Mason was shaking so violently his teeth were actually chattering. A sound like dry bones clicking together in the dark. I pushed him against the brick wall. I didn’t slam him. I just applied pressure until he had nowhere to go but backward. Please, Mason whimpered, his hands up in a surrender that meant nothing. Hunter, you don’t understand. I had to. He made me.
Who made you? I asked, my voice flat. Your father? Yes, Victor. You know how he is. If I didn’t hold her legs, he would have done the same to me. I looked at him, really looked at him. He was 22 years old. He wore a watch that cost more than my truck. He had never worked a day in his life, never fought for anything, never bled for anything.
And he thought fear was an excuse for monstrosity. You held her legs. I repeated. You felt her fighting. You heard her begging you. Mason, help me. That’s what she said, right? Mason flinched. I I tried to look away. That doesn’t matter, I said. You were there. You were part of the equation. I pulled a zip tie from my pocket.
