Something cold and hard pressed into her side, drawing a ragged gasp from her tortured lungs. The sky popped back into sight, a stark midnight blue from beyond the reddish haze dancing before her eyes. Ben was standing over her—prodding at her with his rifle.
Her eyes flew open wide and she backed from the barrel, pushing it away with a desperation that made him laugh unpleasantly as he let the gun swing to one side. Then he bent from the waist and grabbed her by the hand and ran his tongue over her blood-coated fingers.
Nadine felt her face crease in disgust and horror. Her other hand was wrapped around her midsection, guarding against the wound. Ben held the other, but in his free hand was her bright red cardigan: the one that she had been using to cover the painting. The one that disappeared.
She hissed when he ran the sweater over her wounded knee, letting it grow dark with blood.
“W-what are you doing?”
“This is all they’re going to find of you.” She felt her breath leave her body at the cold calculation in his voice. “It’s such a pity when girls—young girls—go missing in the woods . . . with barely a trace. I’m sure you aunt will be so grateful . . . for this little piece of you.”
He slapped the fabric against her side, making her flinch. It was like a band of fire around her waist, and every time the wind blew against her wrong, she could feel the sting on shredded flesh.
“Maybe we’ll invite her for the funeral,” he said.
Nadine shuddered under another blast of wind. When Ben had grabbed her, he’d ripped half her dress off. One of the sleeves and part of the bodice were gone now, and she saw his eyes go there for a beat before lifting, mockingly, to her face, as he flung her hand back at her.
“My great-grandfather loved the taste of blood, too. He always said a woman was at her most beautiful right before she stopped breathing, and looking at you now, I’m inclined to agree.”
He straightened, settling into a wider stance, holding the gun loosely at his side.
“What do you think, Nadine? Are you up for one last fuck before you die? Your sister called me Master, but I’ll let you call me Daddy. Since that’s what you prefer.”
“You sickfuck.”
“Is that a no?”
“You stay the fuck away from me!”
“Hmm. Well. On second thought, maybe I don’t care much for the thought of prodding through my brother’s leavings.” He pushed up against her chest with the gun, tracing her breast with it, before prodding at her nipple with the cold steel muzzle. “But it might be amusing to see if that wet little cunt of yours can take my rifle the way it does my brother’s cock.”
No.
Nadine stopped breathing. Her fingers clenched so hard that she felt a sting and realized that she’d grabbed an entire fistful of earth and dead leaves.
Ben gave her a cold smile before lowering the barrel to her skirt.
“Shall we find out together?”
She felt the fabric lift, the greasy slide of it against her thigh. With a harsh cry, she flung up her hand and threw that handful of dirt and sticks and rocks all in his eyes, causing him to reel back, blinded.
“Youbitch.”
He fired off several shots, all around where she’d been kneeling. But Nadine had already staggered to her feet and was running.
The smell of blood was so thick in the back of her throat that she couldn’t imagine ever being rid of it. Sweat stung on her skin, burning until she could no longer tell where her wounds ended or began. She remembered that ball of bleeding feathers from her dream.
That was how she felt now. Bloody and shapeless.
“Get back here, you littlewhore!”
No, no, no, no—
She was all turned around and didn’t remember which way she’d come from. There were no streetlights to guide her this far out. “Shit,” she whimpered, bracing herself with one arm. Her nerves were popping like a tangled nest of livewires. “Fuck.”
“Better run, Nadine.” The amused female voice made her spin around, frantic. “It sounds like you really pissed him off.”
Odessa was leaning back against a tree with her booted legs crossed, sipping champagne right from the bottle. Her rifle was pointed at the ground and she was leaning against it the way a dapper man might use his cane.
