Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
M y head aching is the first thing I notice when I wake up. Even before I remember where I am or bother to open my eyes. It’s not as bad as it could be, but the back of my head throbs along with my heartbeat, like the two of them are somehow working in tandem.
A groan leaves me, and I hear shifting around me along with a low, frustrated huff. “Well this wouldn’t have happened if you’d just listened,” I hear Boone mutter, just as he lifts my head to rest it on a cool ice pack. “Dumbass.”
“God. You’re still here?” I mutter, opening my eyes just enough to glare up at my stepbrother. “Do you have to be? Haven’t you gotten what you wanted out of this?” As I search his face, I’m hit with a small pang of satisfaction at the darkening bruise on his jaw from where I hit him.
Good for me.
He must see the look on my face, because he snorts and lightly rubs his fingers over the bruise, wincing a little as he does. “Yeah, you got me good, snow bunny,” Boone tells me almost sweetly. “But you got yourself even better.”
He’s right, and I groan, closing my eyes and turning my face away from him until my nose hits the back of the couch. “Where’s your asshole brother?”
“In the kitchen putting up groceries.”
“And you didn’t take me to, you know, a hospital ? Pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone gets knocked out. In case of a concussion or whatever. Not that you care, I’m sure, but?—”
“He’s an EMT, Con,” Fletcher cuts me off smoothly, and I don’t need to open my eyes to know he’s standing around where the wood floor meets the tile. “He checked you out to see if you needed to go. Would’ve sucked to have to drive in this weather, but we wouldn’t have let you bleed out or die of a brain bleed.” He sounds so fucking patient, like he’s talking to a five-year-old making an irrational argument instead of a twenty-four-year-old college graduate.
“That’s very productive of you, Boone,” I say at last, forcing my eyes open. It occurs to me that with the angle I can see him at, he’s sitting beside me on the couch.
That has me bolting upright, but the quick movement causes me to hunch forward, nausea going through me as I clutch my head and moan in severe displeasure. “Fuuuuck. This is so your fault.”
“Is it? And you should really just lie down.” Boone’s hands tug at my shoulders, but I only stiffen and pull away from him. Unfortunately for me, I’m woozy, unwell, and weaker than him. With a snort he easily drags me back down, my head in his lap this time.
“I’m surprised you didn’t tie me up or something equally as shitty. Like locking me in the shed,” I can’t help but gripe. “Since you were so fixated on not letting me leave.” Boone looks away from me, glancing at Fletcher with a raised brow.
I hear a sigh and footsteps, and when I turn my head slightly, I can see Fletcher standing over me with a cool, thoughtful look on his face. “You can leave if you want,” he tells me. “We’re not going to keep you here. That headache I’m sure you have might. But if you want to leave…” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Let me help you to the door.”
That’s way too easy. Immediately I’m suspicious, but I don’t get to be. Not when Fletcher reaches down and pulls me to my feet amidst a muttered protest from Boone. My head spins and I stumble over my own feet, belatedly realizing I’m no longer wearing my shoes.
“Wait!” I gasp, grabbing onto Fletcher’s arms as he drags me toward the door. “I-I need my shoes and Sitka. Don’t—” He only smiles mockingly at me and reaches out to grab the door, yanking it open without a word.
When I turn to look, I instantly see the point he’s making. The snow outside is coming down horizontally, and I can’t see past the porch, whatsoever. Not to mention in the time I’ve been out, the ground has gone from having a few inches of coverage to having snow swallowing the first step of the porch.
All the footprints from earlier are gone, as is any evidence of my unfortunate slip and fall. I swallow hard, trying to find a way around what I’m seeing. Even if I were the best driver in the world, there’s no way in the world I’d feel comfortable or be able to get through this kind of blizzard.
“So, let’s try again. Would you like to leave, Conor?” Fletcher’s voice is soft in my ear, but that doesn’t make it friendly. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you can drive in this, and I’m not about to lend you my truck. You’d wreck it.”
“I hate you,” I murmur, looking down and refusing to meet his eyes that I can feel burning into my temple. “You are quite literally the worst. Even worse than Boone, and I’m pretty sure that’s saying a lot.”
Fletcher only snorts and walks me back to the sofa, easily pushing me down until I’m sitting next to Boone and looking between them with a look of utter dislike on my face. “You know, I only came back with the promise that you two wouldn’t be here,” I mutter, rubbing my arms.
“We know,” Boone assures me, sticking his hand in front of my face, palm up. Two little pills rest there, and in his other hand he holds a bottle of chocolate milk. “It’s a little stronger than Aspirin, and it’ll make you drowsy, I’m sure. But it’ll ease up the headache you have.”
I don’t want to take them from him. I want to pick up Sitka in a fireman’s carry, kick my way out of the house, and levitate through the snow all the way back to Illinois.
But in lieu of that happening spontaneously, I hold up my hand so he can drop the pills into them. I don’t thank him, though. Not when he and Fletcher are the entire reason I’m like this in the first place. Quickly, I take the pills before curling my legs up under me, my eyes searching the room until they land on Sitka.
Who’s sleeping on a dog bed that definitely wasn’t there before. Two bowls sit on a mat near it, shiny and new and filled with food and water. “Where did all that come from?” I ask, wrapping my hands around the cool bottle between my palms.
“Fletcher picked some supplies from town before the storm got so bad,” Boone admits. “He got groceries and some extra blankets. I demanded all that. You seriously didn’t bring a dog bed with you, Con?” There’s something like disapproval in his voice, and I slowly turn to face him, eyes narrowed.
“She sleeps in my damn bed. And the bowls I brought with me were fine.”
“They were small. I got her treats, too.” Boone gets up, as if offended, and walks over to plop down in front of Sitka. She barely stirs, except to do her best imitation of a dead cockroach to entice Boone to rub her belly. It works, because he’s definitely a sucker for animals, and all I can do is glare at him and wish my dog had better taste in people.
For a few moments, I just stare at him as he shows my dog a tenderness I never knew he possessed for anyone other than Fletch. Sneaking a look at the blond, however, shows that his eyes are on me, and it makes a shiver travel down my spine.
I can’t look at him for long.
“Why do you guys have pictures of the people who were murdered here last year?” I ask, folding and unfolding my fingers from around the bottle.
“Why do you think we have them?” Fletcher is quick to ask in reply. “How would we have them except for the obvious reason, hmm?” I don’t expect the easy admission of guilt, and I can’t help but shudder.
“There’s something wrong with you both,” I murmur. “I mean, I’ve always known that, I guess.” From the corner of my eye I watch him sit down beside me, and I shift away from him just as his hand comes out to grip my thigh, holding me in place.
“Oh, yeah?” He shouldn’t sound so fucking amused. “There’s something wrong with us ?”
“Yeah. It’s been pretty clear since…” I trail off, not wanting to voice my reasons. It’s not like they don’t know them, but when I catch sight of Fletcher’s face, I realize he’s going to make me do it anyway.
He’s going to make me admit it. But I’m not here to play their game. I’d rather not be here at all, but apparently that’s not going my way tonight.
“Since you locked me in the damn shed and I got frostbite,” I snap in reply, shoving up the sleeve of my hoodie and holding out my hand to display the faded scar on my right pinkie and ring finger. I’ve unfortunately always been prone to scarring easily, and when Fletcher’s eyes fall on the pinkish mottling still present on my hand, I expect him to grin or look unaffected.
I don’t expect him to frown and reach out to me, his hand warm as he cradles my fingers in his palm. “We were young and stupid. We didn’t think…” He sighs, and looks balefully up at me. “Also, that’s not what you were going to say and we both know it.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say. You don’t know anything about me,” I retort. My skin prickles where it touches his, and when I try to snatch my hand away, he’s too quick for me. His fingers wrap around mine, keeping me in his grip.
“ Well .” Boone sings the word, thumping down behind me on the couch. I try to jerk away from him as well, but between the two of them, there’s not really anywhere for me to go. He rests his head on my shoulder, looking up at me with those puppy-dog eyes that always worked too well on Cheryl when the two of them were close to getting in trouble for something they’d done.
Usually something Boone did that Fletcher had to go wrestle him out of.
“That’s not totally true. You might not have wanted to see us over the past few years, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t come to check up on you. I thought you were going to get the golden retriever at the shelter that day, actually.” His words, and the accuracy of them, send a shiver crawling up my spine as I look at Boone with shock on my face.
“You’ve been stalking me?” I can’t help but murmur. My heart pounds in my chest, slamming into my ribs almost painfully as I try again to jerk out of Fletcher’s hold.
“Checking up on you,” the blond corrects. “We were worried about you, especially since you left so suddenly and you were all alone.” He grabs my other hand to keep me in place, both of them forming an effective cage around me.
But I won’t play their game.
“Fuck you both.” I jerk my arms in Fletcher’s grip. “I know what you’re doing. We’ve done this before and I’m sick of it. We’re not kids anymore, and I’m not going to let you push me around. You’re not going to make me cry and run to Dad, or lock myself in my room. And well.” I snarl out an unfriendly laugh. “I don’t have a boyfriend for you to beat the shit out of this time. I know what you want and I will not give it to you this time . Do you both fucking hear me?” Hopefully, if I can make it seem like they don’t still scare me, they’ll give up on this game and just go away. Or at least go fuck each other in their room for as long as I’m stuck here.
They’re quiet for a few seconds—which for Boone is a feat in itself—then Boone giggles, pressing his face into my shoulder like we’re sharing some joke. But…I don’t see what’s funny.
I don’t see what could be funny in this situation, and that in itself is terrifying.
“That’s what you think?” He snickers against my shoulder. “You think we want to…to lock you in a shed again or make you cry or make you run to Daddy ? Of course you don’t have a boyfriend, snow bunny.” He moves to peer up at me, his grin growing wide on his full lips. “We never would’ve let that happen.”
A tremor runs through me at the threat and my mouth falls open, words dying on my tongue. I don’t know how to reply to that. I have no idea what to say in the face of that kind of malicious honesty.
“Fuck you both,” I sneer finally. “Just fuck you .”
“Yeah, Conor.” Fletcher’s hand leaves my wrist, and when I turn to face him fully, he cups my jaw in his hand. “That’s absolutely the idea. Though I will admit.” His smile turns cruel around the edges. “I don’t mind the idea of you on your knees crying, with your lips wrapped around my?—”
This time when I go to hit him, Boone sees it coming. He grabs my free hand, jerking it behind my back hard enough to drag a pained gasp from my throat. “No, no, don’t hit,” he coos in my ear. “Don’t mess up his pretty face. We both know he doesn’t bruise well.”
“Let go of me.” I’m trying so hard not to engage, even as Fletcher’s words twist in my stomach. Again I try to jerk free of them, acutely aware of how Fletcher’s hand shifts so he can wrap his fingers lightly around my throat.
“Nah,” the blond purrs. “We like you right where you are. But if it’ll make you feel better…” He leans in close, until his lips are millimeters from mine. “You can go ahead and cry.” I don’t get a chance to respond. Not when his lips slide against mine, warm and softer than they should be.
Fuck , I always knew Fletcher would be an amazing kisser. But I still struggle in their grip, squirming between them until Boone growls and bites down on the junction of my neck and shoulder. I open my mouth in a yelp and Fletcher takes advantage, licking into my mouth as he uses his grip on my throat to push me back into Boone.
I really am trapped between them.
But maybe I’ve always been trapped between them.
Tentatively I close my teeth over his tongue, prepared to bite, only for Fletcher to jerk back with a growling laugh. “Do it, princess,” he invites. “Bite down and see what happens. I’ll have you crying on your knees so fast it’ll give you whiplash. I don’t let him bite, and I certainly won’t let our little snow bunny use her teeth on me. Save it for Boone.”
In response, Boone bites harder at my throat, and I can feel him sucking a mark onto my skin.
“I hate you both,” I snap. “I cannot express enough how much I hate you both.”
“Great. Wonderful. Hate us,” Boone invites, lifting up to nip at the curve of my ear. “I think you taste better when you’re pissed and confused and”—without warning, he shoves his hand between my thighs, palm pressed to my folds over my sweatpants—“turned on.”
Somehow his words give me the audacity to twist free of him, and I turn to smack Boone in the face, causing him to fall backward with a yelp of, “Why me ?!” before I scramble to my feet, panting like I’ve just run a marathon.
“I hate you both. I hate you ,” I tell them. “I’m going back to bed until…” I glance toward the kitchen window, keeping an eye on the two of them as Boone rubs his face and Fletcher just watches the two of us, unamused. “Until I can leave. Don’t talk to me, or look at me. Just go die or something. Sitka!” She jerks upright, having been woken up by the tone of my voice. Without hesitating she hops off the bed, following me across the room as I snatch the bottle of chocolate milk off of the coffee table.
“I hope you both die,” I toss back over my shoulder, refusing to even look at them again. Seconds later, I’m in my room, my door slamming closed behind me. There’s so much I should be thinking about.
Like them being here.
Like what they said.
Like the fact they killed three people here last year and took pictures of their work.
Like…like the taste of Fletcher’s mouth and the feel of Boone’s teeth?—
Cutting off that thought real quick, I jerk my hoodie over my head and fall onto my bed, belatedly feeling Sitka’s weight settle on the comforter near my legs. “We’re so getting out of here,” I mutter to her, face in my pillow. “Even if you have to learn to be a sled dog for us to do it.”