The screen door of the Thornton house slammed open with the force of a gunshot.

Blanca charged down the wooden porch steps. She still held a greasy metal spatula tightly in her right fist. She moved with the terrifying speed and aggression of a mother bear protecting her cub.

Blanca grabbed Delois by the shoulders and yanked her backward, placing her own sturdy body firmly between her daughter and Jessi Hawkins.

Blanca raised the spatula, pointing the metal edge directly at the tip of Jessi's nose. Her chest heaved with fury.

"Shut your filthy mouth, Jessi!" Blanca yelled, her voice vibrating with raw anger. "Don't you dare come onto my property and put your hands on my daughter!"

Jessi didn't flinch. She straightened her spine, pushing her chest out. She looked Blanca up and down with an expression of absolute contempt.

"Your daughter is a joke, Blanca," Jessi sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "The whole town knows she threw herself in the river because that city boy wouldn't look twice at her. And now she's trying to drag my son down into the mud with her."

Blanca let out a sharp, bitter laugh. Her grip on the spatula tightened until her knuckles turned stark white.

"Your son?" Blanca mocked loudly. "Your son is a violent street thug who does nothing but get into bar fights! He's the one trespassing on my land!"

The sheer volume of their screaming acted like a siren. Across the street, curtains twitched. Front doors creaked open. Neighbors stepped out onto their porches, crossing their arms, their eyes wide with eager anticipation.

Jessi noticed the audience. Her face flushed a deep, angry red. Her perfectly manicured fingers curled into tight fists. She decided to go for the throat.

"At least my son isn't a product of a manipulative, desperate family!" Jessi screamed, making sure every person in the crowd heard her. "We all know exactly what kind of blood runs in your veins, Blanca! You've been using dirty, underhanded tricks since we were girls, and now you're teaching your daughter to do the exact same thing!"

A collective, low gasp rippled through the watching neighbors. The older residents leaned in, their eyes gleaming at the mention of the decades-old scandal.

Blanca's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. A cold, cruel smile spread across her lips.

"Underhanded tricks?" Blanca laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "You're just projecting your own pathetic history onto my daughter! You couldn't trap the man you wanted back then, so you settled for whoever could buy you those cheap pearls around your neck! Don't you stand there and act like a victim, Jessi! You're nothing but a bitter, jealous woman who can't stand the sight of us!"

Jessi's face drained of color, then rapidly flooded with a dark, mottled purple. She let out an incoherent shriek of pure rage.

The argument completely derailed. The two women began hurling decades of buried resentment, jealousy, and ugly secrets at each other like verbal grenades.

Behind Blanca, Gonzalo and the brothers stood like a wall of muscle. They couldn't jump into a fight between older women, but they glared at Jessi, their bodies tense and ready to intervene.

Bart stood beside his mother. His face was a mask of dark, thunderous anger. His jaw was locked so tight a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. He stared at the ground, his chest tight with a suffocating sense of humiliation.

He reached out and grabbed Jessi's elbow, his grip firm.

"Mom. Stop. Let's go," Bart ordered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Jessi violently jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Don't tell me what to do!" she snapped at him, before turning back to hurl another insult at Blanca.

Delois stood trapped behind her mother. The screaming voices pounded against her eardrums. The adrenaline from the boar attack was fading, leaving behind a sickening wave of dizziness.

The dull ache in the back of her head suddenly flared into a blinding, stabbing agony. The world tilted on its axis.

She watched her mother drop the spatula. She saw Jessi drop her expensive leather purse. Both women raised their hands, their fingers curling into claws, ready to physically tear each other's hair out.

If they fought, the blood feud would be sealed forever. The town would never let them forget it.

Delois knew she had to stop it. She closed her eyes, took a shallow breath, and decided to fake a fainting spell to break the tension.

She let her knees buckle. She allowed her body to go limp, falling backward.

But her spatial awareness was completely ruined by the concussion. She misjudged her position.

Instead of landing on the soft grass, her heel caught the edge of the bottom wooden porch step.

Her body twisted violently out of control. Gravity ripped her downward.

The back of Delois's head hit the flat surface of the wooden step with a dull, heavy thud.

A blinding flash of white light exploded behind Delois's eyes, instantly followed by a crushing, suffocating darkness. Her body went completely limp, sliding off the step and collapsing into a heap on the ground.

The chaotic screaming in the yard stopped instantly. The silence that followed was absolute and terrifying.

Blanca froze for a fraction of a second. Then, a sound tore from her throat-a raw, guttural scream of pure maternal terror. She threw herself onto the dirt, her hands frantically grabbing at Delois's pale face.

Jessi gasped, taking a sudden, frightened step backward. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth.

Gonzalo let out a roar. He shoved past his mother, his massive hands gently but swiftly scooping Delois's lifeless body off the ground.

When the dull thud registered in Bart's ears, his heart stopped beating.

His body reacted on pure, primal instinct. His right foot slammed forward into the mud. His arms reached out, desperate to catch her, to pull her up, to check if she was breathing.

But he stopped.

He saw Gonzalo already lifting her. He saw the sheer hatred in the brothers' eyes. He saw Blanca weeping over her.

Bart's boots felt like they were nailed to the earth. His hands dropped to his sides, curling into fists so tight his fingernails bit into his own palms, drawing tiny drops of blood. His chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice.

Gonzalo turned, holding his sister tight against his chest. He shot one last, murderous glare at Bart and Jessi, then sprinted up the steps and kicked the front door open.

Blanca scrambled up and ran after them. The heavy wooden door slammed shut, the sound echoing like a final judgment.

The yard was empty, save for Bart, Jessi, and the lingering stares of the neighbors.

Jessi stood frozen, her face pale. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. She bent down, grabbed her purse from the dirt, and brushed it off with shaking hands.

"Good riddance," Jessi muttered, her voice lacking its previous venom, sounding more like nervous justification. "Come on, Bart. Get in the truck. Let's get out of this cursed place."

She grabbed Bart's bicep and pulled.

Bart didn't resist. He let his mother drag him toward the rusted Ford. But his eyes remained locked on the wooden porch step.

Right on the sharp edge of the wood, catching the sunlight, was a fresh, dark smear of blood.

Bart climbed into the passenger seat. Jessi slammed the door shut behind him, sealing them in the cramped, stuffy cabin of the truck.

Jessi started the engine. The truck lurched forward, speeding away from the Thornton property.

The silence in the cab lasted only a minute before Jessi started talking. She ranted about Blanca's insanity, about how Delois was just putting on a dramatic show, about how the whole family was a disease.

Bart leaned his head back against the cracked vinyl seat. He closed his eyes. He didn't hear a single word his mother said.

His brain was trapped in a relentless, agonizing loop.

He saw Delois throwing her arms wide, putting her own fragile body between him and Gonzalo's massive fist. He felt the sudden, shocking impact of her weight crashing down on him.

And then, the memory he was trying desperately to kill forced its way to the front of his mind.

The press of her lips against his. The impossible softness of her mouth. The faint, clean scent of lemon soap that clung to her skin, cutting through the smell of the mud and the river water.

Bart's eyes snapped open. His breathing grew harsh and shallow. He raised both hands and dug his fingers violently into his dark hair, pulling at the roots.

He was Bart Hawkins. He didn't care about anyone. He especially didn't care about the daughter of his mother's worst enemy. She was annoying. She was stupid. She chased after city boys.

But his heart was currently beating a frantic, painful rhythm against his ribs. The image of her blood on the wood made his stomach twist into a sick, tight knot.

He turned his head and stared blankly out the passenger window. A dark, angry flush crept up his neck and settled on the tips of his ears.

He cursed himself silently. He was losing control, and it terrified him.

The Ford pickup jerked to a halt in the wide gravel driveway of the Hawkins house.

Jessi killed the engine and yanked the keys from the ignition. She turned in her seat, her eyes locking onto Bart with a hard, uncompromising glare.

"Listen to me, Bart," Jessi commanded, her voice sharp. "You are never to go near that Thornton property again. You hear me? I won't have my son dragged through the mud by that family."

Bart kept his eyes fixed on the dashboard. His jaw muscles flexed.

"And to put an end to this nonsense," Jessi continued, her tone shifting to forced brightness, "I talked to Mrs. Higgins this morning. She's arranged a date for you with the Miller girl from the next town over. Her father owns the big dairy farm. You're meeting her on Saturday."

The word "date" hit Bart's ears, and a wave of pure, suffocating irritation washed over him.

He shoved the passenger door open with enough force to make the hinges groan.

"I'm not going," Bart ground out, his voice thick with suppressed anger. "I'm not interested in the Miller girl, or any girl you set up."

He stepped out of the truck and slammed the door shut before Jessi could scream a reply. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked away, his long strides eating up the distance toward the edge of town.

Fifteen minutes later, Bart pushed through the heavy, grease-stained doors of Old Joe's Auto Repair.

The air inside was thick with the smell of motor oil, exhaust fumes, and cheap tobacco. It was his sanctuary.

His two best friends, Spider and Grit, were leaning over the open hood of a beat-up Chevy, their hands covered in black grease.

They looked up as Bart walked in. Seeing the dark, murderous cloud hanging over his head, they exchanged a quick, knowing look.

Spider wiped his hands on a dirty rag and tossed a cold, sweating bottle of beer from a nearby cooler to Bart.

Bart caught it effortlessly.

Grit leaned against the Chevy's fender, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"So," Grit started, his voice dripping with amusement. "The whole town is buzzing, Hawkins. They say you had the Thornton girl pinned down on her own front lawn. Giving her a real good kissing."

Bart popped the metal cap off the bottle with his teeth and spit it onto the concrete floor. He tipped his head back and downed half the freezing liquid in one long swallow, letting the cold burn his throat.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let out a harsh, cold laugh.

"It was a damn accident," Bart sneered, his voice loud and dismissive. "I tripped. You think I'd willingly put my mouth on that crazy bitch? I'd rather kiss a stray dog."

Spider and Grit burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. They bought the lie completely.

"Man, I don't blame you," Spider chuckled, picking up a wrench. "She's completely lost her mind. Throwing herself in the river because Julian Sloan wouldn't give her the time of day. Pathetic."

"Yeah," Grit chimed in, shaking his head. "She's got a pretty face, I'll give her that. But there's absolutely nothing going on upstairs. Just a brainless, desperate little tease."

The words hit Bart's ears, and something inside him violently snapped.

A sudden, blinding surge of rage flooded his veins. His grip on the glass beer bottle tightened until his knuckles turned bone-white. The muscles in his forearms coiled like steel springs.

Without a word of warning, Bart raised his arm and slammed the bottom of the glass bottle down onto the metal workbench.

BANG!

The sound was deafening in the garage. The glass didn't shatter, but the force sent a spray of foam and beer shooting into the air.

Spider and Grit jumped back, their laughter dying instantly in their throats. They stared at Bart in absolute shock.

Bart's eyes were pitch black, burning with a terrifying, lethal intensity. He took a slow step toward them.

"Shut your damn mouths," Bart said. His voice wasn't a yell. It was a low, deadly whisper that carried more threat than a scream. "If I hear either of you say another word about her, I'll break your jaws. She might be an idiot, but she's not a tease, and she's none of your business."

The garage was dead silent. The only sound was the drip of spilled beer hitting the concrete.

Spider and Grit swallowed hard, nodding slowly. They had never seen Bart defend anyone like this. Let alone a Thornton.

Bart realized he was breathing heavily. He saw the shock in his friends' eyes and realized he had just completely exposed himself.

He cursed violently under his breath. He turned his back on them, grabbed a heavy wrench off the table, and walked toward the darkest corner of the garage. He slid under a rusted chassis and began violently yanking on a stuck bolt, desperate to use the physical pain in his muscles to drown out the terrifying truth in his heart.