His eyes widen when I say “fucking.” Yeah, I’ve heard it enough from the pigs who torture us. I mean it, too.

The masked man stalks toward Donny, but I lunge into him as hard as I can. He lets out an oof when I slam into his chest. Without thinking, I plunge my teeth into his upper arm as hard as I can.

“You little fucker!” The man swats me across the face and then kicks me away from him.

Not to be deterred, I get up and ram into him once more.

He grabs me by the shoulders. “You little shit. Fine. You want it? You got it.”

He pushes me out the door and then locks Donny in.

“You’ll be sorry, little fucker. Really sorry.”

But I’m not.

Donny’s safe in the room, at least as far as I know.

They’ve never removed us from the room before. I have no idea what kind of horror awaits me.

But it’s okay.

Because it’ll happen to me and not to Donny.

I succeeded.

That’s all that matters.

Whatever lies ahead, I’ll suffer through it.

As long as I keep my little brother as safe as possible.

Two masked men throw me into another concrete-floored room, which is even colder than what I’m used to.

“You like to protect your brother,” one man says in a low voice. “We can respect that. Right?”

“Sure enough.” This one has a higher-pitched voice. “And we can also make you wish you hadn’t.” He laughs maniacally, like one of the deviant clowns in horror movies.

I swallow and wrap my arms around my knees. What can they do to me that they haven’t already?

Too soon, that question is answered.

Chapter Fifty

Ashley

I pack.

I leave.

I text Brock.

He drives me into town.

He wants to talk. I stay silent.

He drops me at the hotel, where I thank him and tell him to go home.

He wheels my bag to my room, and then he does what I ask. He leaves.

And I cry.

Chapter Fifty-One

Dale

She’s gone.

She left over an hour ago.

And I’m on my third Peach Street. I’m angry and disgusted and brokenhearted. What were Dad and Uncle Ry thinking? My past is mine. Fucking mine. Not theirs. They had no right to tell Ashley.

I throw my empty low-ball glass against the wall. The crash sends shards of clear glass flying. Fuck Peach Street. I don’t deserve fine bourbon. I want that rotgut at the dive in Grand Junction. My gaze falls on the book of poetry from my birth father’s place. I pick up the book and send it flying after the glass.

“Fuck!” I roar.

Images. Sounds. Voices. Hot breath. Searing pain. Torturous humiliation. My determination—sheer willpower—and then…

Finally the thoughts come rioting into my mind.

That last time… The time I don’t think about…

The time they broke me.

“Had enough yet?” Higher Voice rams into me with a broom handle.

They’ve both raped me before. I’m used to it. Numb to it, even. I can escape in my head, think about going home. About escaping.

But today is different.

Today it’s a broom handle.

I squeeze my eyes shut, grit my teeth. Determined. Determined to take everything they gave.

Determined, because it saves my little brother. Can’t last forever. Can’t last forever.

Finally it’s over, and I open my eyes slightly. It’s covered in blood. My blood.

I close my eyes once more.

They’ll leave me alone now. What more can they do?

They’ve beaten me, whipped me, raped me.

What else is there?

“He’s strong, the little fucker,” Low Voice says.

“Even the strongest can be broken,” replies High Voice.

Though I’m determined not to cry out, I can’t help it when a whip comes down on my cheek.

“There you go,” High Voice says, invisible slime oozing from his tone. “Made you scream.”

I press my lips together. I won’t scream again. I will not.

The leather whip comes down on my cheek once more. Will I have a scar? So far, they’ve been careful not to scar us—at least not where anyone can see. Don’t care. Donny’s safe.

High Voice pries my lips apart. I know what’s coming, and I hate it. Can’t breathe when they do that. I always vomit afterward, but there’s nothing in my stomach today. I get ready. Ready for him to shove himself into my mouth, but instead—

He grabs my tongue and slices into it with a sharp blade.

I cry out again, but it sounds like a muffled “waaagghh” because he’s still holding my tongue.

“You don’t really need this, do you, bitch?” High Voice says. “The more room in there, the better.”

Blood from the cut dribbles out of my mouth. Oddly, my tongue doesn’t hurt any worse than if I’d bitten it myself. I try to breathe, but he’s holding on to my tongue, and I choke, coughing and sputtering, and then—

I retch. Bile burns my throat, and High Voice lets go of my tongue. He boxes my ear for good measure.

“Back on your knees, little bitch,” Low Voice says. “We’ve got a surprise for you.”

I don’t move. I never do. I learned long ago that they eventually move me where they want me. I won’t be a willing participant in this. Not ever.

Strong hands grip my hips, and soon I’m back in the position they wanted. I’m sore, but I’ve been sore since that first time. They can go and go and go, but eventually the pain can’t hurt any more than it already does. Right now I’m glad I still have a tongue.

They can shove something else in there. It won’t hurt any worse at this point. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m ready to die. Donny and I made the pact. If a gun were within reach, I’d grab it and end this torment.

Except I won’t. I know that as soon as the thought crosses my mind.

Because then they’ll turn on Donny.

Only Donny has an out from the pact. I never will, as long as my brother lives. I’ll die protecting him.

I brace myself for the intrusion that will inevitably come.