Page 208 of What We Become

“Step-cousin! We were related by marriage.”

Milo tilts his head despite the pain. “Keyword—related.”

Stephen moves fast. The knife catches light and then it’s buried in Milo’s thigh. The sound Milo makes—a splinter of breath through his teeth—is awful.

I wrench against the ropes. Pain tears up both arms, but Milo is bleeding and I can’t get to him.

I need him to look up and make another stupid fucking joke. I need him to keep being Milo.

I watch Stephen pull the blade free. Watch the blood darken Milo’s pants. Watch Milo look down at the wound and then back up at Stephen with a sneer.

“Is that it? My grandma could cut deeper.”

Sage is shaking from the effort of not lunging against her ropes. I can see the tendons in her neck straining, her hands fisted so tight the knuckles are bone-white. She’s looking at Milo’s blood like it’s a debt being added to a ledger she’s been keeping since the first time Stephen smiled at her across a diner counter.

“You want a story?” she says. “I’ll give you one. But if you touch them again—if you cut any of them before you hear me out⁠—”

“You’ll what?” Stephen steps close. The knife hovers just shy of her neck.

“I killed him,” she whispers, the words torn out of her.

Stephen presses the knife against her neck, holds it for a moment. Then he laughs.

FIFTY

SAGE

The blade stays against my neck while Stephen laughs in my face. I don’t dare swallow.

“Bestie!” Stephen singsongs, grinning with all his teeth, eyes dancing between the knife and my face. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I know you killed him. You know I know you killed him. I know your little vigilante fuck squad helped you and then made the whole problem go away.” He gestures at the others with a lazy flick, like he’s swatting at flies. “The part you’re missing, you little slut, is the rest.” His eyes return to mine, wild and serious. “Tell me how. Tell me what you did. What your cum sticks did. I want a full account this time. Every second—from walking out of that party to putting the man I love in the ground.”

His eyes travel along the row, then return to me. He presses the knife against my neck until I feel the bite and the burn of drawn blood. “And don’t leave out the ugly parts, bitch.”

“Stop,” Holden forces out. Half his face is red from the split in his eyebrow, but the glare he levels at Stephen could strip paint. “She didn’t have anything to do with it. Brock was a piece of shit and he got what was coming. If you want a name, mine’s at the top of your list. I’m the one who dropped the noose around his neck.”

Stephen’s mouth twitches, soft with amusement, but his eyes are empty. He crosses the floor in a couple of long strides. The knife flashes, and Stephen buries it in Holden’s ribcage. Up and under. The sound Holden makes is a huffed-out bark that dies tight in his throat. Stephen holds him perfectly still, the blade still inside him.

“Unhelpful,” he sighs, twisting it a little. “But thank you for volunteering.” He slides the knife out slowly and turns back to me, flicking blood on the ground, then wiping the blade on his jeans.

Holden sags. His feet nearly slip out from under him, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“Let them go, you fucking coward!” Eli’s shouts are pure murder. He thrashes with enough force to make the ropes creak, eyes wild, hair plastered to his face. “You want to know what happened—he was a rapist, we killed him. That’s what we fucking do to rapists who think they’re above the law. Justice⁠—”

“Justice?” Stephen echoes, turning Eli’s word over like a coin in his mouth. “Justice is such a quaint word for murder, Eli.” He steps up so fast I barely see the movement—just the blade glinting near Eli’s eye. He traces a line along his cheekbone, firm enough to indent his skin, but gentle enough that it doesn’t cut. “But then, the simplest men always reach for the simplest answers.”

Eli bares his teeth. “You think you’re better? You think you’re anything more than a parasite?”

Stephen’s smile doesn’t move, but the rest of his face softens. “No. I think we’re exactly the same. We both murder. I just prefer to play with my pets first. Take my time.”

He turns away before Eli can spit another threat.

“Let’s try again, Sage. You walked out of the party . . .”

I look at the others. Milo’s pants are soaked with blood. Holden sags against his ropes, his face drained of color. Eli is still straining toward Stephen. Micah meets my eyes and gives a small shake of his head.

My stomach twists. I killed Brock, and Stephen is cutting them.

I can’t watch him do it again.