The Bad Sister. Kevin O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ know Mr. Hot Shot Detective has a license to carry firearms,” the man said. “So keep those hands up, Gil, and turn around, nice and slow . . .”

      Nate couldn’t believe this was happening. He stole a glance at Rene, over by the sink. She didn’t move a muscle. Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked terrified.

      The guy’s female companion still had the gun to Cheryl’s head. Cheryl was trembling. The expression on the woman’s face was cold and passionless. Nate had a feeling that, without even flinching, she’d put a bullet through Cheryl’s head.

      Nate once again looked at his brother, who still had his hands raised. Following the stranger’s orders, Gil had gradually turned around until his back was to them. The handle of a gun stuck out of the waistband of his jeans.

      “Let the others go,” Gil said, his back to them. “They don’t know anything. You can send them on their way without their phones or the car. It’ll be at least an hour before they reach the highway. That’ll give you plenty of time to get away . . .”

      “I don’t think Nate wants to leave his big brother behind,” the man said.

      Stunned, Nate stared at him. The guy knew him, too.

      The man nodded at Nate. “Take the gun from your brother. Slowly.”

      With a shaky hand, Nate reached for Gil’s gun. Holding it by the grip, he pulled the revolver out from where it was tucked in the waistband of Gil’s jeans.

      “Now, drop it on the floor—in front of my feet,” the man whispered. “No fucking funny business.”

      Biting his lip, Nate bent over slightly and then let the gun slip out of his hand.

      The man kicked it to a far corner of the kitchen.

      As Nate straightened up, he saw the guy raise his gun over his head, but it was too late to react.

      The man slammed the grip of the gun against Nate’s face. He fell to his knees onto the kitchen floor. After the shock came the blinding, searing pain. Past a high-pitched ringing in his ears, he heard Rene scream.

      “Son of a bitch,” Gil yelled. “Leave him alone . . .”

      The second blow was to the back of Nate’s head.

      He collapsed facedown on the kitchen floor—amid the shards of wet glass.

      * * *

      Nate woke up on the floor of the small, darkened bedroom. Some light seeped in from the kitchen through the doorway. He was lying on his side. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious. His head throbbed, and it felt like one side of his face was smashed in. Blood dripped from the gash alongside his temple to the floor. Just opening his eyes hurt.

      Still, he tried to move. But then he realized his hands were tied behind him—and his feet were bound together at the ankles with duct tape. Straining, he lifted his head and saw Cheryl lying on the bed, gagged and hog-tied. Her eyes met his, and she whimpered weakly. In a panic, Nate glanced around for Rene, but she wasn’t in the bedroom with them. What had they done to her?

      He could hear the two intruders talking in the living room. Their words weren’t clear, but it sounded like they were firing questions at Gil.

      “Go fuck yourselves,” Gil said loudly.

      That much Nate heard. He also heard someone strike a blow—and Gil gasping in pain. It sounded like they were asking about someone named Rachel Bonner. Nate heard her mentioned twice. He wondered if this Rachel Bonner person had something to do with the valuable information Gil had alluded to the other day on the phone. Was all of this connected to his brother’s involvement in some shady deal to make a quick “shitload of money”?

      Though it made his awful headache even worse, Nate writhed around on the floor, struggling to loosen the rope around his wrists. All the while, the muted conversation continued in the living room. He flinched every time he heard another punch thrown. He wondered why his brother was holding out. Or maybe Gil was stalling for time. If he had indeed phoned someone earlier, maybe they were on their way.

      Nate thought he heard Rene’s muffled crying in the kitchen. He imagined her tied up in there—maybe on the floor or in a chair. Rene always came across as strong and composed—especially to the students in her yoga classes. But she actually scared easily and often had nightmares. Nate hated to think of her alone in the next room, frightened and helpless, all her nightmares coming true.

      He could smell the shrimp they had planned to cook for dinner. It was spoiled now. But beneath the stink Nate picked up another odor: gas.

      Nate realized they must have left the unlit oven on. How long had the gas been leaking from the oven?

      “Okay, hot shot, have it your way!” Nate heard the guy say loudly. “Maybe you’ll start talking if I bring one of those bitches in here and start working her over.”

      Her eyes full of panic, Cheryl started squirming on the bed. Nate kicked and thrashed on the floor, but the rope around his wrists hadn’t slackened at all. He heard footsteps in the kitchen and Rene’s stifled sobs.

      Nate bellowed out: “Leave her alone!”

      The footsteps stopped, and there was an awful silence. Nate held his breath.

      After a moment, the floorboards creaked again and the footsteps got louder—closer. A shadow swept over the bedroom. Nate lifted his head and saw the man, in silhouette, standing in the doorway, holding a knife.

      “You just gave me an idea,” the guy said, stepping into the room. He stood over Nate for a moment. Then with a grunt, he hauled back and kicked him in the stomach.

      Stunned, Nate clenched into a ball, bringing his knees up to his chest. The blow knocked the breath out of him. An excruciating pain spread through his gut. He felt it in his shoulders, too. He’d almost torn his arms out of their sockets when he’d recoiled. His head spinning, he desperately gasped for air. He was barely aware of the man hovering over him, cutting the duct tape around his ankles. If he’d been thinking clearly, Nate might have kicked the guy in the face. Instead, he let the man pull him to his feet. Nate was still bent over from the pain in his gut.

      “You could use some fresh air,” the guy said mockingly. “Come on with me.”

      The man had the revolver in his hand now. He led Nate into the kitchen, where Rene was tied to one of the dinette chairs. A dishrag was stuffed in her mouth to keep her from screaming. Nate stopped. He tried to say something to her, but he could barely get a breath. The man pushed him toward the back door. Nate stumbled and almost tripped.

      “Stinks in here,” the guy said, opening the back door. He shoved Nate outside and shut the door behind him.

      The cold night air actually revived Nate a bit.

      “What has Gil told you about Rachel Bonner?” the man asked.

      Nate shook his head. “I—I don’t know who that is.”

      “Fuck,” the guy muttered. He grabbed Nate’s arm and pulled him around the side of the house—to the front of the cabin. “You better pray your asshole brother tells us what he knows.”

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