He shoves his knee between my groin, yanking my head back again. “Shut up, bitch, and you only talk when I say you can talk.” His features even out, and he smiles at me like a bona fide psychopath. “Chris discovered us watching our home movies. We filmed all the boys over the years, and I always recorded my extracurricular activities to show Mom and Dad. They were always so proud of me.” His creepy smile freaks me the fuck out, and I’m only now seeing the real Clayton Cooper.
“Kent’s video was Anna’s favorite,” he goes on, and all the blood drains from my face. “She loved watching him bleed as I destroyed his ass.” His crotch is in my face, and the bulge tenting his jeans makes me sick.
“Bet she loved watching him come all over your hand more,” one of the assholes behind Clay says, and they all laugh. Rage thunders through me, and I wish I could get at his gun so I could riddle them full of bullets.
“That was my favorite part,” another asshole says.
“Hearing him cry and scream wasmyfavorite part,” Beardy says, and I squeeze my eyes shut, silently telling myself to hold it together. They are giving us what we need. The FBI is listening in, and they will intervene soon.
“He fucking loved it,” Clay says, thrusting his disgusting groin in my face. “He fucking loved my dick in his ass, just like Chris did.” He leans down, putting his face all up in mine. “Most of those times Chris crawled into your bed in the middle of the night, it was after I’d taken his ass over and over again. All those times he curled around you, tried to lose himself in you, it was because he couldn’t forgetme. I was a part of him, and he fucking loved it. You were the consolation prize, Pres. Never anything more.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I hiss, losing the tenuous hold on my emotions. “He hated you. I didn’t understand it before, but it’s crystal clear now.”
He slaps me across the face, and my head whips back. My cheek stings, but I grit my teeth, making no sound.
“Want to know how we kept him in line?” he continues as if he hasn’t just slapped me. “After we beat the crap out of him for daring to try and blackmail us, I told Chris if he ever went to the cops or told another living soul what he knew that I would kill you. Why else do you think I hung around you? It wasn’t because I enjoy your boring company or that I wanted you because you don’t have the right equipment, baby.” He rakes a derogatory gaze down over my body.
That’s why Chris kept coming around. He was checking up on me. Making sure I was okay. That Clay hadn’t done anything to hurt me. Chris was trying to protect me, in his own messed-up way. Pain slams into my gut, almost winding me.
“But I’m gonna make an exception tonight.” He grabs my chin, digging his nails into my flesh, breaking skin. “Because you’re going to pay for betraying me with that cunt Kennedy.” His eyes flash manically. “I fucking protected you, Presley! Things could’ve been so much worse for you growing up, but I kept you safe, and this is how you repay me?” He yells the end part, slapping me hard across the face. “Give it to me,” he hisses, and one of the assholes hands him a cell phone. He thrusts it in my face. “You left me bleeding on the fucking floor while you went running off into the night after that fucking cunt!” he roars, playing the video from the night of the bar attack for me.
“My only regret is not killing you myself that night,” I say, my tone cold and calm. “And in every situation, I would pick Kent over you.”
He rams his fist into my face, and blood spurts from my nose. Stars explode behind my eyes as pain rattles through my skull.
“I don’t enjoy fucking women, but I’m gonna fuck you, li’l heartbreaker. I’m gonna fuck every hole. We all are. We’re gonna make you bleed worse than we made Kennedy bleed that night in the alley. We’ll record it, of course, and make sure Kennedy gets a copy so he knows there is nothing of his we won’t destroy if he doesn’t cooperate. We’ll keep you as insurance until he plays ball. Then we’ll dump your dead ass at his door as a reminder to keep his silence or more people he loves will die.”
“But first,” he adds, scrolling his finger over the keypad on his phone while one of the assholes fumbles with the button on my jeans. “Here’s a little video to get you in the mood.” He steps aside to give his buddy space to remove my jeans, shoving the cell at me again, grinning wickedly as horror washes over me.
The image has changed, and I cry out as I see a teenage Kent being slammed into a wall. “No!” I scream, squeezing my eyes closed. I can’t watch this. The video continues, and the sounds of Kent’s struggle fill my ears, as he tries to fight the group of men off. Tears roll down my face, and I’m officially done. I have reached my breaking point. The FBI has enough, and I’m betting they are on their way. “Phoenix!” I shout out the code word as I lift my legs, kicking the guy crouched in front of me in the head before using my body weight to push my chair back. I slam to the ground, still tied to the chair, legs up in the air as bullets rain through the window and shouting echoes around me.
A loud crash from behind confirms the cavalry has arrived.
“You fucking whore!” Clay shouts as a swarm of FBI agents rushes into the room.
My eyes widen as he stands over me, gun pointed at my face. “Do it, Clay. I’ve made my peace with it. You’ve lost, and that’s all that counts.” His finger curls around the trigger, and I silently beg Kent to forgive me as my last moments are consumed with thoughts of him. I pray he heals and moves forward with his life.
A shot rings out, and I scream.
CHAPTER FORTY
Kent
“Are you nervous?” Dr. O’Dwyer—my personal therapist—asks as I wait in the meeting room for my family to arrive.
I wet my dry lips and nod.
“It will be okay, Kent,” Nancy says, fixing me with a reassuring smile. “I will stop the session if it upsets you too much. Your family is visiting for a few days, and we don’t need to cover everything at once.”
She told me to call her by her first name, if I liked, and it’s helped me to see her as more than just my doctor. I thought it would be difficult talking to a stranger about the stuff that happened to me, and there are times where it’s a struggle, but mostly it’s been easier than I expected. I’ve locked this shit up inside me for a long time, and now the walls have come crashing down, I’ve no desire to rebuild them. Although it’s painful, I need to get the words out.
It’s been over three weeks since I arrived at this private rehab facility in the mountains of Arizona, an hour outside Phoenix. My parents chose this place because it treats addiction and PTSD and they hire top experts in their field to provide a truly holistic approach to treatment. They offer a wide range of alternative therapies too, and they have a pool, basketball court, large gym, and a running track on the grounds of the twenty-acre site. It’s peaceful here. We’re completely shut off from the outside world and I didn’t realize how much I needed that.
I’m halfway into my forty-five-day program, and it’s family week, which means the first group meeting with my family is due to commence in minutes. My foot taps off the beige carpeted floor of the small room as I anxiously wait for them to arrive, thinking of everything that’s happened since I got here.
The first two weeks of my stay were largely focused on detoxification, and this is the first time in years I am completely sober and clean.
Not gonna lie; it’s been hell on Earth.
