Snowbound - Blake Crouch [70]
“Anybody in here? I won’t hurt you if you come on out.”
He walked to the near end of the table, the room reeking of cigars and marijuana smoke, soured with spilled alcohol and the licorice stench of absinthe.
Ten feet away, he spotted a dark shape lying down against the wall beside a potted spruce tree. Will’s finger moved onto the trigger.
He heard the sputtering of a drunken snore, and his eyes pulled detail out of the dark: an older silver-haired man having partied out of his league.
Something clanged in the kitchen.
“Come out of there!” Will hollered. “Your chance to do this without getting hurt is slipping away.”
The kitchen doors swung open and two men staggered out—a man in his late twenties, naked except for his boxer shorts, looking disoriented and sheepish, and a shorter, much rounder kimonoed man, balding and more sober.
“Tell him it’s cool, Reynolds.”
“Keep your mouth shut, Sean.” To Will: “What’s going on here?”
“Come closer.”
The men stepped forward into the full illumination of a torch.
“Who are you?” Will asked.
“Guests of this lodge. Who the fuck are you?”
Footsteps sounded outside in the passage. Will glanced over his shoulder.
“Just me, Dad.”
“I told you wait out there.”
Reynolds said, “Where’s everybody else?”
“They’re dead, sir.”
Sean said, “Oh shit.”
“Are you law enforcement?” Reynolds asked.
“No.”
Devlin sidled up to her father.
“Then what gives you the right to—” The racket of a pumping shotgun stopped him cold. Will turned, to see his daughter leveling a Mossberg on both men.
She said, “You with no shirt on, step out of the way, please.”
Sean staggered around the table and sat down unsteadily against the wall beside his father. Reynolds looked confused and terribly put upon.
“Honey, what are you doing?” Will said.
She shouldered the shotgun.
“I’m gonna kill that fat man.”
“No, Devlin—”
“Trust me, Dad, he has it coming.”
“In cold blood?”
“Yep.”
“Wait just a second.”
“Why are you so angry with me?” Reynolds asked.
“Remember that pregnant woman you raped this morning?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“You told her you’d made eighty-four million dollars this year? That you could kill her if you wanted?”
“I think you’re mistaking me for—”
“I’m not mistaking you for anybody.”
Will said, “Devlin, this isn’t the way to handle this. You didn’t have a choice with Paul, but you do now.” He reached for the shotgun, saying, “Here, give me that,” but his voice was lost in the shattering report. Will watched, stunned, as his daughter struggled to pump the Mossberg again.
Reynolds was sitting on the floor in a puddle of himself, not making a peep, just staring at the shredded kimono and all that was leaking through it.
Devlin approached him with the Mossberg already shouldered, said, “I hope you go to hell,” and shot him in the face.
When her ears quit ringing, the only sound in the room was Sean’s whimpering.
Devlin looked back at her father, saw something like disappointment or disgust.
“Please don’t look at me like that, Dad.”
Will just shook his head, and for a moment Devlin thought he might cry.
“You wanna know why I’m never going to lose a wink of sleep over that?”
“Why?”
Devlin reached into her pocket and pulled out a key.
“Come with me. I’ll show you who I watched him rape.”
FIFTY-SIX
They locked Kalyn, Sean, and his father into separate rooms on the first floor of the south wing, and Will followed Devlin up the staircase to the fourth, where they stopped in front of the door to room 429.
“Here.” She handed her father the master key.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Just open it.”
Will slipped the key into the lock.
“I’m gonna wait out here,” Devlin said. “You’ll need this.” She handed him a lantern, and Will turned the key, pushed the door open.
The room was dark. Someone lay crying in bed. He set the lantern