“You were wrong,” I snap, unable to hear any more of this bullshit. “He did kill him. Night after night. Used him. He put Wicker on a fucking platter for Forsyth to consume, and you sit here on the land you stole from his family, pretending you did him a favor? And for what? Because some goth fuckboy stole your girl?” Disgusted, I shake my head. “You’re worse than a monster. You’re weak.”
