KAT
Blood Rights
The flash drive weighs nothing and everything, burning against my thigh through denim as Dave navigates the winding road back to Howling Pines. Kentucky hills blur past in shades of green and shadow, morning mist still clinging to hollows like secrets. My mother's gift—twenty-four years of documented atrocities compressed into three inches of metal and silicon. The Black Dragon's patient revenge, waiting.
Inside me, the boys tumble with increasing violence, responding to emotional currents I can't control. Baby B lands a kidney shot that makes me gasp, hand flying to the spot where his foot—definitely his foot, I've learned their patterns—connects with organs already compressed by three growing bodies.
"You're vibrating," Dave murmurs, his hand leaving the gear shift t
