Page 333 of Primal

My spine hits the altar.

“This part works best when both of you are ready.” Gun holstered. Knife out. Derek taps the blade to the tablet like he’s ticking off bullet points. His voice dips—slippery now. “And our girl? Not quite there yet. Maybe you’re not pressing the right button, Thirteen. Looks like we need a little extra.”

Amanda shoves Josh forward until he’s just off to the side—left of the altar.

Josh stumbles, catches himself on the marble. His chest heaves. His eyes flicking between Payton and me. “Please …”

The guy reeks of sweat, piss, dread. My gut twists. Not from the smell. From the fact we all know exactly what’s coming.

Derek drapes an arm around his shoulders. “I had such high hopes for you, Butcher Boy. Big fuckin’ letdown.”

Josh swallows. “Please ... just let me go.”

Derek clicks his tongue, blade grazing Josh’s Adam’s apple. A thready groan spills from the guy.

Fuck. I want to burn that sound from my skull.

“Our girl’s got a problem.” Derek nods at Payton, still bent over, still silent. “We could tear her open, sure. Could even call it art.”

His fingers flex on the knife.

“Or maybe our Leatherface can make himself useful after all. Help her take it like a champ.”

Josh chokes. “Please.”

“What do you think, Thirteen? We can make your job easier by lubing her up first.” He presses the blade into Josh’s neck. A fat bead wells up. Tracks a slow red line down his throat.

“Kade.” Payton. She doesn’t lift her head. “Do it. Just do it.”

Her voice is enough to gut me. A command carved from ice.

I grip her hips with hands I don’t recognize.

The plastic clings to my face, already hot with sweat and shame. My breath fogs the inside. The eyeholes tunnel my vision. But I can still see her.

And that’s the fucking curse.

Josh whimpers. I don’t look at him. Or the others watching from the shadows.

I bend, mask grazing the dip of Payton’s spine. I’m still here.

She doesn’t move.

My fingers slide between her thighs.

She’s not ready. Of course she’s not.

Her breath hitches—just once—and I hate that he hears it.

Derek’s laugh crawls into my ear. “Look at you. Playing gentle.”

I stroke, slow and clinical, like I’m tending ruin.

“Attaboy. Make her cry pretty, and maybe I’ll let Leatherface keep his tongue.”

Payton’s muscles lock. A razor-thin inhale.

I use what little slick I can find, smear it over myself. A coward’s mercy.