Page 67 of Horror and Chill

I unlock the first buckle.

26

Agatha

The cuff slips openwithout a sound. My hand falls to the mattress, and red marks cover my skin. I flex my fingers once, twice, the ache biting sharp. For a second, I think about lunging. Scratching. Using my nails to blind whoever is closest. But three sets of eyes are on me, and I know I wouldn’t make it two steps before I was back on this bed in worse shape.

So I curl my fingers into a fist and let my hand rest.

Evander watches me with that too-steady calm, the kind that makes me want to scream just to see if I can break it.

“Good,” he murmurs, like my restraint is a test I didn't realize I was taking.

Corwin whistles low. “Thought for sure she’d swing at you.” He leans closer, grin sharp. “You still might, won’t you, Little Horror?”

“Try me,” I snap.

Corwin’s eyes light up as if someone has handed him a toy. Garron shifts behind him, one heavy hand landing on his brother’s shoulder, pulling him back a step. “Don’t bait her.”

“She baited first,” Corwin shoots back.

They’re always pulling in opposite directions, I think. And then there’s Evander, the one who makes sure it doesn’t tip too far either way.

He crouches now, level with me, his palm brushing the cuff at my other wrist but not unlocking it. “Say another truth,” he says.

I bare my teeth. “I can’t stop thinking about the woods, the barn, or even the fucking tattoo shop.”

Corwin laughs like it's his favorite joke. Garron doesn’t move. Evander just blinks once. “Not good enough.”

“I told you the truth,” I spit.

“We already knew you liked it. Hell, wanted more,” Evander replies. “Tell us something that costs you.” His voice is calm, and it needles under my skin because he is right.

I hate him for it. I hate that I can feel the words clawing in my throat.

“You want me to hand you my secrets like candy?” My laugh is sharp. “You think you’ve earned that?”

Corwin leans on the mattress, close enough that I feel the heat of him. “Spill something dirty. Something you don’t even tell your mirror.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss.

He grins. “There it is. The fire.”

I don’t know whether to hate him or trust him for it.

Evander still hasn’t looked away. His hand stays on the cuff, thumb brushing the edge of the leather. “One chance,” he says softly. “Say something true. No venom. No drama. Truth. Earn your next inch.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. For a second, all I see is the bathtub. Sixteen years old, Michael’s hand on my head, shoving me under cold water while Debra prayed. I smell vinegar. I hear the hiss of scripture being taped over glass.

My chest burns.

“My father used to baptize me in our tub when he thought I sinned,” I whisper, the words spilling before I can stop them. My eyes fly open. Their faces are watching. All three. “Cold water. Over and over until I thought I’d drown. Debra washed me with vinegar after. Said it would burn the lust out.”

The room goes still.

Corwin’s grin falters. “No wonder you’re fucked up,” he mutters. But there’s a gleam in his eyes that tells me he likes me even more for it.

Garron doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. His hands fist once at his sides, knuckles white. He swallows but says nothing.