I reached up and calmly brushed a dried flake of blood from my split lip with the back of my hand. I looked him dead in the eye, the terrified-wife facade melting away to reveal the survivor underneath.

“You really, really should have paid more attention when I told you my brother doesn’t call first.”

Chapter 3 — The Unraveling

The doorbell chimed. A single, polite, melodic ring that echoed through the house.

Dean froze entirely, his hand dropping from my jaw as though my skin had caught fire. The arrogant sneer vanished, replaced by rigid, primal panic.

Down the hall, Frank muttered something and Linda snapped, her voice losing its cultured polish. “Don’t you dare answer that door, Dean.”

The chime wasn’t repeated. Instead it was followed by a knock — not a neighborly tap, but a heavy, structural, earth-shaking assault on the solid mahogany door.