Earl grabs Dean by the front of his t-shirt and starts dragging him over to me, the gun smashed against his ribcage. “Kitten wants it. She’s already purring for you.”

Dean stumbles as he’s shoved towards me, catching himself before our faces collide together. Our eyes unite in a powerful clutch as the palpability of this moment, the terrifying truth, eats right through our withered bones. I can feel Dean’s warmth radiating into me as his hands reach out to touch me for the very first time.

He places his palms against my shoulders, squeezing gently. “I can’t, Cora. Let him kill me. Please.”

“Stop it.” Tears brim my weary eyes, and I lean into him on instinct, craving more warmth. More contact. “I’m not letting you die. Just get it over with.”

Better you than him.

I can’t quite get the words out, though.

Dean lowers his hands, his fingers digging into my upper arms. He drops his head as he lets out a hard, pained breath. “Fuck…”

“Let’s go, Romeo. Earl has things to do today. You’ve got one more minute before I get impatient and trigger-happy.”

We both glance over at Earl, then back to each other. The eye contact proves too much for me, so I twist my head to the right as tears spill down my soiled cheekbones.

“Cora.” Dean’s tone is urgent. Quiet, but laced with a thick heaviness. He takes my chin between his rough fingers and forces my gaze on his. “Cora, look at me.”

God. The tears fall faster. My lips part, and he glances down at my mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Then he leans in.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

He’s going to kiss me.

I turn my head to the side again, dodging his kiss. “No,” I whisper in a cracked voice, my hair sticking to the tearstains. “Don’t make this something it’s not.”

Dean sucks in a jagged breath, halting his forward movement. There is a slight nod of his head, telling me he understands, and then he reaches for one of my chained wrists. A frown settles between my eyes as confusion sets in. He massages his thumb along my pulse point, his gaze still pinned on me.

“Do you feel that?”

I swallow. The lump in my throat is dry and brittle, and it hurts on the way down. “Yes,” I squeak out. The gesture is somewhat soothing, despite the circumstances.

Dean continues the circular motion, his calloused thumb grazing my wrist, almost lovingly. “Focus on that. Close your eyes and zone out. The only thing I want you to feel is my thumb massaging your wrist.”

I want to cry harder. I want to cry because I’m scared and exhausted and sore and done. I want to cry because I can’t believe this is happening. I want to cry because my sister’s fiancé, a man I loathed one week ago, is about to fuck me while a freakshow jerks off from a few feet away.