Chapter 40
Corwin
The car idles loudly. Heat blasting, vents rattling, leather squeaking every time I move.
Garron’s in the driver’s seat, his hands tapping a beat on the wheel.
Evander’s in the back, stretched out like a king.
And me? I’m grinding my teeth, chewing on the inside of my cheek til I taste blood.
Eyes locked on the house in front of us. Any second now, she’s gonna walk out.
Agatha.
She said yes, and told us not to be late. Like she owns us. Like she doesn’t realize what she’s asked for.
The door creaks open, and there she is. Baggy jeans, black t-shirt that says “all men are cremated equal.” Silver hair shining in the night.
She looks like she just stepped out of a punk rock photoshoot, and I can’t get enough of her.
My jaw aches from clenching it so tight.
My hands twitch on my knees like I need something to hold down.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Garron smirks. “Try to keep it in your pants until we hit the highway.”
I flip him off. I can’t take my eyes off of her. The bag on her shoulder, the fact she actually packed. She’s coming. For real.
She opens the back door and slides in beside Evander. The air changes. My pulse kicks just from her thigh brushing the seat.
“Evening, triplets of terror,” she says, voice light.
Evander nods, soft smile. “Little Horror.”
“Good evening?” I echo, twisting in my seat. “That’s all? After making us wait like dogs?”
She meets my eyes dead-on, no flinch. “You’re still here, aren’t you? Must have been worth it.”
Cocky.
She’s not playing timid. My grin stretches. Elbow hooks over the seat. “We’ll always wait.”
“Seatbelt,” Garron says.
She snaps the door shut without looking away from me. No nervousness to be seen. She knows exactly what she’s walking into, and she’s choosing it anyway. That should settle me. It doesn’t. It makes me want to see how far she’ll keep pushing.
“So,” I drag out the word, “sleep good? Dream about us?”
Her lips curve. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I bark out a laugh. “Bet you did.”
“I had hot and bloody dreams about you, Little Horror,” Garron cuts in, still smirking at the road.
Evander interrupts, “Corwin.”
I ignore him.
I lean closer, shoulder pressed to the seat, eyes on her mouth. She doesn’t back down. Just tilts her chin like she’s daring me.
“Corwin,” she says, softer, almost teasing.
“Yeah, baby?”
Her eyes spark. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then what? Little Horror?” I grin when her lips twitch. Nailed it. She likes it, even if she pretends not to.
She shifts, gaze sliding back to the window. “You’re insufferable.”
“Say that like you don’t love it.”
Silence. She doesn’t deny it.
Evander offers her a water bottle. “Here.”
She takes it, fingers brushing his, and gives him a smile. My chest goes tight. She never looks at me like that. At least not yet.
The road unrolls in front of us. Garron goes on about check-in, supplies, the week ahead. Practical shit. Evander hums. I turn around and watch her reflection in the visor mirror. She’s eating this up, and she wants us to know it.
I remember her most recent stream. Jason mask. Her moaning like she wanted us there with her. I shift in my seat, biting back a groan.
“You good there?” she asks, mocking.
I bare mine right back. “Never better.”
Traffic thins as we merge onto the highway. Garron cranks on low classic rock on the radio, and starts humming. Evander leans against the door with his eyes closed, but he’s not asleep. His hand twitches when she shifts closer.
She finally speaks. “So where are we staying?”
“A house,” Garron says. “Out in the woods. Private.”
Her brows lift. “Good.”
I laugh. “Private enough so no one hears you scream.”
She doesn’t even blink. Just grins. “Then you better make it worth the silence.”
My gut twists. I can’t stop grinning.
The car settles into rhythm, and for the first time in days, I feel steady. Not calm. But steady. Because she’s here. Coming with us.
I dig my phone out, thumbs flying as I type a text out to only my brothers.
Me: Anyone else shocked she actually got in the car willingly?
Garron: Not shocked.
Evander: She knows what she wants.
Me: Yeah. Us.
And Agatha smirking like she knows exactly what we’re typing.
“You shouldn’t text and drive. It’s dangerous,” she sasses.
“We’ve done even crazier shit, Little Horror,” Garron tells her.
She rolls her eyes. “Also, it’s weird you’re texting each other when you’re in the car. Which means it’s about me. So share with the class or knock it off.”
Garron smirks at the windshield. Evander’s mouth curves faintly. Agatha leans back like she owns the whole damn car.
She thinks she’s making the rules.
One week. One house. One girl who’s about to find out just how fucked up we are. She thought what we did to her was bad; wait ‘til she sees what we’ll do for her.
Garron
The gravel crunches under the tires as I cut the engine. The corn and bean fields around us swallow the noise. The house sits dark against the fields, two stories of shadow and promise. Nothing fancy, but private. That’s all that matters.
Corwin’s already twitching, thumb drumming on the door panel as he watches Agatha climb out of the backseat, bag slung on her shoulder, silver hair catching what little light’s left. She doesn’t look nervous. Not even close. She looks like she’s been waiting for this.
“Home sweet home,” I say, keys jingling in my hand as I lead the way up the steps.
The lock clicks and the door groans open.
Inside, the air smells like wood and dust, faint lemon from someone cleaning.
A big open living room, couches sagging but wide enough to crash on.
Kitchen off to the side with a double oven and textured countertops.
Bedrooms upstairs, four in total. Perfect.
Agatha steps in behind me, claiming the space like it’s already hers. She drops her bag by the stairs and kicks her shoes off, toes curling against the worn rug. She glances back at us, chin tilted high, daring us to say something. None of us do.
“Rooms?” she asks.
Corwin jerks his head, looking up the stairs. “Take your pick.”
She disappears heading up, the whole time the three of us stare at her ass.
Corwin mutters, “She’s cocky.”
“She’s confident,” I correct, tossing the keys on the counter. “Difference.”
We head up after her and split up. Evander takes the room closest to hers. Corwin stomps to the far one, like putting distance between them will help. I claim the corner room with the big window.
Unpacking doesn’t take long. We didn’t bring much. Clothes, chargers, knives. That’s all we need.
By the time I come downstairs, Agatha’s curled on the couch, flipping through channels like she’s lived here for years. She stops on a horror marathon—backwoods mutants, all bad graphics and fake blood. She smirks when she sees me watching. “What? Too cliché?”
“Perfect,” I say, dropping onto the couch beside her. “It fits.”
Corwin creeps in next, pretending not to stare at her. Evander disappears into the kitchen and comes back with takeout menus he must’ve found in a drawer.
“Options are pizza, Chinese, or Indian,” he says, handing her the stack first.
She scans, then grins. “Indian.” Her eyes scan the menu, then she grins. “I want Chicken Vindaloo with Rice. Extra spicy.”
I arch a brow. “Going straight for the top of the heat scale?”
“Damn right.” She tosses the menu on the table. “Mild’s for cowards.”
Corwin snorts. “You’ll be crying into your rice after two bites.”
She fires back without missing a beat. “And you’ll be crying after one.”
Evander’s lips twitch, just a ghost of a smile. I dial and place the order before they can turn it into a bet.
An hour later, the whole house smells like spice and charred bread.
We dump the cartons across the table in a heap, plastic bags half torn, lids already smeared orange.
Steam rises, thick with cumin and chili.
Corwin rips a naan straight in half, grease slicking his fingers.
Agatha follows, but slower, pulling hers apart piece by piece, dipping it into the vindaloo until sauce dribbles down her wrist. She doesn’t wipe it, just drags her tongue along her skin and grins.
Rice spills out of a carton, scattering across the wood. Evander scoops it up with steady fingers, drops it on his plate without a word. Corwin doesn’t bother—he’s already digging in, fork scraping the bottom like the food’s gonna run away.
The table’s a mess in minutes. Curry drippings, naan crumbs everywhere, water bottles rolling around because no one puts them down right. And she fits into it like she’s been doing this with us for forever.
Sweat beads on Corwin’s forehead. “Holy shit—this is lava.”
Agatha cackles, nearly dropping her samosa, then talks around her mouthful. “Baby tongue.”
He glares, reaches for water. “Say that again when your lips are blistered.”
She scoops a chunk of vindaloo, holds it up in front of his face before eating it slowly. Chews. Swallows. Smiles. “Not even sweating.”
I lean back, watching the show. “She’s got you beat, Cor.”
“Fuck off,” he growls, chugging water.
Evander breaks off a piece of naan and slides it her way. She takes it, brushes her fingers against his, and grins. “Thanks.”
He nods once and goes back to his curry.
She dips the bread into the vindaloo and takes a bite before licking her fingers. Her black lipstick smears, thumb shiny when she pulls it from her mouth.
Corwin’s fork freezes midair. My pulse climbs.
“What?” she asks, eyes glinting. “Can’t a girl enjoy her dinner?”
“Not like that,” Corwin mutters.
“Like what?” She licks her fingers again, slower this time, eyes never leaving his.
I laugh. “She’s baiting you. And you’re falling for it.”
“Maybe I am,” she says, leaning back.
Corwin keeps sneaking looks at her while we eat. When we finish, Evander and I clean up while she goes back to her horror marathon.
By midnight, the credits roll, and the house falls quiet.
We scatter again, Corwin storming up the stairs, muttering about how his asshole is gonna be on fire.
Evander follows her up the stairs and they slide into their rooms, shutting the doors softly.
I trudge down the hall to my room and flop back on the bed, tired and still stuffed.