Blood. Sweat. Beer.
Then the kitchen.
Earl and Travis are tied to chairs in the middle of it.
Both bloodied.
Both bruised.
Travis has one eye swollen nearly shut and blood dried at the corner of his mouth. Earl looks worse in a softer way, nose broken, shirt stained, his whole body rattling with the kind of coward-shake men get when they finally realize pain can come back around.
Julie stops dead behind me.
I feel it more than hear it.
Earl sees her first.
His face twists into something ugly and desperate.
“This is your fault.”
The words come out wet through blood and spit.
Julie goes very still.
Travis laughs once, sharp and ruined. “You should’ve stayed sold.”
That does it.
I am across the room before the chair legs stop scraping.
My hand closes around Travis’s throat hard enough to pin his head back against the wood.
He gags.
Julie makes a sound behind me. Small. Shocked. She is not afraid of me. She just did not expect how fast I move.
I lean in until Travis can see exactly what kind of death is in front of him.
“You say one more word to her,” I tell him, “and I’ll pull your tongue out through your teeth.”
He goes still.
Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth where his split lip opens again.
Good.
I let him go and step back.
Julie is still standing in the doorway, eyes fixed on the two men tied up in front of her.
No tears.
No shaking.
She is just looking.
Earl’s gaze flicks between me and her like he still thinks there is a version of this where she feels sorry for him.
