Page 61 of Horror and Chill

“You’ve thought about us before,” I say.

Her eyes snap to me, wide, furious. She shakes her head hard.

“Yes, you have.” I lean in, my voice low. “Mason’s uncles. I saw the way you looked at us. Sex on legs, right? You ever watch us lean against the wall at pickup and wonder what it would feel like if one of us pinned you to it?”

She thrashes against Garron, hushed words spilling under the tape. Garron growls. “Shut up, Corwin.”

But I see it in her eyes. The flicker of rage and something else. She’s curious, even if she hates me for saying it out loud.

Evander’s voice is quiet, steady. “You’re trying too hard.”

“I’m trying the right amount,” I snap.

“You’re going to burn her out before we even get her where we need her.”

I bare my teeth at him in the mirror. “Better than letting her think this is a fucking picnic.”

Agatha’s head snaps between us, like she’s trying to read the war on our faces. I let her. She should know we’re not a neat little package. We’re jagged, sharp, dangerous. And she’s the one stuck in the middle.

We turn off the main road after another thirty minutes. The woods crowd closer, trees black against the night sky. Gravel crunches under the tires, the sound louder than it should be. She shifts, her body tense, eyes darting out the window as if she can track where we are.

Good luck with that.

The cabin looms soon after, a hulking shadow with windows that glow faintly from the solar lights we had Dad leave on.Two stories, wraparound porch, lake out back, no neighbors for miles. I’ve loved this place since I was a kid because it feels like it belongs to no one. Like the woods could swallow it whole and no one would remember.

Perfect for her.

Evander kills the engine. Silence floods the SUV, broken only by the sound of her breath through the gag.

Garron nudges her. “Out.”

She shakes her head, eyes wide.

“Out,” he repeats, harder.

She shakes again.

I laugh, sharp and mean. “Guess it’s the hard way.”

We drag her out together, her heels digging into the gravel, her smothered screams tearing at the tape. She twists, nearly slips from my grip, but Garron jerks her back and lifts her straight into his arms.

“You carry her like a bride,” I snarl, spitting the word like an insult, because he should know better than to treat her gently.

“Better than you dropping her on her head.”

I roll my eyes and grab her legs. She kicks, but I tuck them under my arm and keep walking. Evander follows behind with the bag he packed from her room.

The porch creaks under our boots. The cabin door groans when Garron shoulders it open. The smell hits instantly: cedar, dust, faint ash from the last fire Dad left in the hearth.

We haul her upstairs to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Big bed, heavy frame, and the leather cuffs and chains bolted into the wall. She thrashes again when she sees it, muffled shouts breaking through.

I grin down at her. “Don’t worry, Little Horror. We’re not going to kill you. Not yet.”

Her eyes blaze. If her mouth was free, she’d spit in my face.

Garron sets her down on the bed and holds her there while I close the first cuff around her wrist.

She jerks, her muffled scream shaking with fury, but I catch the second wrist and snap the cuff shut before she can thrash free. Evander sets her bag down in the corner, then leans against the wall, arms crossed, calm as a saint in a church burning down.