“Not for me.” She looks back toward the barn. “If this is what it takes to keep us alive, then I want to feel it. All of it. Need to know exactly what your family is.”
The words land like a fist to the gut.
Because she’s right. This is what my family is. Medieval cruelty dressed up as tradition. And I’m about to let it happen to the one person I’ve been trying to protect.
“Saint—”
“Let’s just go.” She reaches for the seat belt. “Get it over with.”
I grab her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop her.
“You take the pills, or we sit here until you do.”
She turns back to me. Jaw set. Eyes blazing.
“You can’t make me.”
“I can.” I hold up the pills between us. “And we both know that I will.”
We stare at each other. Two stubborn people locked in a battle neither of us can win.
Then she laughs.
Not a happy sound. Something bitter and sharp cutting through the truck cab.
“So this is how it works,” she says. “You give me choices that aren’t really choices. Make me think I have control when I don’t.”
“This isn’t a choice. This is me trying to make something horrible slightly less horrible.”
“By forcing me to take drugs I don’t want?”
“By keeping you from screaming so loud you rupture something.” The words come out harsh. Honest. “By keeping you from thrashing so hard, you make the brand blur. By giving you one small mercy in a situation that has none.” Her expression shifts, and with it, some of the fight drains away. “Ican’t stop this from happening, but I can make it easier. I can protect you a little bit. Let me do that for you, Saint.”
“How bad is it?” she asks quietly.
The last thing I want to do is scare her more than she already is, but there’s no lying to her either. “Bad. Bad enough that I know you’ll need it. So please take the pills.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she takes them from my palm, puts them on her tongue, and swallows them dry.
“There.” Her voice is flat. “Happy?”
No. Not even close.
I start the truck.
The main barn sits at the edge of the property. Big enough to stable twenty horses. Tonight, it’s empty of hands except for the people gathered inside.
My brothers stand near the center. Sawyer and Levi flank the left. Kade on the right, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Our mother stands apart from them all, near the wall, looking like she wants to disappear into the shadows.
Roman waits in the middle, next to the brazier.
The iron is already heating. I can see the tip glowing orange. Not white yet. Not hot enough. But getting there.
Saint goes rigid beside me. Her hand finds mine. Squeezes hard enough that bones grind.
“I can’t.” Her words come out barely above a whisper.
“You can.” I keep my voice low. Steady. “You’re tougher than you think.”
