Page 14 of Better Watch Out

But maybe I’vealwaysbeen trapped between them.

Tentatively I close my teeth over his tongue, prepared to bite, only for Fletcher to jerk back with a growling laugh. “Do it, princess,” he invites. “Bite down and see what happens. I’ll have you crying on your knees so fast it’ll give you whiplash. I don’t let him bite, and Icertainlywon’t let our little snow bunny use her teeth on me. Save it for Boone.”

In response, Boone bites harder at my throat, and I can feel him sucking a mark onto my skin.

“I hate you both,” I snap. “I cannot express enough how much Ihate youboth.”

“Great. Wonderful. Hate us,” Boone invites, lifting up to nip at the curve of my ear. “I think you taste better when you’re pissed and confused and”—without warning, he shoves his hand between my thighs, palm pressed to my folds over my sweatpants—“turned on.”

Somehow his words give me the audacity to twist free of him, and I turn to smack Boone in the face, causing him to fall backward with a yelp of, “Whyme?!” before I scramble to my feet, panting like I’ve just run a marathon.

“I hate you both. Ihate you,” I tell them. “I’m going back to bed until…” I glance toward the kitchen window, keeping an eye on the two of them as Boone rubs his face and Fletcher just watches the two of us, unamused. “Until I can leave. Don’t talk to me, or look at me. Just go die or something. Sitka!” She jerks upright, having been woken up by the tone of my voice. Without hesitating she hops off the bed, following me across the room as I snatch the bottle of chocolate milk off of the coffee table.

“I hope you both die,” I toss back over my shoulder, refusing to even look at them again. Seconds later, I’m in my room, my door slamming closed behind me. There’s so much I should be thinking about.

Like them being here.

Like what they said.

Like the fact they killed three people here last year and took pictures of their work.

Like…like the taste of Fletcher’s mouth and the feel of Boone’s teeth?—

Cutting off that thought real quick, I jerk my hoodie over my head and fall onto my bed, belatedly feeling Sitka’s weight settle on the comforter near my legs. “We’re so getting out of here,” I mutter to her, face in my pillow. “Even if you have to learn to be a sled dog for us to do it.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

It’s hard to sleep when all I want to do is take my keys and drive off this mountain with my dog. Well, that or stab my stepbrothers with whatever sharp object I can find. Either would do, though there’d be a certain kind of catharsis from killing them. Especially with how I feel when I’m staring at the backs of my eyelids or my ceiling as I flop around on my bed restlessly.

At first I don’t realize what the noises are. Except for the occasional laugh or yelp, anyway. Part of me thinks they might be fighting or wrestling or, I don’t know, committing a murder of pillows while practicing for their next crime.

Until Boone’s moan echoes through the whole damn house from wherever they are. My eyes fly open at the sound and I stare at the ceiling in horror, the light from outside giving me enough detail to actually have something to look at. “Shutuuuuup!” I yell, though the only response I get is the sound of Boone’s barking laugh.

If anything, after that, they’re even louder. Finally, when the sun is well and truly up, I can’t deal with it anymore. I lunge to my feet and strip out of my clothes, pulling on clean fleece-lined leggings and warm, thick joggers like I wore hiking the daybefore. This time I also put on my thermal shirt and an extra layer on top of it, before bundling up to brave the cold outside. Lastly, I pull my hair back, just so my wide headband sits more easily over my ears to keep them warm in the fluffy, furry interior.

“Time for our grand adventure of the day, Sitka,” I murmur, opening the door and peering out into the living room. There’s no one there, and I start to wonder if they’re in their room upstairs, sleeping off…

Well, sleepingitoff.

But that leaves me the problem of?—

My gaze falls on the small table in the hallway where the bowl of keys has always sat, along with a lamp we used to keep on when we knew we’d be back late. Naturally, it’s the same lamp I remember Cheryl picking up from a farmer’s marketyearsago, and under it, plugged into a charger that’s not mine, is my phone.

It’s thoughtful.

Which means it had to be Fletcher’s doing and not Boone’s idea at all. He’s way too chaotic, forgetful, and uncaring to do anything like that. That’s especially obvious by the way my phone is actually plugged in and not just chucked onto the table to die a slow, battery depleted death.

DefinitelyFletcher’s doing.

Absently, I unplug it, jamming my phone and attached wallet into my pocket, but then my eyes fall on the bowl of keys and I hesitate. While I can’t really drive a manual, that’s not the only option available to me, if I want to be sneaky and do something I’m not really supposed to. Dad’s truck is gone, obviously, since they aren’t here, but Cheryl’s Jeep is here, judging by the fact her keys are in the bowl next to a set I don’t recognize.

“You shouldn’t,” I mutter to myself, my fingers already inching toward them. “You really shouldn’t. She’d have a fit if she knew…” But she isn’t here, and frankly, I’m not sure I care.

Especially once I realize she definitely knew and helped plan my stepbrothers showing up here without my knowledge or permission. That’s the last push I need to grab her keys out of the bowl. After that, it’s easy for me to slip out of the house, this time making sure to be careful on the stairs as I head down them to the driveway.

Even thinking about my embarrassing fall is enough to make my head ache, and I reach up to rub my fingers over the tender spot at the back of my skull. I wince, wishing I grabbed some aspirin orsomething, and also yearn for another of whatever Boone gave me early this morning. After all, I’m pretty sure that’s the reason I got any sleep at all.

“We’re totally stealing right now,” I tell Sitka, opening the driver’s door and letting her spring into the passenger seat before I slide in as well. Her paws have already tracked melting snow into the interior, and the petty part of me is pretty sure I won’t be cleaning it up. It’ll serve Cheryl right for ruining my entire holiday season.

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