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Addie cringes, but I can’t tell if it’s because Serena is going to be pissed about that or if it’s because Sibby is just as creepy as she promised.

Both are daunting.

Voices arise from the room they’re in, sounding nervous and slightly angry.

“Don’t come any closer,” a deep voice barks. Sibby pauses, abruptly cutting off her lullaby, and cocks her head.

“That’s not very nice,” she whispers, her childlike tone sending chills down my spine. “I just want to play.”

“I will blow your fucking head off, bitch,” he spits. A large man fills the doorway at the end of the hallway, and I quickly usher Addie out of sight before he spots us at the mouth. I flatten myself against the wall and peek around the corner.

If he tries anything, I’ll be the one blowing heads off.

He’s burly and tall, with a bald head, black tattoos covering his pale skin, and a bushy beard surrounding his thinned lips. A gun is in his hand, aimed directly at Sibby. But she doesn’t seem the least bit frightened.

Muffled whimpers emit from the room, both masculine and feminine, and the sounds relax me a bit. They may be hurt, and definitely scared, but they’re also alive. That’s all that matters right now.

“My henchmen won’t let that happen,” she says. I’ve no idea where she imagines her harem to be, but the only one intimidating the armed man right now is her.

Which is admirable when she’s five foot nothing.

“Drop the knife,” he orders her. Sighing, Sibby listens, her knife clanging down the wall.

“You might as well tell me to undress next if you’re going to strip me of things,” she pouts. Gripping the bottom of her shirt, she starts to pull it up, doing just that.

The man’s eyes widen, and his gun drops as he watches Sibby take off her shirt. Thank fuck she’s wearing a bra.

I shake my head. Her methods are really fucking weird but still effective. She throws her shirt at the man, causing him to flinch back. Within that small increment of time, she grabs another knife strapped to her thigh and whips it at the man, the tip of the knife lodging in his eye straight through.

The whimpers rise to full-fledged screams of horror as the man tips face first, dropping like a bag of sand. His weight lands on the knife, driving it completely through his skull.

Quickly grabbing her knife and shirt from the floor, she pulls it on and skips the rest of the way into the room, stepping over her convulsing victim.

“Let’s go,” I say, grabbing Addie’s hand and rushing into the room behind Sibby, attempting to avoid the mess.

Serena and her husband, William, are bound to two chairs in the center of the room, duct tape slapped over their mouths. A single light bulb dangles above them, illuminating the two men on either side, each holding a gun to their head.

The intruders are tense, on edge now that Sibby flung a knife into their very dead partner’s eye.

“Mom… Dad…,” Addie breathes, and I feel her body bristling with the need to run to them.

Serena’s eyes are wet and bloodshot, smudged with black mascara. Her blonde hair is mussed, and her silk pajamas are torn at the collar. William squirms beside her, profusely sweating. His graying hair is matted to his head, and his white t-shirt is soaked. A cut mars his cheekbone, and a bruise is already beginning to form around his eye.

“You got here quicker than I expected after your friend fucked with our truck,” the intruder to my left says, his gun digging into Serena’s temple. He has deep black hair that hangs down around his ears, tangled and greasy, and a massive, hooked nose with a scar cutting across it. The other is a short, blond man with a baby face, who appears to be way out of his element.

“I was looking forward to having fun with them just a little bit longer. Maybe see if Mommy has a golden pussy too.” His finger curls around a strand of Serena’s hair, and she jerks away with a muffled scream.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Addie snaps. The man only smiles.

“I wanted to turn them into a nice display for you, too,” he continues, ignoring her. He shrugs a shoulder, attempting to appear nonchalant. “I suppose you’d make a better exhibit. Z hanging out of that big window in the front of the house, just like you did with the doctor. How poetic that’d be.”

“I’d love to play arts and crafts with you,” I murmur, drawing my switchblade from my hoodie and opening it, the zip of metal lost in Serena’s suppressed cries.

The man cocks the gun in response, his threat clear.

“You kill her, you kill the only thing keeping my bullet out of your brain,” I warn.

“Oh, Mommy’s the favorite, I see. Well, then we can do without the father, can’t we?”