Chapter Twenty-OneMy nervous fingers fiddle and pick at my bottom lip. Smelly old shirts and tracksuits from Brock's gym bag are tossed over the top of my mother in attempt to conceal her in the back seat. Brock's a slob, so there are plenty of clothes in his car, making it no trouble to hide her. Of course, there is no dirt, just clothes.
I've always wondered about Brock's testosterone level, yet here I am being bullied and pushed around by him. I picture Beth and Breanna's violently butchered bodies. With their memories in mind, I watch his well-manicured hands closely. One of those hands is in control of the car, as he guides it into our driveway with ease. The other hand holds my sister's, gently caressing the outer edges of her knuckles with his thumb. She's content with his touch an
