Page 101 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

What are the odds of this girl being in the exact spot where we planned our murder? And what in God’s name was she doing with Boomer?

Now we haveherto contend with too.

The pup stares up at me, waiting for his next instruction.

“Stay.” The puppy immediately sinks onto his belly and puts his head on his paws, watching me with big eyes.

I turn to look when the girl screams. Mason has her arms pinned behind her, holding her up. Silas backhands her so hard, a lock of sandy hair falls in his eyes. Her scream cuts off, and she sags against Mason as Silas smooths his hair away from his face.

Silverash Forest is supposed to be deserted this time of year. No one bothers to hike through this wild, tangled section of woods. None even dare train their dogs here. Except Lorenzo. He rears the best Plott Hounds in the state, but if his customersever found out how cruel he was to these poor animals, they’d stop doing business with him.

That’s what I like to think, anyway. But in this town, rich fucks like Lorenzo can get away with anything.

Even murder.

“No, please! Please, I won’t say—” the girl begins in a terrified, high-pitched babble that ends with another meaty slap from Silas.

I expect her to start sobbing, but instead she glowers at Silas like she’s memorizing every inch of his face for the police’s sketch artist.

That’s a problem. We still have a lot of work to do here, but first we need to deal with her.

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” Mason says. “It’ll be over real soon.”

Silas leans in with narrowed eyes, his expression becoming even grimmer when she cringes away from him. As I walk up to them, he slides a hand into her pocket.

There’s a bright red mark on her cheek, a streak of mascara, a smudge of lipstick. She’s not wearing the right clothes for a walk in the forest—a denim mini skirt, a word leather jacket, and a loose-fitting white tee with the words ANARCHY scrawled over it. The fabric is so thin, I can make out the suggestion of a lacy black bra underneath. I’m surprised her honey-brown hair isn’t dyed pitch black and cut into a mohawk.

While Silas searches her, Mason nuzzles the side of her neck. I’m not sure which is making her more nervous.

Murdering an innocent girl was not part of the plan. It’s something Lorenzo would stoop to, not us. But if we don’t put the fear of God in her, she’ll run straight to the sheriff’s office. And since we didn’t bother covering our faces, all it’ll take is a good sketch artist and we’d be in a holding cell before the end of the weekend.

Silas holds up the girl’s driver’s license so I can read her name and address.

“Liberty, Missouri. What are you doing so far from home, Nim Winters?” I ask, pocketing the card.

Her hazel eyes widen when I look at her, and she gives her smudged lips a nervous swipe with her tongue.

“Speak honestly,” I say calmly. “We don’t forgive people who bend the truth.” I cut my eyes briefly to Lorenzo’s corpse, and the girl’s already pale skin turns sickly.

“M-My parents, they have a r-reunion,” she murmurs.

“At the Academy?”

She swallows, nods.

Mason’s amber eyes are fixed on her, his smile shifting from curious to playful. Nim cringes away when he tucks a lock of her brown hair behind her ear, revealing several diamond studs through the lobe, another on top, and a small ring through the little flap hiding her ear canal.

“Nim as in the book?”Silas asks, frowning.

She nods, but her eyes remain locked on me.

“Where are you staying, love?” I ask.

Nim swallows, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as Mason starts toying with her studs. She’d be pretty if she wasn’t wearing so much fucking makeup. And her clothes are wrong for her shape. Too tight, too low cut, toogoth.Something sleeker, in the right shade to bring out her complexion—God, why the fuck am I dressing up this girl like a doll? I have my sisters to blame for knowing this much about clothing.

“M-my parents’ friend’s house.”

I cock an eyebrow, and she hurriedly adds, “Vicky.”

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