I poured it over the custom-monogrammed welcome mat. I poured it over the heavy, solid oak double doors.
I backed up slowly onto the manicured lawn, the empty red canister clattering to the wet grass. The rain had completely stopped, leaving the evening air still, thick, and heavy. Perfect conditions for a firestorm.
I reached into the pocket of my damp jeans and pulled out the box of windproof matches. I slid one out. I struck it against the abrasive side of the box.
The flame flared to life instantly, a brilliant, hungry orange against the gathering twilight.
I looked at the living room window one last time. I saw Eleanor walk into the room, holding a tablet. She said something to Liam. Liam threw his head back and laughed.
They are monsters, I thought, a terrifying calm settling over my heart. And you have to kill monsters with fire.
I raised my arm. All I had to do was flick my wrist. The fumes would catch instantly. The old, treated wood of the historic house would go up like a Roman candle. The primary exits were already blocked by the accelerant. They would wake up to the suffocating heat and the blinding pain, exactly as Chloe had woken up to her own agony.
“An eye for an eye,” I hissed through my teeth.
My muscles tensed, fully prepared to throw the match and end their world.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The violent vibration against my thigh was so sudden, so jarring in the dead silence of the yard, that I physically jumped. I nearly dropped the burning match onto my own gasoline-soaked boot.
I gasped, clutching my chest as adrenaline spiked my heart rate. The flame in my hand wavered in the slight breeze, burning dangerously close to my fingertips.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
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