“Don’t touch the pan, Jakey. They’re still too hot.”

Jake ignored his mother’s warning, his chubby fingers reaching for a cookie as soon as she turned her back to get milk out of the icebox. Seconds later, he had his hand in his mouth, sucking fingertips that felt like they were on fire.

Mum turned her head, tossing her long, black braid over one slim shoulder. Instead of scolding or screaming, she sighed, pulling him over to the sink with a gentle tug. With a shake of her head, she took his hand out of his mouth and ran it under the blissfully cool stream. He grabbed her braid with his other hand, the shiny heavy weight of it distracting him as always. He loved his mother’s hair. It smelled like rain, something magical in his hot, dry world.

She smiled and set him down on the counter. “Wait right here and I’ll get a bandage.”

He liked sitting on the counter, letting his feet swing. Before Mum could get two steps, there was a rumble as a Rover drove into the yard. Then another. And another.

Jake bounced in place. Visitors were rare. More than one, an unheard-of treat. But Mum frowned.

“John?” she called out, stepping to the open door.

Jake turned around, getting to his hands and knees to look out through the screen where his father was already emerging from his shop, wiping his big hands on a rag.

“What are you doing here, Darnell?” he asked the man that stepped out of the first Rover. Jake couldn’t really see the stranger from this angle. Doors boomed one after the other as more men got out of the other vehicles. There were lots of them.

“Now, Harris.” The voice was cool. “Don’t play dumb. Even though it suits you well enough. What kind of idiot tries to steal from me?”

“Darnell, I—” But for once his slick-talking father seemed at a loss for words.

“Stay here, Jake,” Mum said. “Stay inside and don’t leave this house, no matter what happens, you hear me?” Her fingers dug into his shoulder hard, almost painfully. Sometimes Dad’s hands were mean, but never Mum’s. Her touch was always soft, always. Jake swallowed past the sudden fear in his throat, past the urge to grab on to his mother with both hands and keep her from going out into that yard. But he only nodded silently.

He turned back to the hole in the screen as Mum stepped outside, her hand closing over the shotgun they kept by the door.

“What did he take this time?” Jake could feel the resignation in his mother’s voice, the battered pride, even if he couldn’t recognize its source. “Whatever it is, I promise you, we’ll get it back. But you need to leave.” She swung the shotgun up and cocked it.

Instead of looking alarmed, a few of the men chuckled, eyeing Mum in a way that made the back of Jake’s neck hot and itchy.

“Natalie, get back in the house. Now.” Dad had found his voice and it was rough and sharp.

The man in the hat waved a hand that flashed with rings. Someone dashed between Jake and his mother, a shadow against the screen. He hadn’t seen anyone come so close to the house. Neither had Mum. He didn’t have time to shout a warning before the man grabbed her from behind, slamming his arm down on her wrists. She dropped the shotgun into the dirt with a soft cry. Another wave of that sparkling hand and she was shoved forward, pushed to her knees. Jake watched Dad’s big hands tighten into fists. Why wasn’t he stopping the men? They shouldn’t touch Mum like that. Not with mean hands.

Jake’s own fingers curled into his fat palms, not feeling the sting as his burn blister popped.

“This your sheila, Harris?” Jake didn’t like the way the man was looking at Mum. He could see the one talking now. The one Dad had called Darnell. He was an ordinary man, medium height, brown hair, tanned skin. Smaller than Jake’s father and completely forgettable. Except for that cool, slithery look that made Jake’s skin crawl. “My, my. You do have an eye for quality merchandise, I’ll give you that.”

“This is between us. Leave my wife out of it, Darnell!” The note of panic in Dad’s deep voice had spread. Turning almost to . . . fear. But that couldn’t be right. Dad never got scared. Not even when Stace had fallen from the tree that time and come face-to-face with a brown snake. Dad had grabbed the snake by the tail and thrown it into the side of the shed, quick as you please. No, Dad never got scared.

Never ever ever.

“You need a lesson about touching another man’s things, Harris. You just don’t seem to learn.” The man was stroking Mum’s braid, those flashy rings winking in the light. Jake’s stomach started to cramp. “I’ve a thought on how to teach you.”

He nodded and several of the men who had been lounging next to the Rovers stepped forward. Darnell moved back, leaving Mum to the other men, who had started to smile as they surrounded her.

Those smiles made the pain in Jake’s stomach worse. He curled up, stifling a whimper. But he couldn’t make his eyes leave that hole in the screen.

“No.” Dad finally exploded.

Dad was a strong man. Jake had always been proud of how big and strong his dad was. One of the few things about Dad that made him proud. But when the fists stopped flying, John Harris hung limply between two other men, looking half his normal size. Darnell yanked his father’s head back. Blood and snot dripped down the battered face, darkening the dust of the yard like the rain did when it came.

“You need to watch, Harris. I can’t be sure the lesson will sink in if you don’t watch.”

The men dragged Mum to the steps of the shop. Then they pushed her down. There was the sound of tearing fabric, laughter and grunts.

Jake couldn’t see what they were doing. But whatever it was, it was making Mum scream. He put his hands over his ears and curled up on the well-scrubbed tile, but the sound kept digging into his skull like a thousand fire ants, burning and buzzing and hot. Worse than the cramping in his stomach. He closed his eyes tight and rocked back and forth, trying to make it stop.

When the shot came a long while later, Jake jumped. The awful sounds stopped. He should have been relieved. The silence was blissful. Eventually voices rumbled again, though he couldn’t make out what was being said. Then engines started. He told himself it was over.

The bad stuff was all over. But his heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Finally, he opened his eyes and dared to peek through the screen again. Mum lay crumpled on the shop steps, a dark stain running down the cement from between her legs. The lingering pain in his head faded, bleaching into nothing, like the white glare of the sun overhead bleaching the color from the sky. His racing heart went still, slowing until he could feel every individual beat, like the drums when they watched the aborigines dance.

Boom.

He watched as the men left, leaving Dad facedown in the dirt. The rumbling growl of the Rovers faded.

Boom.

He watched as the blood dripping down the steps slowed and stopped.

The dust started to settle. Neither of his parents moved.

Boom.

For a long while, Jake didn’t move either. Then he scooted backward off the counter until his toes brushed the floor. He let go and headed deeper into the house. One step in front of the other, watching the dust motes dance in the golden afternoon air. He didn’t call out. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly where his twin was.

The heavy cotton bed skirt tickled his face as he crawled under his parents’ bed. It was cool and dark after the heat of the kitchen. Jake blinked, his ears still ringing with the sound of Mum’s screams. When he could finally focus, the first thing he saw was his twin’s face. It was streaked with tears, her blue eyes huge. One small fist was shoved in her mouth.

“It’ll be okay, Stacie.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Scary. But he said it again.

He was only five years old. So he almost believed what he was saying. Almost. He put his arm around his sister’s shaking shoulders. They curled up together, dark heads tucked in close, like they had in their mother’s womb. The two of them as still as the bodies in the yard.

That was where the fire brigade found them hours later. The kitchen had caught fire. A neighbor, already concerned by the unusual traffic coming and going, had seen the smoke. It was a miracle they were found at all, the papers had said. Jake didn’t believe in miracles. Because if miracles were real, someone would have saved his mother.

Dad was gone. So was their mother’s body.

Six years later, Dad would show up and steal them from the foster home they’d been sent to. But Jake and Stacia had been working on the plan long before then.

At the time, they’d only had a name. A name Jake made sure they repeated every night so they wouldn’t forget.

Darnell.