Chapter 25 Skylar
SKYLAR
One second, I’m staring into Knox’s hazel eyes.
Next, his hand snaps around the back of my neck like a collar and drags me to his side.
Neither pain nor surprise registers. There’s no time for feelings, only survival, as the farmhouse door swings open wide.
“I thought I heard voices.” A grinning Jett fills the doorway.
His jeans and flannel shirt are crumpled. Greasy hair clings to his forehead.
Disgusting on the outside as he is on the inside.
“Yeah, you heard right,” Knox growls at him. “I was telling her to stop fighting me.”
“Strange.” Though Jett’s lips are stretched, suspicion bleeds from him, polluting the air surrounding us. “Doesn’t look like she’s fighting you now. And you’re early. I knew something was up.”
“She’ll need feeding soon,” my captor and savior says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Didn’t want to mess up her schedule.”
“Hmm.” Jett’s green eyes dart between Knox and me.
Knox rolls his eyes. “You gonna let us in or what?”
“Well…”
“Jett, I ain’t got no time for your games.” He takes one step forward, dragging me behind.
It doesn’t escape me that he’s keeping me at a safe distance from his brother.
“Hold on.” Jett flattens a hand against Knox’s chest.
Knox could snap his brother’s wrist. He doesn’t.
He chooses mercy, glowering at him. “What?”
Tension hums in the silence between them, thick enough to choke on.
That’s not the only source of violent energy surrounding us, though. Beneath our feet, commotion stirs. Scraping furniture, distant shouting.
The basement is coming alive.
We’re not too early, apparently.
Damn Jett. Why won’t he just take us there and get it over with?
“You’re not done answering my questions.” Ah, that’s why. This sadist, suspicious fuck with his creepy-ass smile. Somehow it stretches wider as he tilts his head to study me. Then his attention is back on Knox, one eyebrow lifted. “Are you, Hide-boy?”
Hide-boy.
Motherfucker.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that the skin breaks. Blood dribbles into my mouth, iron soaking my tongue.
I’m pure aggression. Feverish hate.
Knox senses my barely restrained rage, tightening his grip on my neck, silencing me. “I told you—”
“Her schedule. Heard you the first time.” Jett throws me another look before grinning at Knox.
“Except I don’t give a fuck. I told you that you and I aren’t done here, and I meant it.
You’re not stepping foot inside until you tell me what the hell this is.
Why you gave her a living-hide mask. The one thing you worship more than your routine.
Does she mean something to you? Are you turning your back on your family? Huh? Huh?”
Bastard. He must be hoping the answer will give him an excuse to hurt Knox.
This isn’t about power.
He’s just a violent piece of shit.
I want to strangle him. To claw his eyes out.
All I can think about is protecting my man. He’s never asked for it. He certainly doesn’t need it.
And yet here I am, desperate to kill for him.
My possessiveness burns through me. Crushing me.
No matter what they do, you stay quiet, Trouble.
I promised. Dammit.
“You think it’s love? Letting a living-hide wear an old, used mask? Bringing her here to watch her sister get tortured?” Knox’s voice is flat, almost bored. “I’m humiliating her, you fucker. You want to fight me over that too?”
“I-I—” This is the first time I’ve heard Jett stutter.
“She hates it so much she couldn’t stop screaming. Not anymore. Her mouth’s sewn shut and—”
“Oh, is it?” Jett leans in, squinting as he searches for proof. For the gore he can’t possibly see through the slit in the mask.
And even though the opening is just a slim, uneven slash that gives nothing away, Knox doesn’t let his brother get anywhere near me.
He shifts, moving his hand from my neck to hold my hand. From there, he twists his arm as he pushes me behind him. Becoming my human shield.
“And when it’s time to feed her, I’ll make her rip the sutures out herself.” My man seethes. “Still sound like love to you?”
My blood runs cold at how convincing Knox is.
He says it like it’s something they actually do here.
Oh God. Not him. Not my Knox. He might help his family catch and murder innocent people, then turn their skin to leather.
Torture, though? No. He would never.
Okay, okay. I’m fine. Nothing’s changed between Knox and me.
I’m still his.
Still have to protect him by holding in every sound, be it a cry or a scream.
My silence isn’t optional anymore. It isn’t a request.
One slip-up, and they’ll know he lied. They’ll know something’s up.
They’ll come for him.
After both of us.
In a confined basement, surrounded by four homicidal adults and an unpredictable kid, we don’t stand a chance.
My lungs flatten. Sweat beads on my forehead.
But then Knox’s thumb strokes the feverish skin of my wrist. Just once, reminding me he’s there before taking a threatening step forward, growling at his brother.
So fucking hot.
Bad time to be turned on, Skylar. The worst.
“You either let me in, or I’ll head home.” Knox acts as if the whole ordeal’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
The humid air clings to my skin as Jett weighs his options.
He must hate this, how Knox is done putting up with his bullshit.
We haven’t even stepped into the basement yet, and Knox is already wiping the floor with him.
Loser.
“Eeeep!” The childish screech from below breaks the tense standoff.
The second time Reese screeches and claps loud enough for us to hear, Jett starts laughing, the high-pitched hyena sound blaring in my ears.
Knox squeezes my hand tight enough to break bones.
Silence, he orders, and I obey.
“Well, then.” Jett slaps Knox’s shoulder. “You’re good to go. Come on in.”
Don’t touch him.
I’m boiling inside, but I stay quiet as we go in. I think I’ve just decided that, out of all of them, Jett is the one I loathe most.
The asshole steps aside, not waiting for us to walk in before heading to the basement. He strolls through the door and descends the stairs ahead of us.
Knox doesn’t spare me a glance as he follows him, my hand still trapped in his.
Sounds from an old record rise from downstairs, welcoming us to the Colberts’ version of hell. Plucked guitar notes drag as they play an unfamiliar country song.
Every other second, it skips and stutters.
I don’t believe in premonitions, yet I can’t help but feel that this is just another sign of how wrong this place is. How our chances of getting out of here are slim to none.
Stop it, I say to myself. The weak, old Skylar is gone. I’m not afraid. I’m here to help Knox. I’m doing whatever it takes to get us through today. Survival means knowing when to stay quiet, even if it means stomaching Bronwyn’s brutal murder.
I follow Knox down the stairs. The stench of death thickens in the air. My eyes are locked on his broad back. I don’t let myself glance to the right, where the stairwell ceiling ends and the basement opens up.
But fear isn’t what forces me to focus on no one else but him. His family doesn’t deserve my respect. They don’t deserve my attention.
Even when we reach the basement, and Knox turns us to face them, I refuse to lift my gaze from the floor and acknowledge them.
“Son, you’re early.” His dad’s beaming, from the sound of it.
Bronwyn whimpers in response. Even without seeing her, I know it has to be her. No one else here would be that choked up. That helpless.
“Yeah, he is,” Jett offers before rattling off the explanation Knox gave him upstairs.
Toward the end of his story, his voice thins, making it harder to place where he is.
Is he turning toward Bronwyn? Is this when the brutality begins, when the Colberts steal my revenge?
“My boys, I’m so proud of both of you.” That’s the mom. She claps once. Pleased as fucking punch.
Her voice is louder than the sounds from the record player. Than my sister’s muted cries.
“I knew you were serious about this, about being a part of this family.” Pride soaks Grandpa’s announcement. “All it took was twenty-five years, but here you are.”
Knox’s response is a noncommittal huff. A squeeze of my palm.
“Thanks for holding on to that knife for me, Reese-o,” Jett drawls, ignoring the rest of them.
“Sure, Jetty. It’s been safe here, in my lap, while I’ve been taking care of her. Dolly, oh, Dolly.” Reese laughs again. “Too bad you can’t talk anymore. I like it better when my dollies say please.”
What in the living fuck?
My lips are parched. Heart pounding.
I force myself to breathe. Have to stay conscious, no matter what.
Cling to the mask. Stay in Knox’s orbit. Breathe him in. You’ve got this.
“You ain’t off the hook yet, Knox.” His dad coughs. Spits. “You have to pass our test first.”
The way he says “test” is derisive and mean. Like Knox’s failure would amuse him.
A sense of impending doom curls around my lungs. Dark tendrils cling and taunt me.
A million fears strike at me harsher than any whip ever could.
Be quiet. Quiet.
Quiet!
I breathe in the scent of the mask, absorbing the strength it offers. It’s all I can do not to pass out.
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Knox’s tone is flat, dismissive.
“But her eyes are glued to the goddamn floor!” Papa barks.
Knox hauls me closer to him, then he lets go of my hand, squeezing my chin. Jerking my face toward the Colberts.
He’s playing the part, being brutal while silently telling me he’s here.
That he’ll keep me safe.
His version of comfort soothes me for all of a second.
My heart lurches at this horrifying scene unfolding before me. Something no part of me was ready to see.
Bronwyn, she’s naked. Bound to a sturdy chair. Ropes lace around her shins, waist, even her throat to keep her upright.
Her light brown hair is matted and oily. Strings of it stick to her sweaty cheeks. Her forehead.
When I take a closer look, my stomach dips. The Colberts have given her a weird, humiliating haircut. Her once-long tresses are uneven, and she has these clunky bangs now.