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job,” he told him, his eyes going dark. “ Son .”
    Michael looked away, staring out the window into the trees that flanked the quiet highway. He resisted temptation, didn’t dare give Rebel the satisfaction of standing up for himself. It would only give him more ammunition. They’d get home, and he’d spout off about how Michael had spoken out of turn, how he was forgetting his place. Michael wouldn’t be able to sleep for days, terrified of his bedroom door swinging open in the middle of the night, afraid that Rebel would fill the doorway with his silhouette, demanding that Michael get up so they could take a little field trip into the woods.
    â€œOh, what ?” Reb asked sharply. “Suddenly you can’t take a goddamn joke?”
    Michael refused to respond, waiting for the car to start rolling. He was on the verge of protesting their stillness, ready to insist that the guy back at the gas station could pull onto the highway and roll up next to them within a minute or two. Maybe then he’d cock a sawed-off shotgun and blow them both away with a single trigger pull. But Michael didn’t say that either. He was too distracted by his own imagination, black thoughts flooding in. It would have been nice to see a spark of true emotion upon his brother’s face for once. It would have been novel to see a spark of terror light up his eyes—the same kind of terror he so often forced Michael to see on the faces of all those nameless girls. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, getting his head blown off, as long as Rebel would be just as dead as him.
    â€œWhatever,” Reb mumbled, shifting the car into drive and slamming his foot against the gas. The Delta fishtailed onto the asphalt. “Not like Daddy wouldn’t bail your ass out if you did get caught.”
    Michael bit the inside of his bottom lip to keep quiet. The idea of Wade springing him out of jail gave him a jolt of satisfaction. He knew that if it were Rebel, Wade would let him stew in the pen for at least a day or two. Michael hoped he was Wade’s favorite, if only to get back at Reb for being so damn unappreciative.
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    Rebel caught Michael by the arm just after pulling the emergency brake into place. Michael’s door was already open. He was desperate for some space. But Reb’s fingers clamped hard around his wrist and his eyes narrowed into that vulture glare.
    â€œI feel like I shouldn’t have to remind you,” he said, “but I will since you’re so fuckin’ retarded. You talk and you’re dead.”
    Michael twisted his arm out of his brother’s grasp, but he remained inside the car, his eyes fixed on his hands. Whether he was Wade’s favorite or not, Michael belonged to Rebel. Nobody would so much as bat an eyelash at Reb’s decision regarding Michael’s future, or the lack thereof.
    Reb snorted, as though miffed by his brother’s lack of response, then grabbed his bottle of Jim Beam and shoved his way out of the car. When Michael failed to move, Reb ducked his head back into the vehicle and spit out: “Get outta my ride, dipshit.”
    Michael slid out of the passenger seat, grabbed his sweatshirt, and walked toward the house. His feet were cold, his socks still damp from the basement cleanup. He fingered a gold loop inside his pocket. He had forgotten all about it until he shoved his hands into his jeans. The girl hadn’t had much jewelry, just a single ring around the middle finger of her right hand.
    Wade and Misty Dawn were sitting at the kitchen table while Momma seared meat on the stove. They all turned to look at Michael when he stepped into the house, then they turned back to their respective tasks. Momma’s kitchen knives glinted in the musty light. Wade had laid them out in a straight line, arranged from largest to smallest upon a stained tea towel. Wade drew one of the blades across the