Page 49 of Piggy

Grayson

Fuck.

Charlotte’s voice cracks like glass as she whispers my name for help, like I can do anything.

She knows we’re fucked. These ropes are cinched tight, biting into my wrists, soaked with sweat and panic. No flick of the wrist is getting me out of this.

Riser swings the gun lazily, a sick grin spreading. “C’mon, big tits. Off his cock.”

Charlotte clutches her chest, trembling as she slowly shifts, trying to shield herself from his stare.

He licks his lips, his bright blond hair casting a sinister glow about him.

He murmurs darkly, “Time for a threesome.”

Meghan steps beside Riser wearing a baggy shirt and sweatpants, rubbing her wrists as if they are sore.

“You fucker ,” she snaps at me, eyes blazing. “You locked me in the attic. For a week! ”

“You liked it — being caged by me. And it’s cooler than outside,” I counter sharply.

Her eyes narrow with detest. “Bastard! Good thing Riser found me.”

Charlotte scoffs and leers down at me. “You had Meghan imprisoned? In this house the whole time?”

“She was bait,” I say flatly. “I needed Riser to come back. And it worked.” I give her a cold glare and scold, “Until you tied me up.”

Charlotte flinches.

My gaze darts to Meghan. “You and Riser were fucking off-camera, right? Figures. Did you wait for him to cum, or did you start planning Charlotte’s rape before he was buried in you?”

Her smirk is slow, smug. “Jealous?”

I shake my head. “Not even close.”

“Bullshit.” Her voice sharpens. “You hate that I moved on.”

“I don’t,” I counter, truly not giving a fuck who she’s with.

She snarls. “Don’t lie, Grayson. I heard everything. All that pathetic simpering between you and your little fairy princess.”

She slinks toward Charlotte, eyes gleaming with hate. “Get off him, you nappy haired, Florida trash. Time’s up.”

Charlotte glances at me, terrified, her fingernails pinching into my sides like she doesn’t want to leave me. I nod, though, coaxing her off me, shifting just enough to encourage her to slide off .

Riser waves his gun. “Over there. Against the wall.”

She pulls her corset up, cheeks flaming, and scurries to the corner like a scolded doll.

Meghan leans over me, her mouth curled in disgust. “Rowen. Look at you. Naked. Tied up. What happened to the man who used to hurt me for fun? Now you let this bitch tie you up?”

I stay quiet.

Let her believe it. Let her rot in that lie. It burns her worse thinking I wanted Charlotte’s ropes. That I surrendered to someone better than her.

“I love Charlotte,” I say simply, the words now as natural as breathing. She’s my oxygen. Without her... I can’t imagine.

Meghan knows it and recoils like I just slapped her. Her expression fractures, then hardens.

“I want things to go back,” she whispers. “The way they were.”

“You mean, putting me in prison ?” I sneer. “You blackmailing me into phone calls. Threatening to report that I contacted you so I’d get thrown into solitary?”

Her lips tremble. “I miss you.”

“No. You miss control. You miss me cleaning up your vomit, hiding your pills, babysitting your overdoses.”

She glares.

I don’t stop.

“You don’t love me. You hate me. You hate all men like I hated women. You used me as your punching bag since day one. So tell me, Meghan...” I meet her eyes, ice cold. “That night. Was it rape, or did you want it?”

Silence. Her expression flickers, something wicked behind her gaze.

Then she shrugs, casual as sin. “Maybe if I get rid of Charlotte forever—”

The blood in my veins turns to lava.

“Meghan,” I snarl, pure threat, pure promise. “You hurt her, you die.”

She flinches. Her chin wobbles. “Why can’t you love me like you love her?”

“Meghan,” says Riser. “You want him as your simping assistant, fine. Let’s get rid of the bitch already.” His gun swings, pointing at Charlotte.

Thud.

A grunt.

The wiz of a bullet.

Charlotte’s scream.

It all happens so fast.

Red splatters the wall behind Charlotte, like gruesome artwork.

“Fuck!” I shout, my neck craning, body twisting against the ropes, trying to see her past furniture. “ Baby! ”

A sick gurgle answers.

Closer.

Riser’s hunched over to my left, clutching his throat. Blood pumps between his fingers, thick, dark, and fast. He drops to his knees, choking on his own spit, trying to speak. Failing. His final breath sounds like soup bubbling.

Then—

He collapses. Done.

Meghan stands behind him, panting, knuckles white around a fireplace poker. Its tip glows red with blood.

“Charlotte!” I yell again, jerking violently. The ropes dig into my wrists, slicing flesh, maybe even bone. Doesn’t matter. I need to get to her.

No luck.

Freedom hides, and Charlotte doesn’t answer.

My eyes dart to Meghan still standing there like she didn’t just stab a man and kill him. “Meghan. Let me go!”

“No.”

“Then check on her! ”

“No.” Her bob sways as she shakes her head, calm in a way that’s more unsettling than rage.

“What the fuck, then? Why did you save her?”

Tears spring into her eyes, furious and deluded. “You think nobody’s ever loved you? Not even me ? Yes, I saved her for you. I would’ve let you keep her. Live with her. Fuck her. I didn’t care, so long as you didn’t leave me.”

I can’t even respond before I catch movement. A hunched figure creeping along the room’s edge.

Atticus, on a mission .

He’s quiet as a ghost, skirting around the chaos. My chest seizes. I put him in the guest house. He’d called it his room at the Three Broomsticks. Just him and Wilbur. Safe.

Until now.

Meghan stamps her foot, yanking my attention back to her. “Rowen! I gave you everything! Money. Sex. Every twisted fantasy. I let other girls join us!”

“At the cost of my fucking soul , ” I growl. “You didn’t love me. You owned me.”

“Then why’d you help me, huh?” Her voice breaks. “You brought me back to life. You cared. ”

I clench my jaw. I’ve never said this out loud. “Because if I could keep a pill-head like you breathing, then maybe I didn’t kill my mother after all.”

She jolts. “Your mother... you believe you’re responsible for her overdose?”

“I wasn’t there.” I shrug, hating the truth, but it’s boiling up. “You and I were numb when we met. Both with a death wish. You wanted to OD. I wanted to stay in my spiral. Destroy my life. Go out swinging.”

Her lower lip trembles. “That’s not true. We loved each other.”

“No. We fed off each other like leeches. You were my punishment. My escape as we overindulged in things that made us feel, just for a second. But Charlotte... she’s my fucking hope. I can’t stop feeling everything when I’m around her.”

“You don’t mean that. She’s not...” Her voice turns breathless, fragile.

Her face shifts, enraged.

She dives for Riser’s gun and raises it to her temple. “Take it back or I’ll do it! I swear, I’ll end it!”

I don’t flinch. “You won’t.”

Her grin turns wild. “You’re right. I’m too selfish. But that’s the point. If I pull this trigger, you’ll carry it. You’ll remember my blood on your hands. Just like your mom’s tombstone. You’ll never be free. Not with Charlotte. Not ever.”

She cocks the gun.

And—

Charlotte leaps to her feet, her arm bleeding.

“No! Don’t do it!”

Meghan spins, the gun now pointed on her.

Atticus lunges, scooping up the bloody fire poker in both hands.

Crack!

The gun fires just as the red hot iron stabs into Meghan’s gut.

She stumbles.

Charlotte screams.

Meghan turns, wild eyed, arm lifting again. This time, toward Atticus.

Finally, my ankle ropes give. I kick out with everything I have, slamming into Meghan’s hip. She crashes into the coffee table, rolling over it, gun skittering across the floor .

I yank at the slack on my wrists, grinding through pain as I free one hand, fumbling with the other.

But Meghan’s already up again, staggering forward, gun back in hand. She lifts her arm to point it at Charlotte—

Charlotte screams and throws herself forward, headbutting Meghan in the chest.

They slam to the ground, wrestling. Grunting. Clawing for the gun inches away.

Atticus vanishes, overwhelmed or hiding.

I break free just as Meghan gets the upper hand. She straddles Charlotte, panting, now clutching the gun once more.

Charlotte’s eyes go wide with terror.

Charlotte squeals.

Wilbur squeals.

Wilbur?

The front door hangs open. Atticus stands there, hand on the knob.

Wilbur’s entry point.

The pig snarls, a blur of muscle and fury. He latches onto Meghan’s shoulder with his massive jaws, protecting Charlotte.

Meghan shrieks in pure, primal agony. The gun, still clutched in her hand, sprays bullets, the lead tearing into drywall and ceiling as the pig mauls her alive.

I don’t wait.

I grab Charlotte, yanking her to me so fast her arm pops.

She gasps in pain, but I don’t stop.

I wrap her in my arms and rush out to shield her from it, making sure Atticus follows, preventing them from lingering on the sight, the sounds, the absolute horror .