I yank the knife from Justin's chest, blood spraying across my face. "What the fuck are you doing here, Penn?"
"What am I doing here?" He throws his hands up, circling the chair to examine my handiwork. "What the fuck are YOU doing here without your favorite cousin? This is some premium grade-A slaughterhouse shit, and you didn't even send a text?"
He kicks one of Justin's severed hands across the floor like a hockey puck. "You skinned his fucking face off! That'slike, next level psycho, and you didn't invite me. If you don’t love me anymore you could have just said that."
"It wasn't a fucking social event," I growl, wiping blood from my eyes with my forearm. "How did you even find me?"
Penn taps his phone. "I’ve had an alarm on Grandaddy Clark’s old fun house for about seven years now."
Penn circles Justin's corpse, admiring my work like it's a fucking art exhibit. "So, this piece of shit put hands on my sister?" He kicks the chair, making the body jerk lifelessly. "And you didn't fucking tell me?"
I wipe blood from my face with the back of my hand. "It wasn't your business."
"Not my business?" Penn's eyes flash dangerously. "Let me break it down for your thick skull, cousin. My little hellion has avoided her sister for days. You drop her off, and I can tell she's a little too stiff, and she's got a shiner she's hiding quite well under makeup." He steps closer, jabbing a finger into my chest. "So now I wanna know why you didn't tell me what fucking happened to Reese, why you didn't let me handle this, or hell, even have a part in it. Now I'm pissed."
I stare back at him, my hands still dripping with blood. "This was personal."
"Personal?" Penn laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Everything about the St. Pierre sisters is personal to me. Reagan is my fucking wife, which makes Reese my family too. You think you're the only one who gets to go psycho when someone hurts her?"
I walk over to the sink and wash my hands beforeturning back to my cousin. "Are you done with your tantrum?"
"Tantrum?" Penn's voice goes dangerously quiet. Fuck, this isn’t gonna go well. "You know what? No, I’m not done with my tantrum, mini-me. So now you owe me. Go dig a grave and then bury faceless Freddy over there and don’t even say a fucking word to bitch about it."
I sigh. I was going to do that anyway, but I’m not about to say that. I respect my cousin. I know I owe him probably my life more times than I really want to know about. He took the brunt of abuse from my uncle in order to protect not just his brothers but me.
"Fuck you," I mutter, but there's no real heat behind it. I grab a shovel from the wall and head outside, Penn trailing behind me like a smug shadow.
The moonlight filters through the trees as I search for a good spot. About fifty yards from the cabin, I find a clearing that'll work—soft enough soil, far enough from any paths.
"Right here," I say, jamming the shovel into the ground. "Unless you've got a better idea?"
Penn just smirks, spotting an old tire swing hanging from a massive oak at the edge of the clearing. "Nah, that's perfect. I'll supervise from over here."
I glare at him as he saunters over and plops his ass on the tire, giving himself a little push to start swinging. "Real helpful, asshole."
"Hey, you didn't want my help with the fun part." He kicks his legs out, swinging higher. "So now you get to do the heavy lifting while I enjoy the show."
Digging a grave is fucking exhausting.The first few shovelfuls come easy, but soon I'm sweating through my blood-soaked hoodie, muscles burning as I carve deeper into the earth. The hole needs to be at least six feet—not because I'm traditional, but because I don't want some fucking coyote digging up pieces of that shitbag.
Penn swings lazily, the creaking rope keeping time with my labored breathing. "So when are you gonna tell her?"
I pause, leaning on the shovel. "Tell who what?"
"Don't play dumb, little cousin. When are you gonna tell Reese that you've been jerking off thinking about her since she was seventeen?"
I hurl a shovelful of dirt in his direction. He dodges it easily, laughing.
"Fuck off, Penn."
"No, seriously." The swing creaks as he drags his feet to stop. "You just skinned a man's face off for touching what's yours. But she's not actually yours, is she? Because you're too chicken shit to tell her how you feel."
"It's not that simple." I jam the shovel back into the dirt with more force than necessary. Everything about Reese St. Pierre consumes me. Consumes my entire life, my entire being. It’s never been fucking simple between us.
"It is that simple. You want to own my sister six ways from Sunday, but instead of manning up and telling her, you're out here playing Texas Chainsaw with her ex."
"He deserved it."
"Oh, no argument there." Penn starts swinging again.
