Rage stopped me by grabbing me by the arm. “I’ll get it,” she said. She went down the steps slowly, snatching the file from Mr. Carson’s hand. Rage’s eyes lingered there, on his hand, for just a fraction of a second.

“And who might you be?” Mr. Carson asked, sounding a lot like he was talking to a toddler.

“Management,” Rage answered. She opened the file and quickly scanned whatever was in there. “It’s legit, Thia. I think you guys should sit and talk about it,” she said, but there was something off about her voice. I’d heard her cheery, I’d heard her bored, I’d heard her complain A LOT, but this tone wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard from her before. I searched her eyes for some sort of ulterior meaning, but found nothing.

“Come on inside, Mr. Carson. We were just making iced tea,” Rage said, leading Mr. Carson up the steps, passing me on their way into the house. A huge victory smile plastered across his rat like face.

I should have aimed for his fucking head.

“Have a seat. My name is Mandy. I’m Thia’s cousin,” Rage said.

Her name is what?

Mr. Carson took a seat at the table while Rage opened kitchen cupboards and started taking random things out, setting them on the counter.

That’s when I saw it. The very small, very subtle look she shot me. I would have missed it a nanosecond later but luckily I hadn’t. She looked between me and then the knives in the butcher block on the counter, and then finally Mr. Carson. The smile never left her face and her attention never left our guest, but the message couldn’t have been more clear.

“I’ll cut some lemons,” I said, grabbing a knife and walking over to the refrigerator. We had no lemons, but on my way back from the refrigerator I managed to slip the knife into Rage’s waiting hand.

“Here we go,” Rage said, walking around the counter with an empty pitcher. Mr. Carson looked at it and then looked at her, his forehead creasing in confusion. Rage dropped the plastic pitcher and when Mr. Carson’s eyes followed it to the floor, Rage grabbed his wrist and set it on the table. In what seemed like no time at all, she raised the knife and ran it through the back of Mr. Carson’s hand, pinning him to the table.

He screamed and reached inside his jacket, but Rage was faster. She pushed his jacket down his shoulders, locking his arms to his sides and preventing him from getting to whatever it was he was reaching for. She pointed to the knives and I tossed her another one and she did the same with his other hand. The screaming escalated.

She reached into his jacket and removed his gun.

Then, as if she hadn’t just stabbed a man, TWICE, she calmy pulled out her gun, set it on the table next to his, making sure to point both of them toward Mr. Carson. She took a seat at the table while he continued to wail.

“You bitch!” he cried out, throwing his head back.

“You BASTARD,” Rage said. She reached over and yanked up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing the Beach Bastards emblem emblazoned on his forearm.

“What?” I asked, clamping a hand over my mouth, not believing what I was seeing.

“Thia, why don’t you be a doll and get us some rope?” Rage instructed.

“Rope?” I asked. “What for?” Mr. Carson tried to move his hands but only succeeded in making his wounds larger and the blood pour out faster.

All the other variations I’d seen of Rage’s personality disappeared and were replaced by the sinister being staring hatred into her new captive. Rage smiled sweetly. “’Cause, Thia darling, this is the South and I’m in the mood for a good old fashioned hanging.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Thia

I DIDN’T KNOW if she was actually going to go through with hanging Mr. Carson, and not because I didn’t think her capable, but because the grove—and Jessep in general—lacked any sort of trees with sturdy enough branches. Orange trees wouldn’t exactly get the job done. Regardless, I’d gone out to the shed and found what Rage had asked for. I’d just stepped back into the house when something buzzed.

Rage reached into the front of her shirt and pulled out an older style smart phone. Mr. Carson was passed out in his chair, his hands now covered in red, his blood dripping to the floor off the side of the table. Rage’s eyes went wide when she looked at the screen. Her face paled. She abruptly got up and grabbed the rope from my hands, but instead of lynching Mr. Carson or whatever his real name was, she stuffed a pink bandana in his mouth and tied him to the chair using a series of complicated looking knots.

“What’s going on?” I asked, hoping whatever it was had nothing to do with Bear.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I just sent a text to Bear. He’s on his way. Told me not to do anything until he gets here.”

I studied her face, her quick intake of breath. “Okay, but your phone. What was that? WHO was that?” I asked again and that’s when she looked up at me with glassy eyes and handed me the phone.

It was a selfie of a boy a little older than us. Handsome. Almost pretty. He was smiling into the camera, making a silly face with his hand on his chin.

“He’s cute?” I said but it came out like a question. I handed her the phone back.

“He is, but he’s also in trouble,” Rage said, staring down at the photo and running her fingers across the screen.

“You got that from a selfie? He looks happy to me.” I leaned over to look again just to make sure I didn’t miss anything, but again nothing stood out to me as being out of the ordinary.

Rage put her phone back into her shirt. “It’s his bat signal,” she said.

“His what?”

“His bat signal. He doesn’t like selfies. Said he would never take one. It’s our sign. He was only supposed to send one when he’s in trouble.”

“Rage…who is this boy to you?”

She bit her lip. “He’s…I don’t really know,” Rage answered quietly.

“You need to go to him,” I said, making her decision easier.

Rage started to protest, but I wouldn’t let her. “Listen to me, if the roles were reversed and Bear was in trouble, I wouldn’t give a second thought to leaving you. You said yourself that Bear is on his way. This dude is tied up and knocked out. I know how to shoot a gun. GO!” I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like I was trying to shake some sense into her. “I got this,” I assured her.