Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
The rope gives another quarter inch. I keep working.
"You think those pictures meant something, Kane?" Cash laughs, but it sounds hollow. "That you meant something to her? You were just another one of her projects. Like those fucking coffee table books. 'Montana Wildlife: Trailer Park Edition. That's all you were. Trailer blood doesn't get to rewrite legacy. Doesn't get to touch what's been Ashby since before Montana was a state." He's preaching now, to himself more than me. "You're just a footnote. A phase. The mistake Savannah needed to make before finding what's real."
I say nothing. Let my silence hum with defiance. With the knowledge that Savannah came to me. That she chose me.
Cash leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper like we're sharing a secret.
"She's with Marcus now," he says, each word measured, precise. "Where she belongs. With a man who can keep her name clean."
My jaw locks. Something hot and black swells behind my eyes.
"Had to drug her, you know. Just a little something to calm her down. You make her crazy." He tilts his head, studying me like I'm something under glass. "She was hysterical. Screaming. Scratching. Not herself."
I focus on the rope, on the slow give of fibers.
"Marcus had to wash her down." Cash's lips curl slightly. "Your filth was all over her thighs. Inside her. Had to clean that out, too."
The demon rises in me—not some fairy tale bullshit, but the thing I've carried since I was a boy. The thing that knows exactly how to break a man's neck with a quarter-turn more than necessary.
"She's sleeping now. When she wakes up, we're gonna cut the memory of Legion Kane out of her. She'll never think about you again. Won't ever miss fucking her trailer-boy in that silo. You think I didn't know, all growing up, that's where you two met? Shit… Eleanor had pictures of that too. Sick fuck, that's what you are. Did you tell my mother that you were fucking her daughter at the silo? Is that why she was there?" Cash's voice has the rhythm of scripture, like he's practiced these words.
Privately, I am a bit stunned at this news. I had no idea Eleanor ever took pictures of Savannah and me out at the silo. Never even suspected it.
Is Cash lying?
I stop listening. Just watch his mouth move.
He better be lying.
Because if Eleanor was taking pictures of Savannah and me… well… that paints a pretty sick picture in my mind. And to be honest, I was just barely coming to terms with the sickness I already knew about.
I don't need this too.
"You hear me, Kane?" Cash stands up and gives me a kick in the ribs. The pain is sharp and real.
Then, before I can catch my breath, he kicks me in the chest too. A sharp, silver-tipped boot lands square inside my brand. The pain swells. Something worse than being burned alive. Broken ribs and rotting flesh.
Stars swim in the blackness behind my eyes.
"Badlands," Cash sneers. "There's not gonna be a rescue, Kane. It's over for you. "
In my head, I'm already standing. Already moving. Already watching Wyatt's eyes go wide as I drive his own rifle stock through his sternum. Already feeling Cash's throat collapse under my thumbs.
I name the bones I'll break. I count them like rosary beads, a prayer of violence that drowns out Cash's voice.
I think about the photo Eleanor never took—the one with my hands around her son's throat.
The one where his eyes bulge and his tongue turns purple.
The one where I finally become what they always said I was.
I fall into darkness with the words on my lips…
Demon.
For we are many.
The creak of the cabin door wakes me. I crack my eyes open just in time to watch Cash's silhouette disappear into the soft pastel hues of a breaking dawn. Wyatt follows him out. Their voices drop to whispers, but the broken window to my left carries words like the wind.
"This is getting out of hand," Wyatt says, voice tight with something that might be fear. "Marcus is acting crazy, man."
"He's always been a little off," Cash replies.
"No, I mean crazy crazy. Says he's keeping Savannah out at north ridge all week."
My muscles lock. North ridge. The hunting cabin. Five miles of pine forest from the main house. No cell service. No neighbors. Just log walls and trophy heads with glass eyes.
And Savannah.
"We're not gonna let him do that, right?" Wyatt's voice cracks. "What if he hurts her?"
I start working the rope again. There’s a slickness there. Letting them move smoothly. Blood. My wrists are bleeding.
After a pause that stretches too long, Cash says, “OK. Fine. We’ll go check on her. I mean, what is the point of all this if he…”
Cash doesn’t finish.
Wyatt asks the same question I’m thinking in my head. “If he what? Kills her? You don’t think he’s gonna kill her, do you? I mean, Cash. What the fuck are we doing? If she’s dead…” He stops.