Page 129 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Harmony’s nails dug into my palm.

“They’re children,” Mom snarled. “Thirteen and sixteen. Over my dead fucking body—”

“That,” Thomas said softly, “can be arranged.”

A violent crash exploded through the house, furniture slamming, glass shattering.

We didn’t think. We ran.

Bursting into the living room, the scene hit me like a gut punch. Thomas had Mom pinned to the floor, one massive hand around her throat while the other pinned her wrist. Blood trickled from her lip. She was fighting, twisting beneath his weight, but he was bigger and stronger.

Her wide, terrified eyes locked onto us. Her lips moved, forming one silent, desperate word:

Run.

For a heartbeat, I couldn't move. My legs felt rooted to the floor, my mind blank with terror. Then Harmony yanked my hand so hard it hurt, dragging me toward the back door. I stumbled after her, feet tangling, until raw survival kicked in and I ran on my own.

Behind us, Thomas roared, “Go after them! Grab the little bitches.”

We burst through the back door and into the cold air, but we only made a few desperate strides toward the tree line before heavy bodies slammed into us. The impact drove the air from my lungs as I hit the dirt. I tried to crawl, to scream, to fight, anything, but strong hands seized me, lifting me like I weighed nothing.

“No! Let go of her!” Harmony shrieked, kicking and thrashing beside me. “Don’t you fucking touch her!”

It was useless. They were grown shifters in their prime. We were just two terrified girls.

They hauled us back toward the house with terrifying ease and dragged us into the living room. Mom was still pinned to the floor under Thomas, his thick forearm crushing her chest. Her eyes were wide with animal fear when she saw us.

Thomas turned his head slowly. A cruel smile spread across his face.

“Changed my mind,” he said. “You two are more trouble than you’re worth as collateral.”

For one stupid second, a flicker of hope cut through me. He’s letting us go.

Then he smiled wider.

It wasn't a kind smile. It wasn't even human. It was the kind of smile that made every instinct in me curl inward.

He looked down at Mom. She started shaking her head, tears streaming.

“Please, Thomas,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Not in front of them. I’m begging you. Not in front of my girls.”

He ignored her and looked at us. First at Harmony, then at me. He wanted us to see. He wanted us to remember. He shoved up her skirt.

The man behind me twisted a fist into my hair and forced my head forward when I tried to look away. My eyes squeezed shut automatically anyway, but it did not help. Nothing helped.

The sounds still filled the room.

Mom crying. Harmony fighting hard enough beside me that someone cursed at her to hold still.

I remember shaking so badly my teeth hurt from it.

After a while the sounds stopped making sense individually. Everything blurred into one endless stretch of noise and fear while my mind tried to crawl somewhere else entirely. I don't know how long I was gone. Minutes, maybe. Maybe longer.

When I opened my eyes again, Thomas stood over Mom adjusting his pants while she lay motionless on the floor, her skirt bunched around her waist.

For one impossible second, I thought maybe she was dead. Then she moved weakly and relief hit so hard it almost hurt.

Thomas looked at us with lazy satisfaction.