Little Stranger (The Web of Silence Duet, #1)

by Leigh Rivers

If a masked stranger presses a screwdriver to your throat and tells you to run, what do you do?

He points at me again then lays a palm on his chest. “What does that mean?” I ask, popping the doll’s head back on and hiding her in the wooden house. “Can you teach me?” All he does is smirk, then he reaches for a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “Do you want to smell it? It smells like strawberries!” He brings my hair to his nose and inhales, closing his eyes. I freeze when he pulls me in for a hug. It’s a big hug. He’s holding the back of my head to his chest and sniffing my hair. I giggle when he brushes his fingers through it. He pulls back and does something with his hands again, and I grab some paper and hand him a pack of crayons. “Can you write? If not, I can teach you that too.” I watch him take the black one and write down one word that makes no sense. Mine.

Malachi: Hold my hand. I reread it three times, then glance at him, but he’s looking at his phone. Malachi: Don’t make it obvious. Me: Why do you want to hold my hand? Malachi: Do I need a reason? Give me your hand, or I’ll tell Mom you touched my dick while I was asleep. I choke on air, and Dad peeks over his shoulder. “Are you okay, angel?” “Yes,” I reply. “Perfectly fine.” Me: You were awake? Malachi: I’m always awake. Give me your fucking hand. Me: Not when they can see.

No. You were mine when we were kids, and you’re mine now. You’ll always be mine.

“Malachi!” Dad yells, and he stills, keeping his cock deep in my throat as I gag. He leans over the balcony, but I can’t see. “Take whoever that is into your goddamn bedroom! Jesus Christ!” Malachi looks down at me, grinning as he pulls out a little for me to gasp in air, then fucks into my mouth again. He signs, I wonder what he’d think if he knew his precious daughter was the one sucking his son’s cock like the filthy little fucking whore she is.

Go kiss your future husband, little sister. And when you do, you better think about me and all the ways I’ll fuck you in his blood.

“Olivia? Malachi?” Mom’s panicked voice reaches my ears as the front door opens, gentle, bloody hands on my shoulders as my brother walks me in. “Jamieson! Jamieson! Malachi is covered in blood!” Heavy footsteps, then I hear my dad. “What the hell happened?” “The next time you pair me up with someone, make sure he isn’t a piece of shit,” I snap at her. “Parker and his friends were going to attack me. He said that if I didn’t agree to it, he’d tell the world you paid him to take my virginity.” Mom presses her hand to her chest. “Did he hurt you?” My chin trembles as tears slip down my cheeks, and I shake my head. “I sent Malachi my location, and he got to me before they could do anything. Him and his ten friends were going to—” I stop, my stomach twisting. “Don’t ever pair me up with someone like him again.” “Ten of them?” Dad shouts. “That piece of shit.” But then Malachi’s burning, fuming gaze lifts to Mom, as if it just hit him what I said. You paid someone to fuck my sister? It takes her a second to realize he communicated with her. “Don’t speak like that,” she scolds. “And I did it to help you, Olivia. I never intended for him to attack you.” Dad steps up beside her, glaring. “Wait. Did I hear that right? You paid Parker fucking Melrose to sleep with my daughter?” “He said no to the arrangement! I had to make him say yes! She was a virgin, and he didn’t want someone innocent!” Dad’s jaw ticks, his nostrils flaring the same way my brother’s do when he’s mad. “I’ll speak...

THANK MOTHER QUACKING GOSH WITH THEM HAVING A DAD KNOWING THAT PARKER IS A PIECE OF SHART, also frick the mom

Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Fucking sorry. That damn word echoes in my psyche—a curse that won’t fuck off. Sorry’s just a word to try to get out of something, to dodge trouble if you’ve been caught out. Sorry’s a five-letter disgrace that shouldn’t even need to be used. It should be abolished from the fucking dictionary. Actions do speak louder than words, and if she’s as sorry as she makes out in her voicemails, then why does she sometimes look happy? Why is she going out partying with her friends? Kissing guys who—shockingly—vanish days later? Why does she dance around her apartment, singing ridiculous songs about love? Why is she living her life without me? If the bitch is sorry, then why is she only looking me up on the internet and not hunting for me? Why isn’t she looking for me?

I grin when I see the necklace she’s wearing—the locket with our pictures in it. It fits with her costume, looking old and rustic. I watched her clip it on earlier, and she stared at the photo of us inside for longer than necessary. You see how good we are together, Olivia? We could’ve had the world, and you had to ruin it. I was going to give you everything you ever wanted. Now I need to take. I nearly have all of you. I have your mind. I have your body. I have your soul. The fear I instill in you. The pain I inflict when you defy me. You have a black heart, little sister, but I’ll own that soon too.

I stare at her for a moment. So beautiful. So fucking mine. “I’ll give you a head start.” My voice is rough, but I somehow manage to say those words without stuttering or overthinking the articulation of each syllable. I tip my head towards the cornfield. “Run, little stranger.” Run.