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Roux silently slips past him, disappearing inside but not before making eye contact and hitting me with a chin lift.

“Don’t. Stop.” Hibou lifts his hand, palm out, as if that’ll slow me down. I won’t even get into word choice and enunciation to fully represent punctuation in speech. Because, as he spirals with his quickly deteriorating situation, that sounded a hell of a lot like Don’t stop. I have no plans to.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t make an effort to retreat to his perceived sanctuary and close me out—hell, I don’t think he knows Roux got past him. No, Hibou tries to puff up and look more intimidating than he is. His feathers are ruffled, but any survival instinct has already taken flight.

“I have nothing to say to you. Leave my property or⁠—”

“Or you’ll file a No Trespass? I don’t think so.” I keep my approach steady, my steps sure. “You tried to scare my woman, maybe even kill her, and I’m sure you know that can’t stand.”

“I don’t think you should come any closer, counselor.” His emphasis on my title gives petulant small-dick energy, and he finally retreats a step. “Who knows the blood you could end up with all over your hands.”

As much as I don’t want it, that statement gives me pause.

But only just. Because my daughter is still in there, and this man has got to go. So I keep talking. Keep closing the space between us. “Yeah? That what you did with Amie? You take her out with your hobby… sic one of your friends on her? Did you let him deliver the venom directly, or did you have to keep control of that? Milk the poor bastard and strip it of its power. That’s the part you crave, right—the power?”

“Rich, coming from you,” he spits.

I cock my head, feigning interest in a conversation that needs to die right along with this asshole and his house of horrors, and dart my gaze past him and into the interior.

Terrariums line the walls and every available surface. Writhing bodies, the picture of fear, the promise of death. The image of Jess on the floor, terrified and clutching her knife block, flashes through my head. Of all the shit things this asshole has done, preying on her fears is right up there with stealing my kid with the intent to sell her to some sick fuck who would touch her, groom her, hurt her.

“Why is that, Tod?”

He bristles at my use of his first name, the familiarity, my dismissive tone.

“You… you arrogant ass.” He laughs, but it’s dark and more than a little unhinged as he retreats another step and then another. His actions contradict his bravado. “This whole thing all comes back to you. It’s your fault.”

“Mine? How so?”

Another step back has him over the threshold.

“Your wife⁠—”

“Never married her. Why does everyone keep calling her that?”

His hand goes to the door, body poised to slam it closed.

“Was supposed to bring me a new specimen. Claimed she didn’t have any money for the exchange because you wouldn’t give it to her⁠—”

“I provided her with more than enough for the care and upkeep of our daughter.”

His weight shifts to his back foot.

“So she stole mine. Everything I gave her for the exchange and what she brought me was useless. Broken and bleeding. Dead instead of deadly.”

I laugh at the absurdity. “You sent Amie… Amie Michaels, the most pretentious person there is, to collect a deadly snake for you? Are you fucking stupid?” I angle toward him and eat up the space between us, pushing him back. Driving his retreat. “And what did that look like, huh? Her waltzing around, openly carrying a plastic tote? The only snakeskin Amie had any interest in was on her Louboutins or on a Birkin. She played you for a fucking fool.”

His face goes red with anger as he releases the door and steps into me, finally giving up his meager advantage. “I am not a fool.”

Roux leans into my line of sight, a pudgy hand clutching a vibrant red ladybug toy resting on his shoulder. I don’t know how he has Evie in his arms, not crying, not protesting, not giving them away simply because she’s a toddler. But he does. And she is far safer with everyone’s honorary little cousin than she could ever be here. He gives me a nod, and they’re gone, nothing but a shadow spiriting away the very first love of my life.

Thank Christ for the expansive nature of that emotion and the space it allows for Jess and the secret I suspect she’s holding safe within her.

From outside or maybe deep in the house, red tracer beams bounce along the glass tanks, the walls, the floor, lighting the path to destruction.

I need Hibou inside.

I need him incapacitated by the very evil he’s curated.