“You poor thing.” Britta shook her head. “How long before someone got you?” “No one came to get me.” “Wait.” Charlie raised her hand. “Let’s be clear here . . . we didn’t have time to get you.” “That’s true,” Max admitted with a smile. “As soon as they handed me that iron, I beat the husband with it, and then proceeded to tear the wife’s face off with my claws. I left them crying, screaming, and bleeding with the kids trying to call the cops.” Berg and his siblings stared at Max until Berg asked, “How old were you?” “Twelve. Right?” “Eleven,” corrected Stevie, the keeper of all specifics. Not
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