Page 190 of Knot my First Rodeo

The words slide down my spine like ice water. My fingers dig into Briggs' forearm, and he doesn't flinch.

"I was gonna take her home." Peter says it like I'm a parcel to be delivered, like any of this was ever about anything except his own obsession.

He finally notices nobody's speaking. The smile doesn't fade so much as crack across his face, as realization creeps in. His eyes dart from Hunter to the shadows behind him, the figures waiting there.

"Hunter?" His voice thins. "What's going on?"

Then Acid steps through the doorway.

"Hello, Peter." His boots crunch on the dirt floor as he moves into the weak light. His smile is small, the kind of smile a cat gives a mouse when it's not hungry enough to kill quickly. "Bet you didn't expect to see us here."

Peter's throat works, but no sound comes out.

"Let's talk."

Gidge enters the shed and doesn't wait for an answer. She grabs a fistful of Peter’s hair and yanks his head back, exposing his throat. His Adam's apple bobs like a fishing boat. The first blow lands before anyone can blink.

Crack.

Peter's nose explodes. Blood sprays across his chest and he screams—a wet, gurgling sound.

Acid looks over at Gidge. "Untie his chest."

"No—" Peter starts, but Gidge is already behind him, fingers working the knots. The rope goes slack, and suddenly, Peter's torso is free to move.

Acid's knee drives into his solar plexus. He folds like paper, gagging, ropes biting into his wrists as he tries to curl into himself.

But there's nowhere to go.

Hunter steps forward now, and I watch his face. It's blank. Completely—terrifyingly—blank. His fist connects with Peter's ribs, and I hear something give, a wet crunch that makes my stomach lurch. Briggs’ arms tighten, one hand splayed across my belly, the other gripping my shoulder.

Trying to protect and shield me.

But I don't look away. I can't.

"Where do you think you were takin’ her?" Gears' voice cuts through the sound of flesh hitting flesh. He's standing near the wall, Arrow beside him, both of them holding their phones out like this is a goddamn deposition.

Peter wheezes. "I didn't—I was trying to⁠—"

Acid's boot catches him in the mouth. Teeth scatter across the dirt floor, tiny white chips that glisten in the dim light before they're swallowed by the shadows.

"Wrong answer."

Gidge hauls him upright by the collar, and now I can see the blood streaming from Peter's shattered nose, his split lip, the way one eye is already swelling shut. He looks less like a man, and more like raw meat wearing a human mask.

"Where were you going to take her?" Arrow repeats.

"I rented a cabin." The words bubble out of Peter. "Up near—near the border. I was gonna⁠—"

"Who helped you?" Gears spits.

"No one. I did it myself."

Hunter laughs. It's the first sound he's made since entering the shed, and it's wrong… empty.

"Bullshit. You don't have the skills for that, Peter. You're a sad little man who jerks off to fantasies in his mother's basement. Someone taught you how to track. Someone gave you resources."

"I'm not⁠—"