For Naomi, it was all too much. She leaned heavily against the counter, and without it, she would probably have collapsed onto the floor.

Any decent man would have put an arm around her, guided her to a chair, perhaps set a glass of water in front of her, and gently rubbed her back in comfort.

Happy had never been a decent man. He was trapped in his rage, and all he wanted to do was tear that damn woman apart. Rip chunks of hair from her head, gouge out her eyeballs with a fork, cut off her nose, shred her tongue.

Without fully realizing it, he had already twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers and pressed a screwdriver against her eyelid. A faint glimmer of reason pierced through his haze.

Colombia was big. If he killed this piece of filth now, he would never find his son.

He yanked her head so hard he heard a crack, then stepped back.

"Where is he?"

"I haven't been to the camp in forty years. They relocate every five years. I have a proposal on how you can get him out."

Happy snorted. The nerve she had. The words I'm not making any deal with you were already forming on his lips, but he swallowed them. He had no choice. Wandering aimlessly through the jungle hoping to stumble across the camp—and not get wiped out in the process—wasn't an option.

He clenched his jaw. Clearly, the witch had spent the night concocting a plan.

Before asking further questions, he glanced at Naomi. She was standing upright again, though her expression was still vacant, her face tormented.

The thought of his son being drilled into a soldier from the moment he could speak made his stomach turn. For a mother who had spent her entire life killing to shield him from a horrific fate, it must have been even worse.

He cleared his throat, feeling an urge to say something comforting. Nothing came to mind. He wished Kozik were here to do it instead. Kozik always knew what to say.

Naomi's eyes sharpened, her focus returning. She pushed herself away from the counter and grabbed the saw from the toolbox.

Though Happy wanted nothing more than to lean back and watch in fascination what she would do, he felt compelled to warn her.

"We won't find him without her," he said. "So keep her alive."

Her eyes smoldered like embers. She swung the saw back and struck, burying the teeth deep into Hana's shoulder. Then she began to saw.

This time, Hana was less prepared for the pain. A scream filled the cabin, raw with agony. Beneath it, Happy could hear the dull, sticky sound of saw teeth tearing through flesh and muscle, followed by the sharper rasp of bone. It was as if she were sawing through wood.

Happy closed his eyes, letting the symphony of pain wash over him. It was no true justice for what had been done to their boy, but it was something.

The song of suffering faded, leaving silence behind, broken only by a sob. Naomi had lowered the blood-soaked saw and wiped her stained fingers across her eyes. She took a deep, trembling breath.

Hana's breathing was labored as well. She stared grimly ahead, paying no mind to her mangled shoulder.

"Well then." Happy stepped up beside Naomi. Though it didn't come naturally, he slipped an arm around her waist. He wanted them to stand strong together, to project the image that this monster hadn't broken her. "Now tell us your plan."

. . .

Foss had slept terribly. He kept wondering if he should have gone with Happy and Naomi. With his parents. But something... something about that image felt entirely wrong. Especially since they planned to torture someone.

It wasn't like Hana didn't deserve it—she absolutely did. She deserved a blood eagle carved into her back for everything she'd done to his mother. And yet... he couldn't shake a queasy feeling in his stomach, a feverish unease that had haunted his dreams with vivid nightmares.

Now, he felt listless. He'd gone out to run errands for Betty, just to feel useful. Later, he helped Nash in the garden. Nash kept throwing him probing looks, like he wanted to coax him into talking.

But there wasn't much to say.

The day passed in a haze. Foss didn't even know where his thoughts had been when he heard the rumble of an engine. From where he stood pruning a rose bush, he saw the vehicle come to a stop in front of the house.

Happy strode toward the front door.

"Here," Foss called out.

The man froze for a moment before turning into the yard and walking toward him. Foss felt relieved when Nash stepped up to stand beside him.

"Is she dead?" Foss asked hesitantly.

"Not yet," Happy growled. "She's a rat. We've got a plan to get your brother back, but we need you."

"Yeah, of course. Tell me."

"He's in Colombia. You know what guerrilla fighters are?"

Foss nodded, but Happy explained anyway. A heavy feeling settled in his gut. While Foss had grown up with his mother, blissfully unaware of his brother's fate, his twin had been raised in the jungle, with a rifle in his hands? Who the hell even comes up with that?

"So I need to infiltrate," Foss repeated after hearing Happy's plan. "Pretend Hana sent me to help those rebels."

"Yeah. Your parents are wealthy. You'll be sent there with the youngest Son, supposedly to be held for ransom. They do it all the time—mostly with kids of rich Colombians. But sometimes, through the drug money they use to finance things, they bring in outsiders too."

Then, he had to find his brother and convince him to escape while the other Sons staged a distraction.

"I don't get it. Why doesn't Hana bring him back? She clearly has that power," Foss said.

"She's convinced he wouldn't come. He believes in the cause he's fighting for—he's completely indoctrinated. If Naomi called him, he'd probably deny she's even his mother. But you're twins. Odds are you look alike, and that might at least make him consider your words."

"And how do we stop Hana from tipping off her buddies once we're there?" Nash interjected.

Foss raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Yeah. You don't think I'm staying here while you go off on some crazy mission, do you? We started this together. I'm not letting you walk into the lion's den alone."

Foss saw he meant it. Of course, he meant it. Nash would probably lock himself in a submarine with him for five years at the bottom of the ocean if it came to that. The fact that Foss had doubted him even briefly felt like an insult.

Even though he didn't want his best friend risking his life, he gave a faint smile. If the roles were reversed, Foss wouldn't have done anything less.

He turned back to Happy, curious about the answer.

"She's thought it through. This morning, she recorded a message saying Naomi and I killed her. She sent it to a contact. If she doesn't check in after two months, the video goes viral. Your mother and I would be investigated and probably found guilty. And as much as I'd love to see her buried, she's not worth my freedom—or Naomi's. She's taken enough from us already. Once your brother's back, we'll let her go."

It still felt wrong. That woman deserved to be behind bars. Deep down, though, Foss knew it wouldn't end with Hana. His mother might have been blackmailed, but she'd committed murders. Hana would rat her out.

"So we keep her locked up for a month or so, and in the meantime, we have to rescue my brother?"

"Yeah. We'll stay in contact. If you need more time, we'll arrange it."

Foss exhaled deeply. Go to Colombia, find a rebel camp, and convince his brainwashed brother to leave. This was not what he'd expected when he came to Charming to save his father.

"Fuck, man..." His voice wavered. Then something dawned on him. "Where's my mom?"

"She's refusing to go along with the plan."

No surprise there. If it were up to her, he wouldn't have gone on the raid at Hana's house, let alone head into the jungle to convince someone their entire life was a lie. Foss could understand, though. Naomi had lied to him, too.

"Fine. We'll do it. Of course we will."

There was a glint in his father's eyes—pride, maybe. It lifted the weight that had been pressing on him all day.

"When do we leave?"

"Hana still needs to make the call. I'll let you know." Happy shot a glance at Nash but didn't ask if he was sure about his decision. He just nodded and headed back to his bike.

Foss watched him go, wondering if they'd ever have a normal relationship. And if such a thing even existed—his bond with his mother felt messed up too, even though he'd always thought it was unbreakable.

"Come on. Let's make tonight count," Nash said, giving him a nudge. "If we're heading into a warzone, we'd better make the most of the days we've got left."

Foss took his best friend's advice. They went to a steakhouse and ate as many ribs as they could handle. Afterward, Nash found a rock café online where some local bands were playing in a nearby town. The past few days had been so surreal that walking into the dimly lit, half-full venue, ordering a beer, and watching musicians tune their instruments felt like stepping back into something familiar.

"Do you miss it?" Foss asked, nodding toward the stage.

The last few days had been all about his problems, but Nash was dealing with his crisis—his band breaking up, his relationship ending, and having no clue what to do with his life next.

Nash stared at the stage, as if the answer might be written somewhere in the scattered cords and microphones. "A little, I guess? I'm not sure. After all your family stuff, it like... unimportant. I'll probably find another band, or maybe do something else. I'll figure it out. First, we've got a jungle to deal with, right?"

Foss showed him a faint smile. Yet, he didn't want his friend to brush off his feelings that easily. When they'd first set out for Charming, Foss had told himself he'd bring up Vicky at some point.
"What about Vicky?" he asked carefully. "Do you miss... her?"

Nash shrugged. "Not since we've been here. I don't know." He tapped his thumb against his glass before taking a sip of beer. "Something was just off. I still can't put my finger on it. Like we were missing some kind of connection. Or maybe we were just out of sync. That's why I thought a third person might help." He smirked. "Or maybe I was just curious about polyamory. It seemed like an interesting challenge."

An interesting challenge. Foss hadn't had a relationship in years, but even he could tell that wasn't how you were supposed to think about one. If Nash had said that out loud to Vicky, it wasn't hard to see why she'd ended things.

"I'm not really upset that it's over," Nash went on. "But we got along. Even before we were together. And she was my best rival at Call of Duty. I miss that sometimes. Just chilling together. But like I said, luxury problems. I mean, your brother's been kidnapped and is stuck in some rebel camp in the middle of the jungle. So, no, I'm not about to complain about Vicky or Sleep Forever."

"Well, aren't you the picture of maturity," Foss said with a lopsided grin.

Nash grinned back. "I'm twenty-six. Guess it was bound to happen eventually, huh?"

"Nah." Foss winked and finished the last of his beer. He couldn't imagine Nash ever fully growing up. Or himself, for that matter. Looking at his dad—or even his mom—it felt like neither of them had ever really figured out how to enjoy life.

Foss glanced back at the stage, where the first band was starting to play. He knew how to enjoy life—and he was glad he had someone by his side who knew it too.