I kicked at the wall, leaving a scuff mark on the cream paint. The tiny act of destruction sent a thrill through me, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to break free of this suffocating house with its suffocating rules and Amabel’s suffocating control.
“Three steps ahead,” I snarled, punching the wall this time. Pain shot through my knuckles. Perfect. At least pain was something I could feel, something I could control. “I’ll show her three steps ahead.”
The memory of the hawk attack played in my head. The screaming, the blood, the moment of pure, beautiful chaos. It had beenmyidea.Mine. And it would have worked if Amabel hadn’t insisted we hold back, that we just “send a message.”
I raked my fingers through my long brown hair, tugging at the roots just to feel something besides this burning humiliation. My reflection caught in a hallway mirror, soft features twisted into something wild and dangerous. Good. Let the monster show.
“I’m done waiting,” I told my reflection. “I’m done watching.”
The house felt too small, too structured to contain what was building inside me. I neededout. I needed night air and darkness and something orsomeoneto tear apart with my bare hands.
I paused at the top of the grand staircase, gripping the banister so hard my knuckles turned white. A whimper floated up from below. Hannah. New hire. Mousy brown hair, trembling hands clutching a silver tray. Still naive enough to wear kitten heels in a house of stilettos.
Something wicked bloomed in my chest. Here was an opportunity, gift-wrapped and trembling. I needed to hurt something, and the universe had provided.
“Evening, Hannah,” I purred, stepping closer.
Her eyes widened, prey sensing danger. She clutched the linens tighter, knuckles whitening.
“Is there something you need, Miss—”
I descended slowly, savoring the way her throat jumped. I was two steps above her when my bare foot shot out.
The tray went first, clattering down the stairs like a discordant xylophone. Her mouth formed an ‘o’ of surprise as she followed, limbs flailing. I counted the impacts. Hip, shoulder, skull. Each thud a middle finger to Amabel’s precious order.
“Oopsie,” I giggled, electricity buzzing through my veins.
Hannah crumpled at the bottom, a trickle of blood painting her temple. Not dead. Her chest still rose and fell. Just wonderfully broken. As I needed her to be.
I skipped down the stairs, humming “Pop Goes the Weasel” as I stepped over Hannah’s unconscious form. The front door groaned as I wrenched it open.
“Better get an ice pack, Hannah-Banana! Or does your head already feel like a smashed melon?”
The night air hit me like a lover’s slap, sharp and thrilling. I threw my head back and laughed, the sound scattering into the darkness. The front yard of the Bell homestead gave way to wild grasses that tickled my ankles, then to the deeper, darker woods beyond.
This was better. This was where I belonged. Not in Amabel’s pristine, controlled world, but here where anything could happen.
“ ‘You’re an impulse-driven idiot who’s lucky you haven’t gotten yourself killed already,’ ” I mimicked my twin, spinning in circles until the trees blurred. “She thinks she’ssoclever.”
Twigs snapped beneath my bare feet, sending delicious little shocks of pain up my legs. I welcomed it. Pain wasreal. Pain washonest.
The deeper I went, the lighter I felt. Branches caught at my clothes and hair like desperate fingers, but I danced through them, laughing when they drew blood.
“Once upon a time, a girl wandered into the woods and never, ever came out…”
I stopped in a small clearing, moonlight painting everything silver. The perfect stage.
“FOSTER!” I screamed into the night. “FOSTER COLLINS! Get your mangy ass out here!”
Birds scattered at my voice. Somewhere, an owl hooted in alarm.
“Don’t make me wait, you mangy boy,” I called in a singsong, spinning again. “You know how I get when I’m bored!”
I knew he was there already, watching from the shadows. Foster Collins never strayed far from the Bell property. Mother made sure of that.
“FOOOSTERRR!” I howled, throwing my head back. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
He hated me calling him like a dog, which was why I did it. His real power wasn’t in his muscles or his teeth, but in that carefully controlled temper. And I loved nothing more than watching it snap.
