Page 58 of The Knucklebone Brothers

I watched her, my eyes glued to her every move. She took that old blanket and spread it out on the ground, right there in front of us, close enough to touch. Blythe, he glanced over too, his knife pausing mid-slice. He was watchin' her just like I was, watchin' the way she bent over, the way her back arched, the way that dress pulled tight across her ass.

I let out a low chuckle, a sound that was more air than noise. Blythe heard it, and he looked over at me, his eyes meetin' mine. I knew what he was thinking. I knew it 'cause I was thinkin' it, too. We were different from one another, always had been. He was the quiet one, the steady one, and I was the loud one, the one who liked to break things. But at that moment, we were the same. We were just two men, watchin' a woman, wantin' the same damn thing. It was a quiet, understanding moment, the kind we didn't have often, but when we did, it meant something. It meant we were on the same page, and that page was all about her.

I watched her settle onto that blanket, the white of her dress a stark contrast against the faded blanket and dark earth. The sight of her, the smell of her, the sheer presence of her, it was all too much. It was like a switch flipped in my head, and all the blood rushed south, leaving me dizzy and hungry. I wanted to lunge. I wanted to tear that dress right off her and take her right there in the dirt, in the middle of the pumpkin patch, and not give a damn who saw.

But I couldn't.

I had to wait. It was the rule, the oldest one in our book, a piece of carnie folklore as old as the rusted Ferris wheel. Opening night was sacred. It was the night the veil between this world and the next was thinnest, the night the spirits of the old showgrounds roamed free. It was the night you made your claim, not with a ring or a piece of paper, but with blood and a binding. You took your bride in front of the family, under the gaze of the ghosts, and made her a part of the show forever. Some families, they did it different, more civilized-like, but us? We were Knucklebones. We did it old school. We waited for the show to begin.

I could feel my control slipping, the animal in me clawing to get out. I had to do something, had to break the spell before I did something stupid. I took one last drag from my cigarette, the smoke burning my lungs, and then I pressed the cherry right onto my tongue. The pain was sharp, immediate, a jolt of pure, white-hot agony that shot through my head and cleared it right out. The taste of ash and burnt flesh filled my mouth, a bitter, disgusting reminder of who I was, and what I had to do.

I spat the butt out onto the dirt, my tongue throbbing. I looked over at Blythe, and he was lookin' at me, his eyes wide. He knew. He knew how close I was. But he didn't say nothin'. He just went back to his pumpkin, his knife moving a little faster now, a little more desperate. We were both in the same boat, two starving dogs waitin' for a meal that was still hours away.

I was still trying to get the taste of burnt flesh outta my mouth when she moved again. She laid back on that old blanket, not all the way, but just enough. She propped herself up on one elbow, her body a long, lazy curve. The other arm held the stick of cotton candy, and she brought it to her lips. That damn tongue darted out again, quick as a snake, to grab a wisp of that pink sugar. It wasn't just eatin'. It was a performance. Every little move she made was like a dance, and I was the only one in the audience.

She laid down all the way then, her body stretched out like she didn't have a care in the world. She wasn't looking at us, not directly. Her eyes were on the sky, on the trees, like she was just enjoying the afternoon. But I knew better. I saw the way her hips shifted, the way her legs fell open just a little. She pulled a piece of the cotton candy off the stick, a fluffy, sticky cloud of pink, and started playin' with it. She didn't just eat it. She trailed it down her chest, right down into the delicious space between her breasts. She tickled the skin there with the sugar, her fingers dartinin' and swirlin', and I swear to god, I forgot how to breathe. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic, wild rhythm that was matching the one in my pants.

Then she moved that sticky, sweet mess up her body, trailin' it along the side of her neck, leaving an invisible, pink trail on her skin. She brought her fingers to her mouth, her lips parting slightly as she stuck out her tongue. She let that little piece of candy dissolve right there, on the tip of her tongue, a slow, deliberate tease. I watched her mouth, the way her tongue moved, the way her lips glistened, and I felt a hunger so deep it was painful. It wasn't just about wantin' to fuck her anymore. It was about wantin' to possess her. To own every little part of her. To consume her until there was nothin' left but us and her and the taste of her on my tongue.

She finally ate it, her lips closing around the sugar, a small, satisfied smile on her face. She was playin' a game, alright. A game I didn't understand, but one I was more than willing to play. I wanted to be the one to claim her, to make her mine in every way possible. And I would. I would have her. No matter what it took.

Then she rolled over, a smooth, fluid movement that had my full attention. She settled onto her stomach, her ass doing a little jiggle as she got comfortable, a sweet little tease that made my dick ache. She laid there, flat and lazy, eatin' the rest of that cotton candy until it was nothing but a bare stick.

I leaned forward, just a little, tryin' to get a better view. I wanted to see her face, yeah, but I also wanted to see that ass, the way it was pressed against the fabric, the way the dress had ridden up to show the backs of her thighs. That's when she looked at me. Our eyes met, and for a second, it felt like the whole world went quiet. She had this little smirk on her face, like she knew exactly what she was doin' to me, like she was enjoying it.

Then she looked at Blythe, her gaze not changin' a bit. It was the same look, the same smirk, the same challenge. Blythe looked up at her, his knife paused mid-carve. I saw his jaw set, a hard line of tension in his face. I couldn't tell if that was his "I'm uncomfortable, quit lookin' at me" look, or if it was somethin' deeper, somethin' more intense. Like he was thinking about her, wantin' her, just like I was. It was a look that said he was stakin' his claim, even if he wasn't saying a word. We were both caught in her web, two flies drawn to the same beautiful, deadly spider.

Just then, we heard it. Heavy footsteps, crunchin' on the dry leaves, getting closer. From around a thicket of thick, gnarled trees, we saw him approaching. Amos. His steps were heavy, each one crunchin' into the dirt like he was trying to stomp out the whole damn world. He looked like a crooked tree himself, all bent and twisted, like he'd grown up right outta this soil. I liked Amos. As much as I could care for anyone, anyway. He was solid, and he didn't talk much.

He was dirty, as usual, like he'd been wrestlin' with the earth since sunup. His large overalls were stained with grease and God knows what else. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze falling on Rory. A real grin spread across her face, not the fake, sweet kind she'd been usin', but a genuine, warm smile that I hadn't seen before. "Hey, Amos," she said, her voice soft and kind, a sound that felt outta place here.

Amos looked at her, and for a second, I thought he was gonna turn right back around. Instead, he gave a little wave, his hand moving stiff and awkward, like it was the first time he'd ever done it. Then, in that voice of his, a voice so deep it almost didn't sound human, he just said, "Dinner." Then he just stood there, like a statue.

Blythe and I looked at each other. Rory's smirk faded, replaced by a look of confusion. Blythe, always the one with the manners, spoke up. "Thank you, Amos. Let her know we're gonna clean up and head there shortly." Amos just gave a slow nod, and then he was gone, disappearin' back into the trees like a ghost.

Amos always knew where to find us. But then again, everyone in the holler did. We were the main attraction, after all.

Chapter 21

We walked back toward my trailer, the boys stalking behind me like two silent, looming shadows. I wasn't chained up, but Blythe was still holding the chain, the metal links wrapped around his forearm like a strange, metallic bracelet. It was a constant, silent threat.

"Ugh, what are we doin' back here already?" I grumbled, dragging my boots against the loose rocks on the path. The last thing I wanted was to be back at this little prison, not when the air outside still felt charged.

Maverick, who was carrying the pumpkin, set it down on the rickety porch with a soft thud. Blythe looked at me, his face as unreadable as ever. "Puttin’ your pumpkin on your porch," he said, his voice flat.

The way he said it... "your porch." It hit me weird. It wasn't just a set of steps. It was my porch. It was my home. The words hung in the air, a strange, possessive claim that made my stomach flutter a little.

Maverick disappeared for a second, coming back with a stubby white candle. He shoved it inside the pumpkin's hollowed-out gut and then handed me a cheap plastic lighter. "Do the honors," he said, a smirk playin' on his lips.

I flicked the lighter, the small flame dancin' in the dim light. I held it to the candle wick, and it caught, the flame growing until it cast a warm, flickerin' glow from inside the pumpkin. The crooked smile I'd seen Blythe carve was suddenly illuminated from within, a creepy, grinnin' face in the twilight. It was a wholesome act, somethin' folks do on a cool autumn evening. It shouldn't have felt welcoming, not here, not with them. But it did. In a sick, twisted way, it felt like a little piece of normal in a world that had gone completely off the rails.

"It's pretty," I said, the words coming out before I could stop 'em.

Maverick stepped up beside me, his eyes fixed on the glowing jack-o'-lantern. "Every queen needs her lantern," he said, his voice low and creepy. "To light the way to her throne."

I felt a shiver go down my spine, the warmth I felt suddenly feeling cold. I opened my mouth to say something, but Blythe cut me off.

"Alright," he said, his voice breaking the strange spell. "Time to head to Momma's for dinner."