“No. Answer me.” My voice shakes. “Did you know he killed my parents? He killed your sister.”
Mary exhales. “Brooke, there is nothing I could’ve done. Your father brought this on himself.”
“What the fuck do you mean you couldn’t stop it?” I demand. “If you knew, you could’ve warned them.”
“Some choices have consequences,” she murmurs. “And some outcomes can’t be changed.”
Something inside me snaps.
“Shut the fuck up, Mary.”
John stands abruptly. “Do not speak to your aunt like that.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I scream. “Both of you. You are liars. You are murderers. You are fucking insane!”
His hand strikes my face before I can react. My head snaps to the side, and the cuffs jerk my arms back hard enough to sting. The taste of copper fills my mouth.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” John says, his voice tight with contained rage, “but it stops now. You have never spoken to us this way. Not once. We aren’t starting now.”
“This isn’t real,” I whisper. “This isn’t real. This isn’t fucking real.”
“It is real,” John steps back as if nothing has happened. “And you need to accept what comes next. If you don’t, you won’t survive.”
Mary hovers beside me. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re overwhelmed. The trip was long. You must be hungry.”
“Don’t touch me,” I say as I jerk away from her touch.
John clears his throat. “She’s disoriented. Give her space.”
They call it disoriented. They don’t call it restrained. They don’t call it kidnapped.
Mary leaves and returns with a tray of scrambled eggs. Toast cut into triangles and a glass of orange juice. It looks like a normal morning in a house that has turned into a prison.
“Eat,” she says gently.
I stare at the food, and my stomach lurches with disgust and hunger at the same time.
“Eat.” John doesn’t look away. “You're going to need your strength.”
“Brooke,” Mary whispers. “Please. Your uncle is trying to help you.”
“He is not my fucking uncle.”
I shift my wrists slightly, testing the restraints again. The bracket bolted into the chair arm feels weak.
John’s eyes drop to my hands. “Don’t.”
He bends closer until I can smell his cologne, and the familiarity makes my skin crawl. “If you break that chair, I will put you on the floor and make sure you can’t move. Do you understand me?”
“Fuck you.”
“We will fix that attitude.” His mouth tightens. “One way or another.”
He moves behind me, his hand pressing into the back of the chair. He doesn’t need to touch me to make his threat clear.
“If you want to survive, you will cooperate.” His grip on the chair tightens. “You will eat. You will listen. You will learn.”
Then he steps away and leaves the room. The door closes.
