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“Damn, woman, do you never stop complaining? No wonder you haven’t gotten a man yet at your age, although you are kind of ugly, so that can be a reason. It’s that whole ugly soul thing you have going on,” Bruce Tyler said as he dragged her out the back of the house.

Abby just prayed he would let her go. He had hit her father again. And old Mr. Rutherford. Just slugged them, demanded they confess their sins. That it was their fault she was dead, that a woman named Sheila was dead. That the poor kid from Finley Creek was dead. That innocent women had almost died in Finley Creek. He’d shouted that her dad and Mr. Rutherford had deaths on their souls.

He'd sounded insane, fanatical. And he was so much younger, stronger than her father, even though he limped.

He had Fletcher’s and Martin’s faces, but older.

She would never forget that. And he was going on and on about Desmond and Desmond’s father and Desmond’s innocent half sisters and how they were paying for their father’s sins too. And yelling about Morris’s other son, Brenden.

Abby was just there as an afterthought. She had tried to run to the door. She could get to a car, get to help. Save her dad, even if he had done bad things for Morris Preston. Maybe Dylan’s dad would help him with the witness protection thing. They could all leave Masterson, have a brand-new kind of life. Get away.

Somehow.

Then Bruce was dragging her outside. Because Will was there. But that was Braelyn’s car and her brother looked half sick.

“Will! Will, help me! He has Daddy and Mr. Rutherford inside!”

Her brother dove for Bruce Tyler. Then they were fighting there on the ground.

“Abby, run! Get back to the car and get out of here! Go!”

For the first time ever, she did exactly what her brother told her to do.

Abby had to get help for her family. Somehow.

Before Bruce Tyler killed them all.