saw it opened to an overgrown backyard that was completely fenced in. There was a doghouse in the back corner, and what looked like another animal carcass near it. Her heart breaking for the poor dog who’d obviously been left to fend for itself at some point, Finley took a deep breath.

It was about six feet or so to the ground from the window. She didn’t really want to go out head first, but that seemed the best way to maneuver herself out the window and have some sort of control.

Hearing something behind her, Finley turned to the kitchen door…

And stared in horror as Hillary stumbled into the room.

Her face looked like the stuff of nightmares, burnt almost beyond recognition, the flesh seemingly melting before Finley’s eyes. There was a deep gurgling sound coming from her throat that Finley could hear even over the crackle of the flames engulfing her body and every surface she touched.

Her arm came up slowly and she reached a hand toward Finley.

It was impossible that the woman was still walking! But obviously adrenaline, hatred, drugs, her need for revenge…something was keeping her upright.

Finley was out of time. If that burning zombie bitch touched her soaked clothes, Finley was done for.

She turned and dove out the window. There were still a few small shards of glass stubbornly sticking to the windowpane, but Finley didn’t feel them bite into her skin as she escaped. For a split second, she thought she wasn’t going to make it. That she was too fat. But she wiggled frantically until her hips and stomach slipped through. She fell to the ground in an undignified heap, biting her tongue for the second time in five minutes.

Turning over onto her butt, Finley scrambled away from the window. Keeping her eyes on the gaping space, praying Hillary wouldn’t—couldn’t—follow her, she held her breath as she made her way across the yard toward the farthest back corner, where she’d seen the dog house.

She didn’t see any more of Hillary, but before too long, flames were licking out of the open kitchen window. Finley forced herself to her feet and searched for a back or side gate so she could get out of the yard and away from the burning house.

There wasn’t one.

She shoved at the fence, but its boards didn’t budge. She let out a hysterical laugh. Figured she’d find herself in the only yard in a dilapidated block that had a fucking impenetrable fence. Looking down at the sizable carcass, she could only assume the previous owners had reinforced their fence because they had a very large, powerful dog they didn’t want escaping.

She tried to shove the dog house closer to the fence so she could stand on it and climb over, but the stupid thing wouldn’t budge. Kneeling on the ground, she dug at the packed dirt, trying to free the structure, only to realize whoever had built the strong fence had also reinforced the doghouse. Again, probably because the dog was big and powerful.

Increasingly desperate, Finley looked once more for an escape route and finally found a gate—at the front. Right next to the house.

The now wildly burning house.

There was no way in hell she was getting anywhere near it. She had no idea how close she had to be for the fumes of her clothes to ignite, and she wasn’t willing to risk it.

Just as she had that thought, her skin began to burn.

Squealing frantically, she looked down, half expecting to find her body on fire, but it seemed it was the feel of the gasoline on her skin finally registering.

Whimpering, Finley tore at her shirt, whipping it over her head and throwing it as far as she could. She did the same with her pants. She felt a little better with the gasoline-soaked clothes off, but her hair was still drenched.

Backing into the corner of the yard, as far away from the burning house as she could, Finley prayed hard that someone would call in the blaze. The possibility that the fence could catch fire was an increasing threat.

“Brock,” she croaked, her gaze fixed on the house. He’d get to her as fast as he could. She had no doubt.