One of Bronwyn’s eyes is shoved too deep into her skull. That must’ve been the thud I heard at the door.
Nothing about this circus of blood and bone shocks me anymore.
Ma’s words from years ago echo.
See one, you’ve seen them all.
But Skylar…she’s just recovering from yesterday’s carnage. From Jett.
Protect. Protect. Protect.
“What’s that chainsaw for? Where’s your brother?” Ma crosses her arms over her chest. She’s in her long white nightgown, her hair twisted into a braid at her nape. “What’d you do to him?”
“I’m here for the tires.” My grip shifts on the chainsaw, tilting the blade in their direction. A silent threat that I hope will be enough. “Jett slashed them. I’m taking the spares and leaving.”
“With the living-hide? I can see her back there.” She pulls her lips in. “No, you’re not getting a single spare until you tell me where Jett is.”
“He’s home.” I jerk my head behind me, standing taller. Hiding Skylar. “Where else would he be?”
“He’s lying!” Reese shrieks, crawling like a toddler across the floor. She stops about six feet from me and turns to our mother. “Jett promised he’d be back. He didn’t, and it’s because of him and his stupid chainsaw. He killed my Jetty!”
Adrenaline soaks through my body, my teeth grinding.
I didn’t want it to come to this.
But they won’t let me take the spare tires. They leave me no choice but to kill them.
The chainsaw answers when I rev it, a hungry growl that swallows damn near everything.
Not the footsteps that pound from the bedrooms upstairs, though.
Papa and Grandpa are coming.
“Be careful, please,” Skylar begs, voice raw with worry.
“Will do.” I step forward, the saw balanced between my hands.
“You’re gonna get it, Knox!” Reese claps, wiggling on the floor. “You’re gonna get it for killing Jett.”
“I didn’t kill him,” I thunder.
Papa and Grandpa appear in the hallway upstairs, wearing flannel pajama pants, their feet bare.
Grandpa comes down here empty-handed while Papa’s pistol gleams in his fist as he barrels down the stairs ahead of his dad.
“Papa, lower your gun.” Ma slides in at Papa’s side as he reaches the last step. “There’s got to be some explanation for this.” Her eyes narrow, staring at me. “Isn’t there, Knox?”
Grandpa walks over to the other side, blocking the basement door where we keep the spares. He must’ve overheard us earlier.
When I don’t answer, Papa scowls. His pistol, albeit loaded, is aimed low.
He doesn’t want the situation to escalate either. After all, he’s the one who bought me this chainsaw. He knows exactly what damage it can do. How fast I can pounce on them.
How many of them I can slice open before his bullets kill me.
“Well?” His shoulders are squared, mouth twitching with barely restrained fury. “Explain yourself. Did you lock Jett up?”
“Jett’s home.” Again, I rev the engine, my face contorting into something cruel. Something murderous.
