Never Die Alone (A Bentz/Montoya Novel Book 8) Read Online Free PDF

his eyes for a second and gathered himself. Willing the fire around his neck to subside, he reached up and felt the blood drying on his throat. He’d been lucky there. That cunt Zoe had tried to kill him with his own damned shears and rope. His lip curled in disgust at his weakness. But he wasn’t dead yet.
    Wincing, he rolled over and climbed to his feet. His head was clearing at last. A quick survey and he saw the devastation in the basement, the cracked light, the scattered ribbon, the bloody scissors that had been meant to end his life.
    He let out a hard growl as rage engulfed him. Didn’t they know he was doing them a favor? Taking their lives before they turned into adults? Saving them from the horrors of being separated, wrenched apart?
    He’d been careless. Complacent.
    And Zoe had gotten the drop on him.
    Un-fucking-thinkable.
    Blood had crusted down his neck, and he knew he was lucky to be alive, but the fury that consumed him didn’t allow him time to give himself a pat on the back. Not when the twins had gotten the better of him, left him for dead and found a way to break free. Fuck. Wait until Myra found out. Shit, he could already hear her taunting him, reminding him of what an idiot he was.
    “Son of a bitch!” he roared, but his voice emerged as a whisper, a painful mew. He realized whatever that bitch Zoe had done to him with the rope around his neck and the scissors thrust into his throat was going to keep him from speaking very loudly, at least for a while. Not that it mattered, but it pissed him off.
    Furious, his blood pumping, he pounded a heavy fist on his worktable.
    She’d get hers.
    He’d see to it.
    He had to get them. Chase them down. Bring them back. Finish his work. He checked the clock. There was still time.
    But a headache pounded behind his eyes and his throat felt as if all the demons in hell were gnawing at his flesh, chewing on him from the inside out. With difficulty, he staggered for the ladder and found it missing. “Goddamn it!” he hissed, then closed his mouth as pain exploded in his neck. With difficulty he peered upward and saw the foot of the ladder visible in the open door of the crawlspace.
    How had he let down his guard, letting them escape?
    Despite his wounds, he found the stool near his workbench and placed it under the opening in the ceiling. Standing on the stool, he reached up, took aim, and swung his belt over the protruding leg of the ladder. Eventually he was able to hook the buckle over the bottom rung. Slowly he pulled, but the belt slipped, fell back, the clasp nearly hitting him in the face.
    “Shit!”
    Again he swung the belt upward and hooked it. This time the connection was more secure. He tugged. The ladder moved. Gently, he pulled, forcing the ladder to the opening and levering it through. One final tug and gravity took care of the rest; the ladder slipped down to him. He secured the feet and a second later he was clambering up and checking the small cabin for signs of the twins. Nothing.
    Outside the darkness was thick, no moon glow or starlight. A misting rain filled the air. He closed his eyes and strained to listen to the sounds of the night. Over the pounding of his own damned heartbeat he heard a hoot of an owl and the steady croak of a bullfrog and the rush of wind through the trees. But no frantic footsteps. No hushed voices. Nothing to indicate the twins were nearby.
    Fuck!
    Frustration burned through him with a savage heat, and even though he was stripped bare, wearing only the damned apron, he began to sweat. Had he lost them? The twin girls who could ID him? His teeth ground together as he searched the darkness. They couldn’t be far. He hadn’t passed out for that long, less than fifteen minutes, and they were both naked and on foot.
    He didn’t think twice as he rounded the shed where his dog was going ape-shit, barking and howling loud enough to raise the dead. For a second, he thought about releasing Red, but he didn’t want to