Jack kilborn SErial blakE crouch

Jack kilborn SErial blakE crouch
mirror. Matt had climbed to his feet, and he hobbled toward
the car.
“hey, no fair!” she yelled and gave the accelerator a little
gas, jerking his feet out from under him. “all right, count of
three. We’ll start small with half a mile!”
She grasped the steering wheel, heart pumping. She’d
done this a half dozen times but never with helmets.
“one! Two! Three!”
She reset the odometer and eased onto the accelerator.
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty miles per hour, and the boys already
beginning to scream. at four-tenths of a mile, she hit forty,
and in the rearview mirror, kenny’s and Matt’s pale and naked
bodies writhed in full-throated agony, both trying to sit up
and grab the rope and failing as they slid across the pavement
on their bare backs, dragged by their cuffed ankles, the chains
throwing gorgeous yellow sparks against the asphalt.
She eased off the gas and pulled over onto the shoulder.
collected the spray bottle from the guitar case, unbuckled,
jumped out, and went to the boys. They lay on their backs,
blood pooling beneath them. kenny must have rolled briefly
onto his right elbow, because it had been sanded down to
bone.
“Please,” Matt croaked. “Please.”
“You don’t know how beautiful you look,” she said, “but
i’m gonna make you even prettier.” She spritzed them with
pure, organic lemon juice, especially their backs, and to the
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