Page 60 of The Knucklebone Brothers

The word "baby" hung in the air between us, and it wasn't sweet. It wasn't kind. It was an insult, a put-down, her version of "bless your heart." It was a reminder that I was a guest here, an outsider, and that I was at her mercy. It was a power play, and it was a damn effective one. I just nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

I picked up my spoon, the heavy, tarnished silver feeling cold and clumsy in my hand. I stirred the stew, watching the steam rise, but I didn't take a bite. I looked at the chunks of meat floatin' in the thick, dark gravy, and my mind went places I didn't want it to go. Where did it come from? I thought about the guts I'd pulled from Duffy, the wet, slimy feel of them, and the way Blythe had bagged up that other part, the part he'd wrapped up and set aside. The thought made my stomach turn, and I slowly, carefully, set the spoon back down on the table. It made a soft, clinkin' sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room.

Momma looked at me, her eyes narrowin' with irritation. She sat back down in her chair at the head of the table, her posture straight and stiff. She looked from me to Blythe. "Why's she able to roam free?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous. "You boys better put the wrist band on her now."

Maverick spoke up, his voice a little too smooth. "Come on, Momma, she's been good today. She can eat with both hands."

Momma shot him a glare that would send the devil himself back, and Blythe got up from his chair without a word. He walked over to me, his face a blank mask, and grabbed my wrist. I hadn't even noticed it before, but there was a cuff already attached to the arm of my chair. He snapped my wrist into it. Leaving one hand free, the one I was supposed to eat with, but it was a clear, undeniable message.

I felt a hot flash of irritation, and I looked up at Blythe, my voice a low, angry whisper. "Couldn't wait to get me back in chains, could you?"

Blythe's jaw set, a hard, tight line. He didn't make eye contact with me, just turned and walked back to his seat, leaving me there, one hand shackled to the chair, feeling like a fool and a prisoner.

I looked at the pitcher of tea and cleared my throat, trying to sound sweet and sassy. "I think I'd like some tea, please."

Momma didn't even blink. She just took another bite of dinner, her movements classy as ever, like she was at some high-society ball instead of a creepy house in the middle of the woods.

Maverick reached over and poured me a glass, his hand steady. I took a sip, and it was sweet, strong, and perfect. I smiled at him, trying to make conversation. "This is good," I said. "My momma use to make her tea like this. Maybe I can make it sometime?"

Momma stopped chewin'. She set her spoon down on the table with a soft clink, and she reached for a napkin, gently wiping her mouth. She looked at me, her eyes cold, and tilted her head just a little, like she was looking at a hopeless child. "Vale, right?" she said, her voice smooth as silk.

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Ain't your momma the daughter of Golda? I heard y'all women were cursed. Can't keep a man... open your legs for all the men who look your way... catch an illness, get sick and rot away... all the hardship just to die alone. Isn't that what happened to your mother?"

I sat there, stunned. The filth that came out of her mouth was effortless, like she was just spittin' out dirt. I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up a finger, silencing me.

"I've raised my boys better than this," she said, her voice hardening. "I assumed they would've picked someone better. We are called freaks and have our own folklore. However, you're no good. You will just break my boys' hearts, won't you?"

I looked at the boys. They didn't say anything, just staring at their plates. Blythe looked upset, his jaw clenched tight, and Maverick looked like he’d seen a ghost, his eyes wide with shock, trying to figure out what to say next.

I couldn't hold it in. I looked at Momma, my voice shaking with anger. "I'm sorry, but what part of murderin’ people and being cannibals and fuckin' your cousins makes you better than me?"

Blythe pinched the bridge of his nose, a look of pure agony on his face. Maverick looked shocked, like he couldn't believe I'd just said that.

Momma stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She walked over to me and slapped me. Not hard, but sharp. It was like a whip crack, stinging and humiliating.

Both the boys stood up instantly, their faces twisted in irritation, looking like they were about to snap. Momma pointed a sharp finger at them. "Sit your asses down before you end up in the next stew," she growled.

They sat back down, harsh and quiet. Momma turned back to the table, her posture perfect, and looked at them. "Check your woman now," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "She needs to eat. It's disrespectful that she hasn't touched the dinner I slaved over it… just for her to be ungrateful!"

Chapter 22

My head was poundin'. I could feel the blood rushin' behind my eyes, a dull, persistent throb that matched the beat of my own frantic heart. This was a mess. A goddamn, unholy mess. I could feel the weight of Momma's words, of Rory's sharp, angry reply, settling in the room like a thick, suffocatin' fog. There was probably no coming back from this. Momma had made up her mind about Rory, and when Momma made up her mind, that was it. What the hell was I gonna do with Rory now? I couldn't just... let her go. And I couldn't keep her here, not with Momma lookin' at her like she was somethin' she'd scraped off her heels. I was stuck, and I hated being stuck.

"Well?!" Momma's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife. "You boys gonna do somethin’?"

I looked up at her, my face a mask of calm I didn't feel. "Momma, maybe she's not hungry."

She glared at me, her eyes turnin' cold and hard. "I didn't ask what you thought, Blythe. I told you to make her eat."

I turned to Rory, my voice low and plead, even though it made me feel weak. "Rory, just... just take a bite. It's good. Please."

She leaned back in her chair, the cuff diggin' into her wrist, her face a mask of defiance. "Maybe this is Sheriff Duffy's foot in here!" she hissed, her voice loud and clear in the quiet room. "I don't want no part in it!"

I could feel the last of my patience frayin' like an old rope. I could feel Maverick beside me, his body tense, his breath held. This was it. The moment everything fell apart.

"You don't eat, you will starve," Momma said, her voice flat, a simple, brutal statement of fact. She looked at Rory, her eyes empty of anything but a cold, hard certainty. "It's your choice."

Momma’s voice cut through the thick, tense air like a whip crack. "Well?! You boys just gonna sit there like a couple of dumb-ass dogs with your tongues hangin' out? You gonna get her to eat or not?"