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When he shrugs, I want to scream again. “Because we can’t. And if you would grow up and see this for what it is, you would understand that.”
“Grow up? So what, that’s your way of telling me to suck it up and deal with it? Because I’m not going to do that. I need to get out of here, dammit. How much farther do you think he’s going to take this before he stops?”
This is the first time we’ve spoken about the things their father has them do to me. It’s like my words have a magical effect. Immediately, the fight goes out of both of them, and they look at the floor. Like all their posturing and bullying drops away as soon as I speak frankly about their father’s monstrous behavior.
“You know it doesn’t work that way,” Colt murmurs, his gaze still lowered.
“That is bullshit. That’s what you’re letting yourself believe. And I’m sorry if that’s what he’s making you think, but it just isn’t true.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nix growls. When he makes a move for me, I don’t flinch. I stand my ground, feet planted, chin lifted. It throws him off, but only for a moment. Then he bends, throwing me over his shoulder and charging up the stairs.
“Stop it!” Though I can’t exactly fight, not when he’s carrying me like this. I don’t need us both falling down the stairs. It’s only once we reach the hallway that I pummel his back and shoulders with both fists. I might as well be punching air for all the good it does.
Colt follows us, and soon the three of us are back in my room. Nix throws me onto the bed, but I scramble off in case he decides to throw himself on top of me.
That’s not what he has in mind. Instead, he thrusts a finger in my face, his own face beet red. “Now, you listen to me. You can leave as soon as this week is over. But you have to go through with this. You need to cooperate.”
I shouldn’t believe him. He’s never done anything but lie to me. But dammit, I want to hope. I still need to hope. “You mean to say you’re going to actually let me go? For real?”
“For real,” Colt confirms, nodding slowly. “And the week’s almost over. You don’t have much longer to go through this.”
“We won’t stop you from leaving. But he has to get what he wants first. That’s just how it is.” Nix is still breathing heavy, still angry, but at least he takes his finger out of my face. I have half a mind to bite it off. He’ll never stick it up anybody’s asshole again.
I turn my back on both of them since the sight of their faces disgusts me. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to see either of you.”
But instead of leaving, somebody touches my ass. Before I can swat his hand away, Nix asks, “What is this?”
I realize the picture must have slithered out of my pocket a little when I was struggling.
“Leave it!” It’s too late. He already has it, and now Colt is grabbing me, pinning my arms to my sides before reaching into my pocket to pull out the other half of the photo.
They stand next to each other, holding the two halves up and putting the picture back together the way I did when I first found it. “Where the fuck did you get this?” Nix whispers, his eyes almost bulging. Meanwhile, Colt doesn’t say a word. The muscles in his jaw jump and twitch, though. The intensity coming off him is overwhelming.
“I found it downstairs.” I leave it there since I’m not exactly in the mood to be punished for snooping.
I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out. Probably because I was too busy worrying about how I was going to get away. There wasn’t much room for anything else in my overheated mind, but now? “Was she your mom?” I whisper.
Neither of them says anything at first, and their silence is enough of a response. If she wasn’t, they would say so right away. From what I remember, I heard their mother died in a car accident before the family came to town to start over again. I don’t know how long ago that was, but it clearly wasn’t long enough for the sight of her photo to keep a rush of emotion from blindsiding them.
“Yes,” Colt finally whispers. I don’t even think he’s blinked since he started looking at it. “That’s her.”
I have to wonder why James would tear her picture apart. Maybe it was a moment of anger like he was venting his rage at her sudden death. But he still couldn’t bring himself to let go of the photo. Not that this in any way makes up for what he’s done or who he is, but it’s sort of a tool in a way. It gives me an idea of the man he is, the real man inside. Not a weapon, per se, but it never hurts to know the enemy.
