House of Fire (Unraveled Series) (30 page)

Evie pressed her
small hand on Delaney’s knee before Delaney turned to see a tear rolling down
Evie’s cheek. They had both felt it, the memory of their brothers’ pain sinking
deep into their bodies. They were mourning the loss of two little boys they had
never known. The loss of a family they’d never had. Holston had damaged them
all irreparably, and Evie most of all. Delaney pressed her hand on Evie’s,
squeezing it tightly. The bond between them had never been severed; it had only
been warped into a long, frayed string, verging on separation. Delaney wouldn’t
let Holston take their mother along with everything else.

Evie pulled her hand
away and wiped the tear with the back of her hand as she cleared her throat and
hung her head down. Delaney heard a faint whisper, numbers finally registering
in her head. Four, Five. Evie was counting. The whispers stopped and her voice
became audible in the familiar, steady tone.

“There’s no way to
sneak in. We’re just going to have to go for it. Sprint at the same time. I’ll
take the front. Delaney and James, you take the side, service door.” Evie
pulled the gun up to her chest, holding it firmly against her body. She was
ready. Evie had been waiting for this moment for the last fifteen years. Evie
had missed her chance six months ago and wouldn’t let it happen again.

“What about the
back,” James whispered on the other side of Delaney. “There has to be a back
door. We should get all the sides covered so they can’t get out.”

“If they’re in
there,” Delaney added as she pulled the twelve gauge off the grass and tucked
it beneath her arm. She envied Evie’s 9mm, the light and smooth feel of the
handle. Delaney wasn’t used to the bulkiness of the shotgun, but her
alternative was the rusty fillet knife. She wouldn’t be slicing anyone open
with that. She wasn’t Gunnar.

“Do you think he’s
got anyone else with him?” Delaney asked.

“James, take the
back, if there is one. If not, follow Delaney through the garage. Holston
doesn’t have anyone left,” Evie replied as she held out her fingers, counting
them as she named them. “Gunnar’s gone. So are the two hoodrats in the barn.
Schaefer. Who else is there?”

Delaney shrugged her
shoulders, exhaling a deep breath as she felt James’s hand on her leg. The
touch sent jolts of adrenaline through her already pumping body. This was it.

“Then let’s do it,”
Delaney whispered.

The whispers of
counting escaped from Evie’s lips again as she made the sign of the cross in
front of her body.

“Five.” Evie sprinted
up first, the black wave streaking across the lawn.

Delaney’s legs sprang
up, sending her forward into a dash to the garage doors. The shotgun swayed
back and forth as she gripped the gun tightly with both arms in front of her
chest. James ran alongside her with the knife tucked inside the waist of his
plaid shorts. Delaney’s breath pulsed with each step, her feet crashing through
the plush grass.
A hundred feet away. Ann will be saved.
Her eyes
narrowed in on the white door, the silver handle burning in the bright sun. She
caught the wave of black nearing the front steps, ducking and sliding against
the bottom of the porch.

Evie pressed her back
against the steps, waiting for Delaney and James to get to their spots. Delaney
moved her eyes back to the door.
Fifty feet away. Holston will die.
Delaney’s feet pounded on the flawless, light grey concrete as she neared the
door while James swung to her left, circling to the back of the house.
Tightness squeezed her heart as Delaney watched his dark brown strands
disappear around the corner. She wanted to scream out to him - tell him that
she would never stop loving him - but she kept propelling her legs forward until
she stood in front of the door.

Delaney shifted the
gun to one hand, her other hitting the door handle and pulling it down.
Open
.
She pushed the door a crack, peeking into the shadows. Streams of light
filtered into the garage from the small windows on the overhead doors. A wall
separated the two large bays, a small door opening on the wall near the far end
of the garage. Her eyes fell onto the gray Mercedes parked in the stall nearest
to her, its shiny exterior glossy in the white light.
They’re here.

Delaney’s chest
thrashed as she stepped into the garage and closed the door behind her. She
raised the shotgun to rest against her shoulder, pointing outward as she
scanned the garage. Her index finger curled around the metal of the trigger.
Her pounding breath was the only thing she heard as she spotted the step leading
to the white entry door. She moved along the outer wall, peering into the empty
car for signs of her mother, but she found nothing except for a fedora resting
on the dash.

Her stomached lurched
as she moved onto the step, wondering if James and Evie had made it in. She
hesitated, staring at the white door, waiting for any noise from the house.
Silence
.
She placed her hand on the door handle, inching it down, when she felt the
release. Her hand moved quickly down as the door opened from the other side. Delaney’s
body staggered forward, not suspecting the door to jolt open as it had. She
stumbled, trying to raise the shotgun against her shoulder, when she heard the
voice.

“Don’t even think
about,” a voice rasped a potent warning.

Delaney’s eyes shot
up to see the emerald eyes staring back at her, the barrel of a handgun
pointing at her face.
Florence
.
Fuck.
They had left Florence in
the motel, smoking, in her red lingerie earlier this morning, but it was almost
five hours later. The barefoot woman stood in the open doorway, her bright red
toenail polish splashing against the white tile floor. Her red dress hugged
against her sixty-year-old body snugly. Her matching red lips pursed, her eyes
falling into two, small pinches on her face. Florence held the gun steady,
following Delaney’s body. Delaney pulled the shotgun down, resting the butt on
the top of her foot, holding the barrel in her hands.

“On the ground,”
Florence ordered, keeping the gun pointed at Delaney. “In the garage.”

Delaney leaned down,
letting the shotgun slide to the floor with a clank. She kept her eyes on
Florence as she stood back up, the dread soaking through her body as Florence
waved her in with the other hand.

“Make a sound, and I
will shoot. Trust me. I’ve got nothing to lose,” Florence said as she pulled
Delaney’s arm.

Delaney’s body
followed, stumbling into a brightly lit kitchen basked in various shades of
white. The counters were a white marble, black swirls interrupting the white
smoothness. The cabinets were the same white. The floors. The walls. Everything
was a pristine white, a room with no beginning or end. The stinging splash of
red next to Delaney, threatening her, was the only break in the monotony of
white. Delaney’s eyes shot to the back of the house, looking for a door, but
she couldn’t see beyond a dining area. No backdoor in sight. Delaney’s arm
flinched, pulling slightly away from the red painted nails that gripped her
skin.

“If you want your
precious mother alive, you’ll do what I say,” Florence continued.

Delaney closed her
eyes as her body went limp with defeat, following the red dress through the
kitchen. Florence’s bare feet paddled against the floor, her skin making a
slapping sound as she walked. Delaney winced as she passed the large island,
the glass fixtures burning a bright white as they made their way into the
adjoining living room. She scanned the back wall of windows, looking for
James’s familiar locks, but there was nothing. She followed Florence into the
opening, the room expanding into twenty foot ceilings. In the center, looking
out into the backyard, was a head of brown hair, the strands cascading down her
shoulders.
Ann Jones.

Her mother sat on the
edge of a white chair, her back a strict ninety degrees to the floor. Her body
was as still as a statue as she looked forward into the backyard.

“Mom,” Delaney cried
out, her voice echoing through the space. The brown head turned, her mother’s
face falling as she recognized her daughter. The nails dug deeper into
Delaney’s arm as Florence shoved the gun into her back.

“Delaney.” Ann stood
up from the chair slowly, her hand grazing the armrest. “Oh, my god. What are
you doing here? Are you okay?”

“I came to get you,”
Delaney sputtered as the barrel was shoved further into her back. Ann hung her
head down, burying her face into her hands.

“Walk,” Florence
ordered. Delaney stepped into the living room, scanning the room as they neared
the chair next to Ann Jones. “Sit.”

“Where is he? Where’s
Holston?” Delaney asked as she sat lightly on the chair next to her mother. A
sharp blow on the side of her skull rang through her head, the metal of the
handgun connecting in a quick whip of Florence’s hand. Delaney’s hands shot up
to cover her head, her body pinching together in a defensive position.

“STOP!” Ann screamed.

“Where is she?”
Florence pressed the gun into Delaney’s back again. Delaney looked at Ann, her
face scrunched up with a questioning look. Florence and Holston both knew that
Evie was here with her.
Anna. Your daughter.

A clamoring sounded
behind them. All three women craned their heads to the sound, watching as James
stumbled into the living room with Holston behind him.
James
. Delaney’s
body clenched as she watched James move into the living room, drops of blood
splattering onto the floor with each step. He held his side with one hand, the
blood dripping from the wound. His shirt was stained red, the small circle
swelling into a large spot on the cotton.

“I’m sorry,” James
whispered as he stumbled forward. Holston walked behind him with a hard face,
one hand holding a gun to his back and the other holding the stained fillet knife.
He shoved James onto the white couch, the red smearing across the linen.
Delaney’s body thrust up only to be pushed back down by Florence.

“George, damn it,”
Ann yelled from her chair, her hands twirling at her ears. “Enough.”

“It had to be done,”
Holston replied coolly, his voice as smooth as silk. “He left me no choice.”

James grimaced on the
couch as he shifted his body, his hand still holding his side. Delaney’s body revolted
as she felt the helplessness sink in. He needed help; she couldn’t lose him
now. She swung her head back to Holston, his black eyes returning her glare.

“Where is she?”
Holston asked. Delaney held her face straight, unwavering as she studied his
white shirt, a red smear across the side. He was tainted with James’s blood.

“Evie, where is she?”
he asked again, his voice rising as the knife twitched in his hand.

Delaney felt her body
release, a momentary surge of power filtering through her. Holston was
agitated. She had never seen him like this. His cool demeanor replaced with a
twitchy, nervous one.

“You mean, your
daughter?” Delaney shot back.

“She’s not my
daughter,” Holston replied, his hand wavering.

“You’re right,
actually. You could never be a father to Anna Jones,” Delaney spewed, the hate
curling from her lips.

“What?” Ann gasped
next to her, her head turning to Delaney. “What did you say?”

“Anna Jones, your
daughter that Holston kidnapped during the fire,” Delaney replied. “A fire,
that’s safe to assume, he set.”

“How do you know
about the fire?” Ann whispered next to her, her hands fluttered harder against
her ears. She turned to Holston. “George?”

“Ann, my love, I
didn’t know that all the kids were in the house. You told me that all three
were gone, sleeping at your mother’s house,” he started. “That Delaney was the
only one left in the house.”

Delaney’s head
twitched at her name. She studied her mother’s face for answers, trying to
comprehend what Holston was saying.

“The bodies. There
were three bodies left in the house after the fire,” Ann said, shaking her
head. “It can’t be.”

“I had to, Ann. You
left me no choice. You wouldn’t let me see her and she was mine,” Holston said,
walking toward her as he tried to control his voice.

He left James huddled
on the couch behind him, still bleeding. Delaney felt the gun point into her
back, the spot throbbing as she watched James struggle on the couch. She
couldn’t watch him die, not while she simply sat there.

“How?” Ann demanded,
putting her hands on her hips.

“You don’t want to
know,” Holston said, kneeling down at Ann’s feet. “The boys, they’re my only
regret. You have to believe me. I tried to make up for that with Ben and Mark.”

“Don’t believe a word
he says,” Delaney spat. “He’s a sadistic murderer.”

“Shut it,” Florence
rasped in her ear. “He saved Ben and Mark from me. I couldn’t take care of them
anymore. I couldn’t be their momma and neither could their helpless father. So
he sent me away to California to get myself clean and he came back for me when
I was ready to return his favor. When he was ready to finish his work.”

“You’re Ben and
Mark’s birthmother?” Ann put her head into her hands. Delaney watched her
mother’s world crash beneath her, just as it had for Delaney in the last few
hours.

“Yes, I am,” Florence
said, standing straighter before she pressed the gun deeper into Delaney’s
back. “And now that I returned the favor, I get to see my boys again.”

“I had a friend who
worked in a cemetery. He had just watched a family bury a little girl. She was
one,” Holston said, his voice even as he stared into Ann’s face and ignored
Florence. “I put the corpse in the house. Anna is alive.”

“You bastard,” Ann
shot out as she raised her hand to slap his face. He caught her arm in
mid-swing, holding it in the air until she relented, putting it back down into
her lap as she let the news that her daughter was alive sink into her body.