Not being able to tell Skylar it was going to be okay while my family murdered Bronwyn nearly drove me insane.
My throat ached. My lips burned.
She needed me down there in that basement. And I wasn’t able to hug her. Couldn’t talk to her.
All I could do was squeeze her chin tighter, pathetic and useless.
Even now that we’re out of there, I still can’t say a word to comfort Skylar.
Poor thing is out cold on my shoulder as I carry her to my basement. Her limbs hang slack. Her breathing is shallow.
It was all my fucked-up family’s fault. They pushed her, gave Bronwyn the worst they’d ever dealt anyone—at least that I’d seen—just to test me.
By doing so, they might’ve scarred Skylar.
I could kill them. Could crush them with my fist for hurting her.
If they ever pull this shit with her again, I’m done defending them.
As much as I care for my family, Skylar matters more than anyone else in that farmhouse does.
Anyone in the world.
She’s my one and only. And she needs me.
I’ll fix it for her. I’ll be harsh and demanding until every one of her thoughts belongs to me.
Until I’m the only scar today leaves behind.
We’re alone, which makes everything easier. I won’t need to fight anyone while I help her.
Ma and Papa are busy skinning Bronwyn. Jett’s probably there, kissing Papa’s ass while mopping the floors. Reese and Grandpa always crash after an execution.
For the next few hours, I can take care of her in peace.
My boots pound as hard as my heart against the familiar cement of my sanctuary. I lower Skylar onto the table, ripping my mask off her face.
Impatience drives me to strip every scrap of clothing from her body. When I’m done, I set her upright on the rough tabletop.
Fuck them all to hell. They broke her until she wept. The sound that rips from my throat isn’t human. That’s how much I hate them.
That hate births something else inside me. A solution. A brutal one, yes, but better than letting her sink under it. I’ll haveto be mean to push their memories out of her, to put her back together again.
I snatch up the rope and bind her wrists tight with both her hands in front of her body.
Her nudity taunts me. The marks I’ve left on her too.
And though I want nothing more than to stuff my fat dick into her right this minute, I stick to my plan.
With my brow furrowed and my muscles drawn tight, I carry her to the center of the basement. Loop the other end of the rope around the hook in the center, the hook that belongs to her.
Tie. Pull. Secure it.
She’s naked and stretched for me, entirely at my mercy.
A hiss rises in my throat, ancient as our damned town.
It whispers,Mine.
