Dad smiled. “Now choose your care.”
I didn’t have to think about it. I knew which one I’d choose.
Fate had made this easy for me. My eyes narrowed, and I pointed my knife toward the man known as Poverty.
Lincoln pointed to the older man, leaving the woman for Chandler. Thank God, he picked the gun. He could make it quick.
Our dads each stood behind our respective ‘cares’ and grabbed a handful of their hair, holding them in place. They looked at us with a dark challenge in their eyes.
My dad was the one to speak next. “It’s time. Rid us of these burdens.”
Before I’d turned fourteen years old, I knew what it felt like to slice a man’s throat.