Chapter 31 Knox
KNOX
When I push the door to the farmhouse open, a rotten, metallic stench of blood and bleach crawls out from inside.
But the stench isn’t what raises my hackles. It’s the faint glow from the living room filtering through the crack in the door.
They’re awake.
After pushing the duffel strap over my shoulder, I grip the chainsaw and grab Skylar’s hand.
My eyes lock on hers, and I mouth, Wait.
She gives a single, steady nod. Okay.
“Jett?” Reese’s voice cuts through the silence, high and gleeful.
A dull thud follows as something heavy hits the floorboards.
I have a good guess as to what that sound might be.
Bronwyn. What’s left of her, anyway.
“Jetty! Come inside! I want you to play with me.”
Skylar doesn’t know what those words mean. I intend to keep it that way.
I shove her behind me, shielding her with my body.
“Oh, Jettttt?” Reese sing-songs. Bang, bang, bang chases her twisted, melodic call. “You’ve spent enough time with Knox. It’s my turn now. Come in already.”
Skylar’s nails dig deeper into my hand. I squeeze back, steadying her, then push the door another inch open.
The hinges groan. My ears perk up, gauging every threat.
The first one I hear is Ma. Her footsteps register as she comes down the stairs. Heavy, but never as heavy as the rest of the men’s.
“Sugarplum, what’d I tell you about hollering this early in the morning?” Ma’s never really disciplined Reese, and the way she’s soft with her, she sure isn’t starting now. “You’ll wake up Papa.”
“Jett’s the one who’s making a fuss,” Reese whines.
“Jett?” I sense Ma’s eyes on the cracked-open door. My guess is she’s squinting. Searching. “You okay, Son? Why won’t you come inside?”
A quick kiss to Skylar’s knuckles, and I let go, dropping the duffel before steadying the saw with my free hand.
Let’s go.
“Not Jett.” I swing the door wide, filling up the space like a wall of rage. “Me.”
Reese, still in her dress from yesterday, sits cross-legged on the floor with Bronwyn’s head in her lap. She’s yanking at the matted strands, twisting them into pigtails.
One of Bronwyn’s eyes is shoved too deep into her skull. That must’ve been the thud I heard at the door.
Nothing about this circus of blood and bone shocks me anymore.
Ma’s words from years ago echo.
See one, you’ve seen them all.
But Skylar…she’s just recovering from yesterday’s carnage. From Jett.
Protect. Protect. Protect.
“What’s that chainsaw for? Where’s your brother?” Ma crosses her arms over her chest. She’s in her long white nightgown, her hair twisted into a braid at her nape. “What’d you do to him?”
“I’m here for the tires.” My grip shifts on the chainsaw, tilting the blade in their direction. A silent threat that I hope will be enough. “Jett slashed them. I’m taking the spares and leaving.”
“With the living-hide? I can see her back there.” She pulls her lips in. “No, you’re not getting a single spare until you tell me where Jett is.”
“He’s home.” I jerk my head behind me, standing taller. Hiding Skylar. “Where else would he be?”
“He’s lying!” Reese shrieks, crawling like a toddler across the floor. She stops about six feet from me and turns to our mother. “Jett promised he’d be back. He didn’t, and it’s because of him and his stupid chainsaw. He killed my Jetty!”
Adrenaline soaks through my body, my teeth grinding.
I didn’t want it to come to this.
But they won’t let me take the spare tires. They leave me no choice but to kill them.
The chainsaw answers when I rev it, a hungry growl that swallows damn near everything.
Not the footsteps that pound from the bedrooms upstairs, though.
Papa and Grandpa are coming.
“Be careful, please,” Skylar begs, voice raw with worry.
“Will do.” I step forward, the saw balanced between my hands.
“You’re gonna get it, Knox!” Reese claps, wiggling on the floor. “You’re gonna get it for killing Jett.”
“I didn’t kill him,” I thunder.
Papa and Grandpa appear in the hallway upstairs, wearing flannel pajama pants, their feet bare.
Grandpa comes down here empty-handed while Papa’s pistol gleams in his fist as he barrels down the stairs ahead of his dad.
“Papa, lower your gun.” Ma slides in at Papa’s side as he reaches the last step. “There’s got to be some explanation for this.” Her eyes narrow, staring at me. “Isn’t there, Knox?”
Grandpa walks over to the other side, blocking the basement door where we keep the spares. He must’ve overheard us earlier.
When I don’t answer, Papa scowls. His pistol, albeit loaded, is aimed low.
He doesn’t want the situation to escalate either. After all, he’s the one who bought me this chainsaw. He knows exactly what damage it can do. How fast I can pounce on them.
How many of them I can slice open before his bullets kill me.
“Well?” His shoulders are squared, mouth twitching with barely restrained fury. “Explain yourself. Did you lock Jett up?”
“Jett’s home.” Again, I rev the engine, my face contorting into something cruel. Something murderous.
Ice floods my veins.
“Stop lying!” Reese screams at the top of her lungs. “Stoooop. I want my Jettyyy!”
“Jett’s—” I start.
“Fuck you and fuck Jett.” Skylar’s arm grazes mine as she storms into the living room. My first instinct is to yank the chainsaw to the other side. Which I do, just in time. “Why won’t you die already?”
“Skylar.” She’s too fast, and my hands are full. I can’t grab her. Can’t get to her. “Come back here. Goddammit, Skylar.”
Ignoring me, she hurls herself at Grandpa, the one closest to us other than Reese.
“Son, you really thought she’d listen to you?” Papa’s laugh is sharp, bitter. His gun tracks her, though he doesn’t shoot with Grandpa in the way. “She don’t respect you. None of us ever did. You’re weak.”
Grandpa flexes his hands, thrilled to fight Skylar.
And I’m done.
Done babying them. Done pretending I owe them anything.
They’re not my family anymore.
“Weak?” The chainsaw’s engine revs the loudest as I stalk toward Skylar, who’s already punching Grandpa’s chest. “Weak doesn’t kill brothers, Dad.”
It’s the last thing I say before I lunge forward.
But then—Grandpa’s hand snaps around Skylar’s arm. He twists her, hooking his forearm around her throat.
Where the fuck is her knife?
“Let her go,” I snarl. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
An empty threat. If I unleash the saw on Grandpa, it’d get her too. She might bleed to death.
Can’t risk it.
My nostrils flare the more her face turns purple.
My ribs burn, my blood roars.
I’m going to save her.
“Stay away from him!” Ma’s in tears, her nails scratching my arm, my shoulder. “You aren’t killing anyone else in this family. Ever again. Stand here like a man and accept your punishment. Watch her die. Finish her, Grandpa! Finish her!”
For half a second, memories and pity wash over me. The smell of Ma’s cooking. Her bedtime stories.
But she, like the others, wants Skylar dead.
Not on my watch.
Grandpa’s still choking my woman, whispering poison in her ear.
I can’t take him down without hurting Skylar, so I do the next best thing.
I thrust the chainsaw forward, snarling at the older man. The saw’s teeth flash in the dim light. The threat forces Ma off me and makes Grandpa loosen his grip on Skylar.
The sliver of air he gives her is enough, buying us time so I can figure out how to save her.
Until then…I’m not done.
Still in motion, I pivot on my heel and bring the saw across Ma in one brutal arc.
The blade slices her head right off her neck, sending it flying to the floor.
Blood spurts from her throat, one-two-three moments before she drops dead.
Click.
The gun.
Click, click. Click.
Papa’s trying his hardest to shoot me, failing every single time.
The piece is jammed.
“Noooo!” Reese shrieks once the shock has left her system, rushing to Ma, sobbing into her bloody nightgown. “Mommyyyy!”
My poor sister. She’s a violent one, true. She’s also young, brainwashed, and broken.
I decide then and there that I won’t kill her. I’ll dump her in the nearest town. Let the world teach her something other than what our parents did.
Something better.
First, Skylar.
Except when I turn—chainsaw roaring, blood boiling—I don’t find her helpless.
Not at-fucking-all.
“Hey, Grandpa?” Feral smirk. White-knuckled grip on the knife I gave her. “Die, you son of a bitch.”
The blade drives into his neck. His howl rattles the walls.
Most living-hides never made it this far. And even if they did strike our arm, thigh, or stomach with scissors or something, they’d panic, leave the blade buried in one of us, and run.
Without pulling it out, the blood stays dammed. That’s why we Colberts haven’t lost a fight.
Yet.
But Skylar isn’t anyone else.
My clever girl rips it free. Blood gushes, spraying across his shirt and hers.
Color surges back into her face. Eyes glittering, determined as she bolts behind me.
“Good girl, Trouble.”
“No. No!” Grandpa claws at his neck, palm pressed hard.
It’s pointless. The blood keeps pumping through his fingers.
While this goes on, with me standing in front of Skylar, Reese’s screams pierce the air. Papa’s curses continue, his eyes wild.
The gun keeps on its weak click, click, click.
I need to end Papa so he won’t shoot us in the back when we try to get to the tires and get Reese the hell out of here.
With that conviction burning in me, the chainsaw becomes more than a tool. It’s an extension of my arm as I run at my father.
His eyes flare just as the teeth bite into his chest, grinding between ribs.
And then, just when I think it’s over, the pistol finally fires.
Someone screams.
The recoil jerks Papa’s body. I curse and let go of the chainsaw, whipping around as I hear Papa crashing to the floor. I have to see who got hit. Have to act fast.
My eyes cut to the one that matters most first.
Skylar.
Panic stabs through me like a hundred knives. But…
She’s alive. Standing tall even through the tears, breathing without choking on her own blood, only soaking in Grandpa’s.
Relief washes over me, filling me with light.
Even if it means my baby sister was the one who got shot, it’s okay.
As long as it’s not Skylar.
“You okay?” I fold her into my arms. I need to feel her before I take care of Reese.
“Y-Your sister.” Skylar sobs into my shirt, fingers clutching onto the fabric with blood-slick hands. “Reese. She was so young.”
I take a breath, let her go, and turn to look at my sister.
She’s sprawled on the floor, much like her dolls. A neat bullet hole pierces her forehead, blood trickling down one of her temples.
Her eyes have rolled back. Her chest isn’t moving.
There’s nothing I can do for her.
“What’s done is done,” I tell the room, the announcement final.
Yeah, I didn’t want Reese’s life to end. I could have taken her somewhere safe.
But I can live without Reese.
I’d die without Skylar.
“I’m here.” Skylar’s trying to sound and act brave. She puts a hand on my shoulder, warming me. Pulling me home. “It’s okay, Knox. I’m so sorry. It’s okay.”
“No need to be sorry.” I mean it. There’s no ache for Reese in me now.
A sense of victory warms me from the inside, a primal pride of having protected what’s mine.
When I turn to Skylar, her tears dry, her eyes wide and full of love, I become even more feral.
The threat is gone. Both of us helped eliminate it. We’re two people soaking in the blood of our enemies.
“Knox?” she whispers.
Her body is a magnet, drawing me to her. My cock is already hard, wanting her impaled on it.
No.
Not yet.
There’s too much to do. Clean up, change the tires, burn the whole place to the ground.
Get the fuck out of here before anyone stops by Colbert. It’s happened before, a small-town cop or a desperate family member.
So no, no time to fuck.
I take her throat instead, feel her pulse thrum under my palm. Proof she’s alive.
Proof she’s mine.
“I love you, Skylar.” My mouth brushes hers once.
Twice.
“Love you too.”
“Come on.” I drag her in for a kiss, then let go. “We’ve got to move.”