But now that I’ve seen them, I’m okay with neither. I can’t be okay with hurting them in any way.
Now that I’ve felt their small hands and seen the way they play with toys, the things that he made me do when I was barely older than them make me sick. He makes me sick.
More than that, he’s a liar. If I can’t trust him, then what does he mean to me? All that existed of him in my eyes was that I knew he was being honest. He may be cruel or disgusting, but I didn’t have to wonder if he told lies.
Behind him, Kellan’s fist is shaky, and when my eyes focus on it, I see a knife in his hand. He’s considering, his eyes on the back of our father’s neck. My blood runs cold, and the room darkens around the two of them, leaving them glowing in the light of the moment.
Kellan is a better man than me, kinder. He never would have considered killing children. Even the fact that our father wanted us to raise them in the family business is a murderous offense.
I meet his wild eyes and give a small imperceptible shake of the head. I tap the boys’ heads.Not here. Not in front of them.
“Go ahead,boyo. If you think you can take me, then go ahead and do it. Don’t stand there with your dick in your hands,” my father growls, his eyes on me but his words directed at Kellan. He always manages to fuel that eyes-in-the-back-of-his-head rumor.
Kellan sheathes his weapon, but his face still holds all of his anger. My father smiles, a slimy placement of his lips, no heart to it at all. “Good. Now let’s talk about ways thisgirlcan prove herself.”
Rian’s jaw is locked, eyes stormy. Kellan says nothing, but I can see it all over his face. The doubt. The same doubt that’s been eating at all of us. We were given a task. A simple one. But she changed it.
Caroline.
The girl with fight in her throat and softness in her hands. The one who spits in my eye like she means it, then cries in the shower with the door cracked open.
I know what our father wants. He wants obedience. Efficiency. Control. But looking around this house, I see something we’ve never had. Something that might be worth breaking the rules for.
“Will she get to live?” I ask.
“If we find a suitable task that she can prove herself with, I will let you all keep her.” He smirks. “For whatever you’re doing with her in here.”
His implication disgusts me. He thinks we’re using her body together, that she’s a concubine, when really she’s something more like a beating heart for us. Still, I nod.
At my legs, Joshua tugs on my shirt. I look down and he waves his hand for me to get lower. When I squat and look into his blue eyes, he leans forward and cups his hands around my ear to whisper into it, “I had an accident.”
I glance down and see that he peed his pants, and tears wobble in his eyes. “I was scared.”
“I know. It’s okay. Let’s get you cleaned up.” I pick him up into my arms, holding him against me, not caring that his urine-soaked jeans are wrapped around my waist.
I walk away from my father and the conversation he wants to have about how to ruin the one thing in my life that could be pure. In the laundry room, I peel the wet pants off Joshua and stick them in the washing machine.
No matter what happens next, the blood’s already on our hands. And now we have to decide if we wash it off or let it dry.
25
CAROLINE
The car rideback from Alaina’s hotel is a quiet blur. Traces of indecision were still there in our last conversation, but there’s nothing to be done about that for either of us. She can’t keep my children from me, and I can’t tell her the truth.
I grip the steering wheel so tightly that the blood drains from my knuckles. Alaina knows something is wrong. She didn’t say it out loud, but it was written all over her face, her hesitant hug, the way she lingered at the car door, not quite stepping away. And I couldn’t tell her. Not even when she asked if everything was okay. I lied.
“Fine,” I’d said. The lie tasted like blood.
The sun has nearly dipped below the trees when I pull up to the brothers’ house. The entire drive, I felt the eyes on me that they promised would be there. It’s hard to know what’s real and what’s imagined anymore. My whole life feels like a dream. A nightmare.
Shadows stretch long across the gravel drive, and something feels off. Too quiet. Too still. If I were home in Washington,Joshua and Isaac would be running out into my waiting arms. They’d be screaming out to me. I can’t even hear them screaming inside. A lump rises in my throat—an awareness that something very wrong is waiting for me on the other side.
I step out of the car, every instinct in me screaming. The gravel crunches under my shoes, and I pause by the porch, the wooden swing creaking at me like a warning. I look at the wall of windows, ceiling to floor, but they’re completely dark. I can’t see inside at all. I check my watch and see that it’s only seven p.m. Even my three-year-olds shouldn’t be asleep yet, let alone three criminals. I cup my hands around my eyes to look closer, but it’s pitch-black darkness inside except for a light in the kitchen that leaves an orange blur in my peripheral.
What if they think I told? What if this is a setup?
“Hello?” I call, stepping inside.
