The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(39)

The loser got the kick.

After the man kicked her yesterday, she’d thrown up the watery soup he’d fed them.

Right now she hated Malcolm. Her big brother was supposed to protect her from people like this man. Instead, he was hitting her. She knew Malcolm had no choice, but her hate and fear bubbled in her chest.

The only thing to do was to fight back as hard as possible.

The man was in control. She and Malcolm were like puppets to him. They did everything he ordered and tried their best to make him happy. Happy wasn’t the right word; they tried to keep him from getting mad. When he got mad, things got worse. More pain. Less food. More yelling.

“This is ridiculous! You both fight like girls.”

Rowan put all her strength into hitting her brother. Her nose was running, and she could taste it in her mouth, but she didn’t care. She wanted to win.

“Stop.”

She halted midswing and stood frozen, panting. Malcolm made heavy breathing noises a few feet away.

Who won?

She knew better than to ask. One time she’d asked, and he’d said she had won but since she’d dared to ask him a question, she was now the loser.

He didn’t like questions.

Her shin had hurt for days after he kicked her with his hard boots.

Rowan brushed away the hair sticking to her cheek, hating how short it was. When she’d lost a fight two days before, the man had handed Malcolm a pair of blunt kids’ scissors and told him to cut her hair. He’d locked them back in the shed and told them they had five minutes.

Rowan had cried. She loved her long hair. Her mother would braid it or curl it on special occasions, making her feel like a princess. Cutting it had taken longer than five minutes. The scissors were dull, and Malcolm could only cut small bunches of hair at a time. Tears had run down his face as he did it. “It’ll grow back,” he repeated over and over. “We have to do what he says.”

Now she had boy hair.

But at least she hadn’t been kicked for being the loser that day.

Now, still panting, she waited for the man’s announcement of the blindfolded fight’s winner.

“You both did horrible. You’re stupid kids!”

He’s going to kick both of us.

I tried so hard.

Tears soaked the edge of her blindfold, and Malcolm sniffled.

He’s scared too.

“New game,” announced the man. “Boy, come over here.”

Relief swamped her that he’d called Malcolm instead of her, but guilt immediately followed. She didn’t want the man to hurt her brother. But when he was hurting her brother, it meant he wasn’t hurting her.

“Throw these at her,” the man ordered.

Rowan tensed. A second later, something hit the dirt off to her right. And again.

Rocks?

“Aim better!”

“I can’t see her,” Malcolm said in a tiny voice.

Rowan sucked in her breath, terrified for the sound of the slap she knew Malcolm was about to receive.

It didn’t come.

“Bark. Bark like a dog, girl.”

He never used their names. She didn’t think he knew them.

“Bark!”

“Arf, arf,” Rowan barked, cringing as the man laughed.

At least he’s not mad.

She continued to bark.

Something bounced off her thigh. It stung a little but wasn’t too bad. More rocks hit the ground than hit her.

“You have crappy aim for a boy. I expect that from little girls like your sister. Are you a girl?” he taunted.

Malcolm said nothing, but a rock hit her stomach. Again, it wasn’t horrible.

“This is stupid. Use these bigger rocks,” the man said to her brother.

“This one will hurt her,” said Malcolm.

Don’t talk back, Malcolm!

Rowan covered her face with her hands. The next rock hit her elbow, and pain spiked up her arm. “Owww!”

The exclamation slipped out, and she knew the man would enjoy that she’d been hurt. Another big rock hit her in the stomach, knocking her off balance, and she fell to the ground. She cried and stayed down, pulling her knees up to her stomach, trying to catch her breath.

“Throw this one.”

“It’s way too big.”

“Use it!”

“I can’t lift it,” said Malcolm. Fear filled his tone.

How big is the rock?

“You must want me to throw it,” said the man. “I’m bigger, so I can hurt her much worse. That’s what you want, isn’t it, boy? You want her hurt really bad because you hate her, right?”

“Yes,” Malcolm said quietly. “I hate her.”

“Pick it up!”

It was silent for a moment, and then Malcolm gave a small grunt. “I can’t throw it. It’s too heavy.”

“Just drop it on her.”

Still on the ground, Rowan covered her head again.

“Bark, girl!”

Rowan barked.

One of Malcolm’s shoes touched her leg. A thud shook the ground near her stomach.

He’d missed. Rowan tipped her head back, peeking below the blindfold, and wondered how her brother had picked up the huge rock that lay next to her.

“You worthless idiot! I’ll do it.”