Flesh (Insatiable Series Book 3) by Patrick Logan

Author:Patrick Logan [Logan, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pathological Ink
Published: 2015-11-21T00:00:00+00:00

25.

Corina told Kent to exit the car first and the boy reluctantly obliged, his head hung low. She followed next, shoving the keys into her pocket after making sure to lock the doors.

The Wharfburn Estate looked pretty much the way Corina had pictured it in her mind all these years, despite the fact that she had never seen it in real life. She was not so naïve to think that her imagination hadn’t been impregnated by the blurry image of the house with the blonde news reporter standing in front, but she had obsessed about it for long enough to have formed a distinct visual: ostentatious red brick, overgrown brush leading up to the front, and large Victorian windows blanketing the front. What she hadn’t seen on TV, however, was the front door; it simply wasn’t there. Instead, the opening was wide, the porch leading up to it and the frame itself marred by streaks of charred wood.

As brave as she was, this house scared her.

“Go,” she ordered.

The command was meant for Kent, but it also served to kick her into gear.

When the boy turned his round face to look at her, she was struck by how young he suddenly looked; how young and scared. He reminded her of Henri, who had confronted her when Corina had told her and her mother that she was leaving. The girl’s eyes had looked just as Kent’s did now.

A pang of guilt suddenly shot through Corina at the thought of having left her sister and mother alone—and that she had come here, of all godforsaken places. And had stolen a cop car. And… and… and… her poor decisions kept adding up like gold coins in a purple drawstring bag.

Corina’s eyes drifted back to Kent, who appeared to struggle to put one foot in front of the other as he slowly made his way across the lawn.

And kidnapping, she thought glumly. Don’t forget to add that to the list.

An explosion from somewhere in the distance rumbled through the air, drawing both Corina’s and Kent’s attention.

The sound had come from Corina’s left—about five or ten miles away, she estimated based on the short interval between seeing the orange glow and hearing the sound.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked.

When Corina turned back toward Kent, he bolted.

It would have been impossible for Corina to catch him, what with her prosthetic leg, had he turned and run down the road. But for whatever reason, the boy’s first instinct was to head to the car, and when he found his passenger door locked, Corina caught him and slipped a hand under his chin from behind. The boy struggled, pushing off the car with his feet, but when Corina’s hand met her bicep and she squeezed, just a little, he stopped fighting almost immediately.

“What the fuck! Who the fuck are you?” he gasped through gritted teeth. Spit flew from his mouth and speckled her forearm.

Corina eased the pressure.

“I need your help,” she replied, breathing heavily on the side of his head and ear.

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