The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors by Rachel Haimowitz Page B

he remembered from his first day here. He froze in the shadows of the archway, put an arm out to tuck Dougie behind him, then raised both sticks and peered ahead. The foyer was brighter, moonlight spilling in through oversized windows and reflecting off white marble tile. It was also empty. He poked his head around the edge of the wall, looked in one direction, then the other. Still no sign of anyone. Where were all the guards? Wasn’t anyone on watch? Or was Nikolai so fucking certain of himself that he thought he didn’t need them? Or maybe he just didn’t want the unwashed masses polluting his house.
    No. This is a trap. It has to be. You’re missing something. Look again.
    Except he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary on second glance, either. Or on the third. And he couldn’t cower in this fucking hallway forever. He was the one wasting time now.
    He looked over his shoulder, locked eyes with Dougie, darted his gaze toward the front door and then back. Nodded once— Are you ready?
    Dougie’s chin wobbled, and the terror that bloomed in his eyes was so stark Mat was sure he’d rabbit. But he didn’t. Just canted his head up and held his ground despite his fear. It broke Mat’s fucking heart to think of how Nikolai had trained that discipline into him. He wished he knew what exactly Dougie was so afraid of right now. Was it the possibility of exposure, of being caught? Or was it the fear of leaving this place behind them for good?
    Worry about it later, asshole. You have bigger problems right now.
    Like getting the hell out of here. Speaking of which, it was time to bite the bullet. He turned back to Dougie one last time, gave him a brief, purposeful nod, and streaked across the foyer to the front door.
    Unlocked. It was unlocked, too. After a long, lingering look through a decorative glass panel— No guards, where are all the fucking guards ? —he threw it open.
    And was hit face-on with cold air and starlight so fucking beautiful he could have cried.
    Probably would’ve, if not for Dougie crowding up behind him, pressing right into his back, as stubborn as a barnacle.
    This was it.
    Freedom.
    Gotta move. Appreciate it later. Preferably from the lobby of a police station.
    Of course, the big fucking question was: where to go ? They could follow the driveway, but if someone woke and noticed them missing, that’d be the first place they’d look. The forest was safer. Maybe they could parallel the driveway from thirty or forty feet deep in the tree line. Shit, he was freezing. His feet were already numb just standing out here on the porch. Maybe that was for the best, though; a single pair of wool socks wasn’t exactly much protection from all the rocks and sticks and shit littering the forest floor, and at least this way he wouldn’t feel the pain so much. Dougie was shivering too, but he was dressed pretty warm; Mat didn’t think it was the cold making his little brother shake.
    Damn it. Fuck shit damn! His fingers tightened around his sticks. He’d never wanted to hit something so badly in his entire life.
    Behind him, Dougie made an awful little mewling sound. Like he’d sensed Mat’s anger and was terrified by it. Mat forced himself to relax. Stay loose and easy. Stay sharp. Get moving. Come on, he tried to say, but it came out, “Kuh uh.” Whatever, close enough. He darted down the stairs and onto the driveway, and Dougie followed. Still a lost puppy, hugging himself, body small and frightened as he darted behind Mat and followed him into the shadowy overgrowth.
    Stay close, kiddo. Just like when we used to go running. Stay close to me.
    Mat had never bought into the barefoot running fad, a fact that was becoming really apparent now. It felt like he was walking on broken glass, and they’d barely made it past the tree line. Oh well, at least out here in the wilderness there was no risk of stepping on somebody’s used hypodermic like back in Vegas.
    Dougie followed close behind, still