Silent Scream by Karen Rose Read Free Book Online Page B

number one.
    Mistake two—uploading the security guard’s route to their server. And mistake three, not hiring a five-year-old to try to
     hack in. They’d left the door into their system wide open. It had almost been insulting.
We took every precaution. Nobody saw us
.
    Except the girl and she was dead. He could see her face, every time he closed his eyes. Screaming, her hands sliding down
     the window.
    Eric narrowed his eyes. The guard was inept—he should have known the girl was there.
It’s not our fault.
She wasn’t supposed to be there to start with.
    “It’s not our fault,” he said out loud, and thought maybe if he said it another million times he might actually start to believe
     it.
We killed her.
It was the truth. The ugly truth.
    But no one knows. Unless Joel tells them
. Eric thought about Albert’s whispered words as he’d left the apartment.
I should have hit him harder. I still can.
    Eric had told him no, in no uncertain terms. But if Joel didn’t pull himself together, then what? His stomach churning, he
     sank into the chair next to the television.
    What a mess. What a goddamned mess. All because of some stupid waterfowl.
    “To hell with the birds,” he muttered, turning the television on. The anchorwoman stared into the camera and Eric bet she
     secretly got a charge from the excitement.
    “Firefighters are in cleanup mode at this time. Damageto the condo is estimated to exceed fifty million dollars. But the true loss is in the two victims.”
    Eric snapped to attention.
Two? What the hell?
    “Sources tell us that one of the victims was a female who was discovered on the fourth floor.” The screen switched to show
     the picture window where the girl had stood, screaming. A large jagged hole had been cut on the far end. “The second victim
     is a male in his midfifties. Police are withholding his name pending notification of his family. But our source tells us the
     man was shot to death.”
    For a moment Eric was too stunned to do anything but stare. Shot to death? No. Albert hit him. Just hit him. None of them
     had guns. What the fuck was this?
    He jumped when his cell phone buzzed on the table next to him. He stared at it, waiting. For what? Hell if he knew. But his
     heart was pounding, hard, slow and his hand moved as if through molasses. He flipped the phone open and his pounding heart
     stopped as his lungs froze at the text that popped up.
    i know what you did.
    Eric continued to stare and the phone vibrated again as a new text popped up.
    need proof?
    There was a link and, dread mounting, Eric clicked it. It was a video. He saw himself and the others staring up at the burning
     condo. Then the camera panned up to the girl in the window, her mouth open on that silent scream that still filled his mind.
     Then it was back on them and he was nodding at Albert as they held the struggling Joel. Albert struck Joel and they dragged
     him away. The video lasted only thirty seconds.
    But it was enough. They’d been seen. They were fucked.
    Hands shaking, Eric’s thumbs somehow hit the right keys.
Who are you?
    your master
.
    His whole body shook now, violent trembles.
What do you want?
    don’t worry. will tell you soon enough. will text address when im ready. be waiting. tell no one. yes or no?
    He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only stare.
    A minute later another text popped up.
im losing patience. you think prison will be fun? ur awful cute. dont drop the soap. yes or no?
    Eric took several deep breaths, nausea mounting with each one. There was only one answer.
Yes
, he typed, then closed the phone. He stood, carefully placing the phone back on the table. Then he ran to the bathroom and
     threw up.
    He sat back in his easy chair, the grin nearly splitting his face when Eric’s reply popped up.
Yes.
Of course he’d say yes. “Take that, rich boy. Your ass belongs to me.”
    Monday, September 20, 3:30 a.m.
    Austin Dent froze, one leg over his windowsill, the beam of a