Lucas took my hand again. He lifted it to his lips, kissing my knuckles tenderly. “Let’s go see what happened.”

We reached the bottom of the stairs right as Vincent was closing the door behind them. Their faces were drawn, the relaxed energy from not even an hour ago now completely sapped. Little Haribo was in the living room, up on his back legs so he could look out the window with Jojo toward the gate, both of them clearly on edge. Manson’s eyes were hollow, sunken in shadow.

“What the hell did he want?” Lucas said.

Jason shook his head, going into the kitchen and grabbing a beer out of the fridge despite how early it was.

“He wants money,” Vincent said tightly. “From the sale of the house. Fifty percent.”

“Fuck that,” Lucas snarled. “We’re not giving him shit.”

“That’s what I told him,” Manson muttered. Deep lines were chiseled into his forehead, like the weight of his entire life had suddenly caught up with him and perched on top of his skull. “He didn’t like that.”

“He threatened you,” Jason said firmly, opening the beer as he leaned against the kitchen counter and spoke to us through the doorway. “All that shit about death? That was a threat, no doubt. We need better security cameras. Clearer picture, clearer audio. And electronic locks for the gates —”

Manson slammed his fist against the wall so hard I jumped. Jojo flattened her ears against her head, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Why the fuck does he get to walk back into my life like he owns it?!”

I’d never heard Manson’s volume so loud. He wasn’t looking at any of us as he yelled, his fists clenched, face reddening.

“Why the fuck does he get to come to my property and threaten my family? Fuck!” His fist slammed against the wall again, leaving behind a smear of blood as his knuckles split. Then he did it again, and again, each impact of his fist making the wall shudder. Haribo barked softly at the noise, and Vincent gently shushed him, reaching down to scratch his chest.

Manson was breathing hard. He roughly trailed his fingers through his hair to push it back, sucking in his breath as he turned. His eyes swept over me, narrowed with fury, and it was like he’d entirely forgotten I was there.

The moment he looked at me, he froze. His fury fled and in its place was an expression of utterly horrified shame.

“He doesn’t get to do shit,” Lucas said. “We’ll figure this out.”

“He can’t force you to give him anything,” Jason insisted. “Not legally or otherwise.”

But it was as if Manson didn’t hear him. His throat tensed as he gulped, shaking his head slowly as he looked at me.