Full to the brim. Ryan’s back to him, tall and broad in blue plaid, Gotta get some meat on your bones, son. Those beans ain’t treating you right. Cherry smiles into her beer. Blood spits on the coals. Xie pulls the collar of his shirt over his nose. Moore lifts a brow. You know mink are cannibals, right? Some of the ones you let go ate the fuck out of each other. Mean little bastards. We treat them a hell of a lot nicer than they treat anything. Fresh water, all the meat they can eat. Moore throwing steaks over the flames. Sniff. We got some new ones, nice silver babies. Breeding real well. Taste like shit, though. No fat on ’em. Without looking Ryan passes a metal spatula to Xie. You turn these for me, will you? When Xie doesn’t move one of the guys pushes his shoulder. Not too hard. Come on. It’s fresh. Totally organic. Isn’t that what you’re all about, Twilight? Farm-to-table? Nudging his hand with the spatula. P. terrible in the smoke, looming over them all. Xie steps forward. Don’t think, just. Pull the meat straight from the grill. Burning on one side, still wet on the other, red all the way through. Throwing it into the dirt. You fucking murderers! he shouts. Ryan’s arm around his neck in a second, cutting off the last word. Right in his ear, like before, Listen I don’t want to hurt you but you’re asking for it, you crazy fuck. Cherry with her hand on Moore’s back. Ry, don’t, come on. And Moore turning his head, sharp. Calm down, I’m not gonna do nothing. Xie struggling with all his strength but Moore’s embrace is like iron, there is nowhere for Xie to put his anger, sneakers digging into the ground. We invite you to hang with us and all you can do is act like a goddamn psycho, Moore hisses. What did we ever do to you, huh? You can’t let people live their lives? You don’t know shit about me, you little fuck. Suddenly letting him go. Spits in the dirt. Xie stumbles, gasping for air. Cherry squatting in those fucked-up shoes, tossing the steak to the dogs. Refusing to look at him. If Moore said the word they would be on him in a second. But he let Xie go and Xie goes. Turning his back. P. right behind him, those footsteps. Guardian. But too late. P.’s hand on his arm. Xie shrinking from it, accusing, You didn’t do anything. You never do anything. Xie forgetting himself, speaking out loud. How often do I do that. Talk and not know I am talking. Walking too fast, tripping, fury throwing him forward. Clutching his own head as if to. Break it. The sole of his sneaker unglued, gaping at the sides with every step. What do you want me to do, beloved. Stop them! Stop—something! Even you can see how fucked-up it is, how proud they are of it.