Chapter 5

The sun was high and brutal by the time Haven and Brenda emerged from the tree line.

Haven's shoulders burned under the weight of the full basket. Sweat plastered her hair to the back of her neck. They walked down the dirt road toward the farmhouse, the silence heavy with exhaustion.

As they approached the front porch, Haven stopped dead in her tracks.

The deadbolt on the front door was mangled. The metal casing was bent outward, the wood around the frame splintered and raw.

Haven's stomach violently contracted. She dropped the basket onto the dirt.

She grabbed Brenda by the arm, shoving her roughly behind her back. Haven kicked the door. It swung open, slamming against the interior wall with a loud bang.

Titus Boggs sat in the center of their small living room, occupying the only armchair. His gnarled hands rested on the silver head of a heavy wooden cane.

Leaning against the doorframe leading to the kitchen was his grandson, Cletus. Cletus was chewing a thick wad of tobacco, his small, pig-like eyes instantly locking onto the sweat-dampened collar of Haven's shirt.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" Brenda screamed, pushing past Haven. Her face was flushed dark red with fury.

Titus didn't flinch. He slowly lifted his cane and brought it down hard against the floorboards. The thud echoed in the small room.

"Your house?" Titus sneered, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Your lease is up at the end of the month, Brenda. I ain't renewing it. I'm selling this dirt to the developers."

Brenda's breath hitched. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking sickly pale. This house, the small plot of land behind it-it was everything.

Cletus spat a stream of brown tobacco juice into a plastic cup he was holding. He wiped his mouth with the back of his dirty hand and pushed off the doorframe.

"Now, don't cry, Brenda," Cletus said, his lips peeling back in a yellow smile. He took a step toward Haven. "Grandpa says if Haven here agrees to marry me, we can keep the lease going. Indefinitely."

A wave of pure, physiological nausea hit Haven's stomach. The smell of the tobacco, the sight of his greasy skin-it made her throat close up.

Brenda let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl. She lunged toward the corner of the room, her hands closing around the wooden handle of a heavy snow shovel.

She whipped around, pointing the rusted metal edge directly at Cletus's face.

"Get out!" Brenda roared, her chest heaving. "I will kill you before I let you touch her!"

Cletus jumped back, his boots slipping on the linoleum. The plastic cup crushed in his grip, spilling brown spit onto the floor.

Titus's face contorted in rage. He pushed himself up from the chair, his knuckles white on his cane.

"You put that down, you crazy bitch!" Titus bellowed. "I'll have the sheriff drag you out of here by your hair! I own this town!"

Haven's face was completely blank. She reached into the pocket of her windbreaker. Her fingers closed around the cheap flip phone she had saved up for at a pawn shop. She flipped it open and held down the record button, activating the voice memo.

She stepped forward, placing her hand firmly over Brenda's trembling fingers on the shovel handle. She pushed it down.

Cletus saw the movement. He thought she was surrendering. His yellow smile returned, wider this time. He took a confident step forward, reaching his dirty hand out toward Haven's face.

"That's a good girl," Cletus muttered.

Haven's arm snapped up. The helplessness of her past life-the years of shrinking back and taking the abuse-ignited into a white-hot, desperate fury. She didn't use a trained fighter's strike. She threw her entire body weight forward, swinging her arm with everything she had, her open palm cracking viciously across Cletus's face. Her fingernails dug in and tore a deep, jagged scratch across his greasy cheek. The sheer, unhinged force of the desperate slap was deafening.

Cletus's head snapped violently to the side. He stumbled backward, crashing into the kitchen table. He collapsed onto the floor, clutching his face, a thick line of blood instantly welling up from where his teeth had bitten through his inner cheek.

Titus roared. He raised his heavy wooden cane high above his head, aiming straight for Haven's skull.

Haven didn't step back. She stepped directly into his space, her eyes burning with a cold, terrifying fire.

"Do it," Haven said, her voice dropping to a deadly, even pitch.

Titus's arms locked in mid-air. The sheer lack of fear in her eyes paralyzed him.