Page 54 of The Knucklebone Brothers

"I thought we could do something together," he said, his voice low and casual.

I looked at him, my heart starting to beat a little faster. "Exactly what?" I asked, my voice tight. "Should I be concerned?"

He just chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. He walked over to the floor and unclipped the long chain from the ground anchor, leaving the one around my waist. Now he had me on a leash. He walked to the door and looked back at me, his eyes gleaming. "Come on. Let's go."

I followed him out, the coffee mug warming my hands. The moment I stepped outside, I felt it. The Georgia storm was warm, the rain not cold but a thick, heavy blanket that clung to everything. The air was thick with the scent of the mountains, the smell of wet earth and pine and something else, something wild and primal. Some of the pumpkin lights had gone out, but a few still flickered, their orange glow weak against the darkness. The string lights along the path were still on, casting a dim, eerie light on the wet ground.

As I looked up, a massive bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the entire holler in a beautiful, blinding flash. In that moment, I heard the familiar click of a chain. I looked over and saw that Maverick had clipped my leash to the rusted frame of an old Ferris wheel car that was sitting on the porch. It was propped up on a curved base, like a weird, morbid rocking chair.

He sat down in it, the metal groaning under his weight, and lit a cigarette with a flick of his lighter. He took a long drag, the cherry glowing in the dark, and then looked at me, his eyes intense.

"You know," he said, his voice low. "You're like the storm. Violent and beautiful and dangerous." He stared at me, his gaze so deep and eerie it felt like he was looking right into my soul. "You're a force of nature, Rory.”

I was speechless. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. I didn't know what to say. I just stood there, my heart pounding, the rain kissing my toes.

I finally sat down on the steps of the porch, not next to him, but a few feet away. I pulled my knees up to my chest and watched the storm, the lightning illuminating the sky, the thunder rumbling overhead, and the sound of the rain drumming on the roof of the trailer. It was beautiful, and it was terrifying. And so was he.

I turned my head slightly, the rain gently touching my cheek. I looked at Maverick, watching him take another drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling around his face. "Hey," I said, my voice soft. "Can I have a drag?"

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. He seemed hesitant, like he was debating whether to share or not. But then he seemed to change his mind. He stood up, the rusty metal of the Ferris wheel car groaning under his weight. He walked over to me, the chain clinking softly as he moved. He held the cigarette to my lips, his fingers brushing against my face. I took a long drag, the smoke filling my lungs, warm and tingling. I let out a soft moan, the nicotine hitting me hard and fast. "God, I needed that," I whispered.

Maverick froze. He stared at me, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers moving slowly, to brush a lock of my still-damp hair behind my ear. His touch was gentle, almost tender. "You're so beautiful," he said, his voice a low whisper. He was so close, his face inches from mine, the smell of rain and smoke and him overwhelming my senses. I felt myself leaning in, my eyes drifting shut, almost ready to kiss him.

Then, the sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel in front us broke the spell. I opened my eyes and saw Blythe standing there, a wet towel over his shoulder. "Made it in time for the show," he said, his voice calm, but with a hint of amusement. He walked over and sat down on the step next to me, the space between us feeling suddenly smaller.

I looked at Maverick, then at Blythe, my mind racing. "I love the Georgia rain," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "It feels warm, like taking a shower outside. I used to dance in it."

Maverick looked down at me, then at Blythe, his eyes dark. He reached down and unlocked the chain from my waist, the metal clinking as it fell loose. "Well, go then," he said, his voice low.

I looked at both of them, confused. Maverick's face broke into a wide, manic grin. He took a deep, theatrical bow, his arms sweeping out to the side, his body moving with a strange, jerky grace that was all his own. He straightened up and reached out a hand to me, a silent, ridiculous invitation. I couldn't help it. A real laugh escaped my lips, a sound so unexpected and out of place it felt like a foreign object in my throat.

He grabbed my hand, his grip like iron, and pulled me abruptly to my feet. He yanked me out into the rain, spinning me around in a dizzying, wild circle. The world became a blur of dark sky, flashing light, and warm rain. Then, just as suddenly as he started, he let go. He stumbled back and sat down on the steps beside Blythe, leaving me alone in the middle of the yard.

I kept spinning, my body carried by the momentum, my arms outstretched. The thunder was a constant, low growl, and the lightning was a strobe light, illuminating the holler. In one of those flashes, I saw them. Both of them. Blythe was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his intense blue eyes locked on me, burning with a cold, possessive fire. Maverick was beside him, his head tilted, a look of raw, undisguised hunger on his face, his lips slightly parted. They weren't just looking at me. They were devouring me. They looked at me like I was the most beautiful, fascinating thing they had ever seen, like I was the center of their entire world. It was a look of pure obsession.

I stopped spinning, my feet planting in the mud. I stood there, breathing heavily, the rain plastering my clothes to my skin, my heart hammering against my ribs. The feeling that washed over me was so intense it was painful. I was alive. For the first time in forever, I felt truly, terrifyingly alive. And it wasn't okay. It wasn't okay at all.

I turned without a word and walked straight back into the trailer wiping my feet off, shutting the door firmly behind me, shutting them and their terrifying, beautiful gaze out. I leaned against the door, my body trembling, trying to catch my breath, trying to forget the way they looked at me.

I pushed myself away from the door and walked into the main area, my bare feet silent. On the counter, a small pile of clothes was waiting for me. Folded neatly was a simple black and white pinstriped matching top and bottom set. Next to it, sat a little circus toy, a tiny, painted clown with a painted-on smile, holding a balloon. I recognized it. I'd seen it in Amos's cabin, sitting on a dusty shelf. I picked it up, a small, sad smile touching my lips. It was a strange, thoughtful gesture, and it made my chest ache.

I put the toy down and grabbed the clothes, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric. I changed quickly, the clean clothes a welcome relief. I climbed into the bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, trying to find some comfort in its warmth.

Just as I started to relax, I heard the door open. I didn't have to look. I knew it was Blythe. He walked over to the bed, his footsteps quiet and heavy. I felt the bed dip as he sat down on the edge. He reached over and gently lifted the blanket, his fingers brushing against my side. I felt the cold metal of the chain as he fastened it back around my waist. The soft click of the lock was a final sound, a reminder that I was still their prisoner.

I didn't acknowledge him. I didn't even open my eyes. I just rolled over, turning my back to the room, and tried to go to sleep. I could feel them watching me, their eyes like a physical weight, but I ignored them. I had to. I was getting wrapped up in this, in them, in this strange, violent world they lived in. And it wasn't okay. I needed to get the hell out of there. I needed to get the hell out now.

I lay there in the dark, the silence of the trailer broken only by the distant rumble of thunder and the occasional creak of the settling wood. My mind raced, a chaotic storm of its own, mirroring the weather outside. I couldn't sleep. I was too wired, too aware of the chain at my waist, the weight of it dragging against my hip.

I thought about escaping. It had to happen before opening night. Before the wild, unhinged claiming of the bride happened—whatever the hell that meant. I needed to be gone before they put their marks on me, before they truly claimed me as theirs.

Chapter 19

The first thing I felt was the chain, cold and heavy against my hip. I blinked my eyes open to pitch darkness; the curtains were pulled tight, shutting out the morning. The trailer was dead silent, which meant the boys were already up and about. The only thing left of them was the faint, bitter smell of coffee hanging in the air.

I reached up, my fingers gently touching the skin of my throat. It was a little sore, a faint bruise already starting to form where Maverick's hand had been. A strange warmth spread through my chest at the memory, a dark, shameful little thrill. The thought of it made my stomach clench, but not in fear. It made me want him to do it again.

I sat up, the chain rattling loud in the quiet, and the sound just grated on my last nerve. I needed out of here, and I needed out before this "opening night" bullshit they were talking about. But sitting here fuming was not going to do a damn thing. So, I would play their game.