Page 115 of Ruthless Possession
As we drive away from the barn, the first flames appear in the rearview mirror. The fire will consume everything: the evidence, the body, the memory of what happened here tonight.
Morgan's hand finds mine in the darkness. "Is Charlie okay?"
"She's fine," I assure her. "Your mom texted. She's been asleep for hours."
Morgan nods, her head leaning against my shoulder. "Good."
We drive in silence, the three of us together, our family whole again. The road stretches before us, leading home. Leading to Charlie and the life we've fought so hard to protect.
Some might call us monsters for what we did tonight. But the world is full of monsters, and sometimes the only way to stop one is to become something worse.
I look at Morgan, at Matthew, at the road ahead. We did what needed to be done. We protected what's ours.
And we would do it again.
chapter twenty-one
Morgan
The house is quiet when we return. The porch light is on, a warm yellow glow welcoming us home. My mother meets us at the door, her face pale but relieved.
"She's been asleep for two hours," she whispers, pulling me into a tight embrace. "I told her you had to help Trixie with an emergency. She didn't ask any questions."
I nod, unable to find words. My mother studies my face, her eyes lingering on the bruise forming along my cheekbone where Evan struck me. She doesn't ask what happened. She doesn't need to.
"Thank you," I manage.
Trenton and Matthew follow me inside, their presence a solid wall at my back. My father arrives shortly after, his hands freshly washed, his expression carefully blank.
"We should clean up," Matthew says quietly, his hand finding my back.
I look down at myself: the torn dress, the bloodstains, the dirt from the barn floor. I smell of fear and smoke.
"The shower," I agree.
We move through the house in silence, past Charlie's bedroom door. I pause, unable to resist. I crack the door open just enough to see her small form curled beneath her purple comforter, Princess Sparklehoof tucked against her chest. Her face is peaceful in sleep, completely unaware of the horrors that transpired tonight.
My chest tightens. I close the door and follow Trenton and Matthew to our bedroom.
The bathroom is warm when we enter. Matthew turns on the shower, steam quickly filling the small space. I stand motionless as Trenton's fingers work at the buttons of my ruined dress. The fabric falls away, revealing the bruises already forming on my arms, my ribs, my throat.
"Jesus," Matthew murmurs, his hand hovering over the red marks where Evan's fingers dug into my skin.
I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me. Trenton and Matthew follow, their large bodies filling the small space. The water turns pink at our feet. Blood from Trenton's knuckles, Evan's wounds, and the violence we've carried home with us.
Matthew's hands are gentle as he works shampoo through my hair. Trenton stands behind me, his chest pressed against my back, his arms wrapped around my waist. We don't speak. We don't need to.
Then the tears come.
They start without warning, a sob that tears from my chest with such force I double over. Matthew catches me, his strong arms holding me up as the water washes over us all.
"He's gone," I gasp between sobs. "He's really gone."
Trenton's hand strokes my back, his touch grounding me. "He'll never hurt anyone again."
The realization crashes over me in waves, the horror of what happened tonight, the relief that it's over, the guilt that I don't feel guilty for wanting Harris dead. My body shakes with the force of my tears.
"We're safe now," Matthew whispers against my hair. "Charlie's safe."
