Page 86 of The Knucklebone Brothers

And she thought I was gonna throw her away? Like she was somethin' disposable? Like a piece of trash to be tossed in the bin?

Rory looked at us, her eyes red and swollen, full of a desperate, terrified hope. "You're gonna get tired of me."

Blythe’s jaw tightened, his fists clenchin' at his sides. He looked at me, his eyes askin' the question without sayin' a word. Tell her.

I stepped closer, loomin' over her, my shadow castin' over her. I looked at her dead in the eye, my voice low. "Tired of you?" I asked. "I don't think so, baby."

Rory's smile disappeared, wiped clean like blood from a blade. The manic light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by somethin' colder, deeper, more terrifying.

"There is someone inside me," she whispered, her voice crackin' like thin ice. "Someone is fuckin' inside me."

She pressed both hands against her stomach, her fingers diggin' into the soft flesh, her eyes wide with a horror that was all for herself. "I can feel her."

My attention sharpened, the world narrowin' down to her, to the frantic beat of her heart I could almost see thumpin' against her ribs. This was it. This was the real show.

"She claws at me," she choked out, her nails draggin' upward, leavin' red, angry welts on her skin. "Every fuckin' day. Like she's tryin' to get out."

"Rory," Blythe said, his voice a low, desperate plea. Sometimes he was soft. He wanted to soothe the beast. I wanted to see it feed.

"I can feel her," her voice rose, a high, thin shriek that made the hair on my arms stand up. "She wants out. She wants out so fuckin' badly."

She laughed again, that broken-glass sound, and slammed her fist against her chest, a dull, hollow thud. "Sometimes I think if I cut myself open, she'd crawl out."

Blythe moved. This time I didn't stop him. He was a fool, but he was my fool, and it was his turn. He caught her wrist just as she was about to strike herself again, his big hand encircling it like a shackle.

She fought him. Hard. A fuckin’ wild thing, all teeth and claws, her body buckin' and twistin'. "GET OFF ME!" she screamed, her voice raw and ragged. "LET ME GO!"

Blythe just held on, his face a mask of pain and pity. He was tryin' to save her. I knew better. You don't save a thing like this. You watch it. You learn its patterns. You learn what makes it tick.

This is it, I thought, a cold, exhilarating thrill runnin' through me. This is the real Rory. The one I watched from the shadows. The one I followed through the dark streets. The one I knew was hiding underneath all that fear and all that fire. She's not breakin'. She's finally comin' out to play.

I watched her fight Blythe, her body a beautiful, violent thing, and I felt a smile stretch my lips. She wasn't a victim. She was a predator. And I had finally found a worthy mate.

And then she looked at me, her eyes a wild, desperate thing, a storm of rage and fear. "Why don't you care?" she asked, the question landin' strangely, like a stone in a still pond. I stared at her, my expression unreadable, my heart a cold, steady beat in my chest. "Why don't you fuckin' care?" She asked again.

I didn't answer. I just watched her, my eyes narrowin', my mind catalogin' every word, every accusation, every desperate plea. She was a beautiful, broken thing, and I saw the cracks. She ripped herself free of Blythe's grip, his fingers leavin' red marks on her skin. "You don't love me!"

There it was. The real monster. Not the one she claimed was inside her. The one she'd been feedin' with every person who had ever convinced her she was disposable.

"You fuckin' kidnapped me!"

"Yes." I responded in a matter of fact way.

"You chained me here!"

"Yes."

"You want me to be your fuckin' bride!"

"Yes."

"You want my body!"

"Yes."

"You want me to give you a baby!"

I tilted my head, my eyes narrowin'. She was cryin' again, her tears makin' tracks in the grime on her face. "And when you get what you want, you're gonna throw me away!"