Don’t touch him.
I’m boiling inside, but I stay quiet as we go in. I think I’ve just decided that, out of all of them, Jett is the one I loathe most.
The asshole steps aside, not waiting for us to walk in before heading to the basement. He strolls through the door and descends the stairs ahead of us.
Knox doesn’t spare me a glance as he follows him, my hand still trapped in his.
Sounds from an old record rise from downstairs, welcoming us to the Colberts’ version of hell. Plucked guitar notes drag as they play an unfamiliar country song.
Every other second, it skips and stutters.
I don’t believe in premonitions, yet I can’t help but feel that this is just another sign of how wrong this place is. How our chances of getting out of here are slim to none.
Stop it, I say to myself. The weak, old Skylar is gone. I’m not afraid. I’m here to help Knox. I’m doing whatever it takes to get us through today. Survival means knowing when to stay quiet, even if it means stomaching Bronwyn’s brutal murder.
I follow Knox down the stairs. The stench of death thickens in the air. My eyes are locked on his broad back. I don’t let myself glance to the right, where the stairwell ceiling ends and the basement opens up.
But fear isn’t what forces me to focus on no one else but him. His family doesn’t deserve my respect. They don’t deserve my attention.
Even when we reach the basement, and Knox turns us to face them, I refuse to lift my gaze from the floor and acknowledge them.
“Son, you’re early.” His dad’s beaming, from the sound of it.
Bronwyn whimpers in response. Even without seeing her, I know it has to be her. No one else here would be that choked up. That helpless.
“Yeah, he is,” Jett offers before rattling off the explanation Knox gave him upstairs.
Toward the end of his story, his voice thins, making it harder to place where he is.
Is he turning toward Bronwyn? Is this when the brutality begins, when the Colberts steal my revenge?
“My boys, I’m so proud of both of you.” That’s the mom. She claps once. Pleased as fucking punch.
Her voice is louder than the sounds from the record player. Than my sister’s muted cries.
“I knew you were serious about this, about being a part of this family.” Pride soaks Grandpa’s announcement. “All it took was twenty-five years, but here you are.”
Knox’s response is a noncommittal huff. A squeeze of my palm.
“Thanks for holding on to that knife for me, Reese-o,” Jett drawls, ignoring the rest of them.
“Sure, Jetty. It’s been safe here, in my lap, while I’ve been taking care of her. Dolly, oh, Dolly.” Reese laughs again. “Too bad you can’t talk anymore. I like it better when my dollies sayplease.”
What in the living fuck?
My lips are parched. Heart pounding.
I force myself to breathe. Have to stay conscious, no matter what.
Cling to the mask. Stay in Knox’s orbit. Breathe him in. You’ve got this.
“You ain’t off the hook yet, Knox.” His dad coughs. Spits. “You have to pass our test first.”
The way he says “test” is derisive and mean. Like Knox’s failure would amuse him.
A sense of impending doom curls around my lungs. Dark tendrils cling and taunt me.
A million fears strike at me harsher than any whip ever could.
