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One.
Two.
I knew exactly what to do once he reached three.
The lock flipped open, and I yanked my hand back out. A spider flew off the top of my knuckles, scurrying away on its hairy legs. I reached for the doorknob and opened the door, Matt pointing his gun, and I raised mine, the two of us shoulder to shoulder, staring into the empty cabin.
No… no, it wasn’t empty.
There, across the room, tied up against the wall was a passed-out Harry, blood crusting on his shirt and face, his hair matted with it. The ropes were attached to the wall, wrapped tight around both his wrists.
There were no wings yet. He was still alive. We’d made it in time.
Except I couldn’t let my guard down, as happy as I was to see my little brother breathing. We needed to turn this entire cabin upside down. We had to find Derrick and put an end to this. Once and for all, whatever it took, it was all going to—
A loud click from behind us made me freeze. I recognized that sound. Matt did, too, judging by the “oh shit” expression he threw me. We slowly put our hands up in the air, keeping our guns but moving our fingers off the trigger. I looked at Harry, peaceful in his blacked-out state. All I could feel was desperation. Like an animal locked in a cage for an eternity, desperate to break free and touch the soil. All I wanted to do was grab Harry and get him out of here, take him to safety.
But I couldn’t do that, not with the shotgun I knew was pointed at my back.
“Sorry I didn’t clean up before you guys came.”
That voice. I recognized it immediately. But why… we were here for Derrick. Why was Byron here? Were we wrong? Did we have the wrong brother this entire time?
“Byron,” I said, focusing all my effort on keeping my voice from shaking. “Put the gun down. Talk to us. What is this?”
“It’s a little self-explanatory, isn’t it?”
The gay sass wasn’t as cute as it had been when he was just the mayor’s twinky son and not a confirmed serial killer. Harry started to stir but didn’t completely wake up.
“It wasn’t exactly how we wanted you guys finding out, but we’re adaptable.”
My eyebrows pulled together, and Matt couldn’t hold back his whispered “We’re?”
“Turn around,” Byron said. “Let’s serve a little reveal, why don’t we. And drop the guns.”
I steadied myself. This was a life-or-death moment. I could whip around and try to shoot first, risking a miss and then being turned to dust from whatever shotgun would be aimed at my chest. But… he said “we.” A variable I couldn’t account for, heightening the risk.
I set the gun down on the floor. Matt followed my lead. He looked regretfully at the gun as he rose back up. That’s it—we were defenseless. This couldn’t be going any more worse for us.
We turned and realized it got a whole lot fucking worse.
Byron was there, holding a large butcher knife in one hand and a large paintbrush in the other. He had blood on his “Pride 2021” T-shirt and a wild grin on his face, twisting it in a way that almost made him unrecognizable.
And next to him was his brother, Derrick Rosewell, standing with a double-barreled shotgun and a relaxed smirk, none of this appearing to carry any weight with him. Like he was out at the grocery store looking at different bagel options.
“Congrats,” Byron said, “on finding the Pegasus. Pegasuses. Pegasi?”
“Pegasi,” Derrick said, nodding, the shotgun slightly bobbing with his movement. I tried to not let my breaths betray how fucking scared I was. This was beyond anything I’d dealt with, even during my time in the FBI. All I wanted to do was reach for Matt’s hand, grab Harry, and run. Run, run, just fucking run.
But that wasn’t an option. I had to replace my spine with stone and make it through this. I had to make them pay for everyone they’d hurt.
“Why? How?” Matt asked. He looked as calm as Derrick did, but I saw a subtle twitch in his thumb that gave away his fear. A tap he sometimes did, three times against his pointer finger, over and over again.
Byron stepped up, the knife glittering in the bloodred glow of the setting sun. “Because it was time for us to take control, to make other people understand the suffering we’ve been through. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. The way… do you want to know what Mauricio and Jenny were doing right before they died?”
“Driving to go get supplies for your party,” I answered.
“No. One was sucking a dick, and the other was using his fingers to drive Jenny instead of the car. That’s why they died.”
I tried to stop the shock from showing on my face, likely failing.
