Winter's Blood: A Psychological Thriller by K.S. May

Author:K.S. May [May, K.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: psychological thriller
Publisher: Six Feet Under Publishing
Published: 2021-05-28T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Sunday sat in the back of Trick’s Audi A8, staring out its tinted windows. Trick leaned on the hood, parked at the exit to the woods. He checked his watch.

The kid should be here soon. Sunday strained her neck to peer out the back window.

Trick stared past the trees. He straightened his tie and wiped the sweat from his brow.

She’d asked Trick to follow Henry for a couple of weeks, to learn his routine and the route he took home from school. He had assured her this was the safest point for her plan.

He popped the hood, faking an engine problem.

Glancing behind again, her nephew strolled through the woods on his own, kicking up leaves. “Showtime.” She knocked on the glass and rolled down the window. “You ready?”

Trick nodded, looked up, and resumed work under the hood.

The boy sauntered past the car, half glancing at it.

Sunday slipped out and pointed the gun at the side of his head. “Into the car, Henry, now.” She grabbed him by his backpack, and slung him into the back seat. “Let’s go,” she said to Trick. He slammed down the hood and jumped into the driver’s seat.

She threw a bag at Henry. “Put them on, and keep quiet.” Sunday kept the gun trained on him.

Henry’s pupils dilated. His lower lip quivered imperceptibly, then he clamped down on it with his teeth. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

She pressed the gun to his temple. “Do as you’re told, and you won’t get hurt.”

He threw the bag to the floor. “How do you know my real name?” He pressed his head against the muzzle.

Sunday cocked the gun. “I’m not fucking around, Henry, just do it.” She slammed the bag into his midriff and sat back.

Sneering, Henry opened the bag. He donned the earmuffs, blindfold, and handcuffs. Sunday tightened them. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, lady. My mother will kill you for this.” He half-smiled, then remained silent for the rest of the journey.

She stared at her nephew, another unhinged Winter offspring. Jeez, he’s got balls for a boy his age. Anyone else would’ve soiled their pants, but not good old Henry Winter. Must be a crazy gene running rampant in our blood.

Ninety minutes later, Trick pulled into Animus’ parking lot. He frog-marched him inside. Henry’s shallow breathing filled the stale elevator air.

“We’re here.” She pushed him into the kill room and tied him to the chair. “Stay put and shut your mouth.”

Henry looked around blindly, struggled a little, then slumped down. He hung his head.

Sunday snapped his picture and slammed the door behind her.

Sitting in her office, she texted Dakota the photograph, then called her. A warm feeling cloaked her body at Dakota’s panicked voice.

What seemed like five minutes later, Dakota burst through the door, gun aimed at Sunday’s head. Trick failed to reach her in time.

She pressed the muzzle to Sunday’s cheek. “Where the fuck is he? You mad bitch, tell me where my son is.” Her eyes twitched with rage.

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