“No.” Wicker wears a path from one side of the room to the other, flexing his fists in tight, tense bursts. “He’s doing it again.” Shivering, I hug my middle. “Who? Ashby?” His blue eyes blaze into mine. “Maddox. That motherfucker!” With a crash, he sends everything on the low table to the floor. Pliers, the whip, a large knife. I skitter back, stunned. “First my grandfather, then my dad, and now my son. He won’t stop until he’s exterminated my whole fucking bloodline!”
