Dark and soulless.
“What do you think, little mouse?” he asks in an idle tone, like it’s of no real interest to him. “Shall we kill you?”
I’m going to die anyway, I figure. No way are they letting me go after everything I saw. I take what tiny bit of dignity I have left and cross my arms. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I glare at him. Refuse to answer.
He chuckles, a low rumble like I’ve entertained him, which makes me even more enraged. How dare they? These arrogant pricks? I’ve heard of their wildsex-fueled parties. The hold they have over this town. The children they poison with their drugs.
I hate them. I hate this place. I want no part of it. I never have.
“Maybe not a mouse,” Carrson says, rubbing his jaw like he’s solving for x, probably calculating the cost of my life or where to dump my body. “Seems like the cat’s got your tongue.”
His gaze drags over me like a living thing, slow, cold, invasive. He’s not touching me, but I feel it anyway. Every inch.
“You’re small,” he adds, voice dipping. “Not a cat. More like a kitten.”
This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever heard. I don’t need to stand here and listen to him call me dumb animal names while I wait for him to kill me.
Without a word, I turn my back to him. There’s a hushed intake of breath from the crowd, like they can’t believe my audacity. To be honest, I can’t either. I’m not usually this brave. Just last week, one of the popular girls who lives in the sorority house next door, Samantha, I think her name is, cut me in line at the cafeteria. She’d shot a look over her shoulder, waiting to see if I’d react, but I’d just ducked my head. Eyes on the back of her shoes, I’d shuffled along a few feet behind her until I got my food.
The difference between then and now is I still had a shot at life, however miserable it might be. Tonight, that chance is gone. I’m as good as dead. There is no way I’ll survive this. Hell, if I was in Carrson’s place, I’d kill me too, because if he lets me live I’ll run straight to the police and tell them everything I saw. Not the police in this town. They’re tainted, and I’m not stupid, but if I travel far enough there must be someone I can alert. Some officer not under the thumb of these boys and their powerful fathers.
“She’s disrespected you,” says Jackson with more than a hint of glee. He grins, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust, and pulls a knife from his waistband. “Let me kill her for you, Carrson. Allow me the honor.”
It’s the knife that brings me back to reality. The sight of its curved wicked blade makes my stomach hollow with fear. Jackson takes a slow menacing step toward me, tightening his grip. Another step and another, until I can smell him. Sweat andstale beer.
I close my eyes, hold my breath, and prepare for the pain. The sound of the knife whistles through the air as it slashes toward me.
My last thought is of my father.
Who will take care of him now?
Laurel Turner
Chapter three
Laurel
The knife slices through my shirt and separates the skin on my side, just above my hip, leaving a burning sting. Then it…stops. Another smell comes to me, dark and woodsy. The scent of the forest after it rains. My eyes snap open, and I see Carrson next to me with his hand clamped over Jackson’s. They struggle for a split second, with Jackson moving the blade toward me and Carrson holding him away. Their eyes are locked in a duel that’s more ferocious than the one over the knife. Finally, Jackson relents, lowering the knife to his side, fingers still curled tight around the handle.
I suck in a breath, astounded to still bealive.
“No,” Carrson announces, his gaze sliding to land on each man one by one. “No more killing tonight.”
“What about the girl?” Jackson gestures to me with the knife.
Woman. I want to correct him since I’m almost twenty, no longer a child, but I’m smart enough to hold my tongue.
Maybe I don’t want to die after all.
Jackson grabs my shoulder and shakes me, hard. My arms flop like a rag doll, and my head snaps from side to side, wrenching my neck. “You shouldn’t have come here.” He pushes his ugly face up close to mine, his breath putrid. “You dumb slut.”
Without thought I reach out to slap him, but he pulls away at the last minute. My fingernails still catch him, raking across his cheek sharp enough to draw blood. He rears back, his hand flying to cover the injury, but not before I see the three bloody train tracks I’ve left in him on his unscarred side.
Good,I think. Now he’ll have scars on both sides. After they kill me and after my dad drinks himself to death, it’ll be the only reminder that I ever lived.
That’s beyond depressing.
“Stop.” Carrson holds up a hand, and silence falls. So absolute is the quiet that it’s like the rest of them stop breathing. There isn’t a single shuffled foot or sigh of irritation. He holds that outstretched hand up above his head and turns in a slow, deliberate circle. Then he lets it drop and spins back to me. His gaze flickers to Jackson’s cheek, where blood runs down in a slow-branching rivulet.
