He stepped in closer.
“Time’s up. All you’ve got to do isscream,”he said.
But I didn’t scream.
I moved.
My fingers brushed against something solid just beneath the leaves. For a second, I thought I was imagining it. Then my thumb found the notch.
The hatchet.
He didn’t see. His eyes were on my face, drinking in every flinch.
He straightened, looming. My hand tightened around the hatchet’s handle, inch by inch, keeping my movements buried in the tremble of my body.
“I should have marked you first,” he hissed. “I should’ve claimed you before you forgot who you belong to. But I was too busy following the fucking rules.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I whispered, hoarsely, tears mixing with grime and blood on my face. “Max belongs to me. He always will belong to me.”
My head snapped sideways as he backhanded me again; the world flared white.
“You don’t get to choose your game,” he whispered, breath hot and sour against my ear. “They choose for you.”
He bent low, lips brushing my ear. The intimacy of it made my skin crawl.
“He’d be proud of me,” Jackson breathed. “Daddy dearest. My future father-in-law.”
He reached into his pocket with one hand. The other hovered above me, ready to strike if I moved wrong.
Something glinted in the pale moonlight. He was holding a small blade.
He pulled out a picture of Max, folded and worn at the edges. He lifted it up between us like an offering, then drove the blade straight through the paper. The metal punched through Max’s printed face.
“I’ll kill him for you,” Jackson said softly. “Maybe then you’ll see how much I love you.”
The world narrowed.
I stopped seeing the trees, the sky, the blur of his face.
All I saw was the knife pinning Max’s picture, and the hatchet in my hand.
“I hope he buries you,” I spat, blood on my tongue.
He smiled, white teeth shining in the moonlight.
“Oh, baby. He ain’t coming for you. Heather has a nice pussy. Super fucking tight. Max ain’t gonna come for you once he gets his hands on her.”
Something in me snapped.
I surged upward, driving my forehead into his nose with everything I had. The dull crack of bone-on-bone shuddered through my skull.
He roared, staggering back, hands flying to his face. The knife and photo dropped, forgotten, into the dirt.
I rolled, clutching the hatchet to my chest, and scrambled to my knees. My body screamed in protest, my leg on fire, blood soaking down into my shoe. The world tilted, but rage held me steady.
Jackson lunged.
I swung.
