Her vitriol unleashed, she continues, “You assholes better get your shit together. I promise nothing but a reign of hell on this school if something isn’t done about this!” Swinging her arms, she knocks books off the desks around her as she stomps her Jimmy Choos against the laminated floor, like a two-year-old. The guy closest to her picks her up and carries the screaming teenage toddler out of the room.
I want to be gleeful at her being rejected, but I can’t. They say be careful what you wish for because you might get it. My wish just landed my ass in a pool of potential brides.
Fuck my life!
A throat clears, garnering my attention. “Sooo, are you going to open the box orrrrr?” Shay’s nosey ass asks.
“So, are we going to ignore that I was just forced into some archaic bride game?” I retort back.
“Pshh, we can worry about that clusterfuck after you look in the damn box.”
Mumbling back at her, “So much for pussy solidarity and best friendships and shit. No, this one wants to know what’s in the box. You nosey bitch.”
“Takes one to know one, ho. Now open that shit up.” I glare at her, and she smirks back.
I take in the room, examining what the girls got in their boxes?earrings. Big fat five-carat princess cut diamond earrings. Pulling it open, I expect much of the same. Instead, a rose gold necklace with two kissing diamond encrusted skulls stares back at me.
Whistling, Shay says, “Holy shit Ry! That’s beautiful whichever heir chose you." She sighs. “Just damn!”
Looking at the necklace and then gazing at the heirs, I know it wasn’t Wes or Lev. Those two fuckers wouldn’t choose me, and I wouldn’t want them to. That leaves Wyatt or Owen.Wait.I thought there were only four heirs, but five girls were chosen. Who the hell is the fifth heir, and did they pick me? Just another thing to add to my long list of questions.
I swear, with every answer I get, I find five new questions. The most pressing, at this moment, what the hell will my life be now that I’ve been selected?
31
OWEN
“No, please, stop.” My hands are tied behind my back. The men never listen to my pleas. Why hasn’t my dad come for me? I’ve been here for five days, each day worse than the day before.
“Shut the fuck up, kid. Do what you’re told, or you know what happens next.”
I try to stifle my cries. Each kick to my back cracks my ribs. I can barely catch my breath. I dig my nails into the bare skin of my legs, hoping to refocus the pain. That’s what Daddy told me to do if this ever happened. But it isn’t working. Streams of tears flow down my face, mixing with the dirt and old, caked blood.
The whirring of a whip zings through the air, connecting with my bare bottom, tearing at the already blistering skin.
I can’t hold it back. I wail out a cry.
“What did I say, you little shit,” the disgusting, sloppy one says. He always smells like old used kitty litter and stale beer.
I know what’s coming next. He loosens his belt buckle, and pops the button of his three sizes too-small pants.
I sob uncontrollably, sucking in stucco breaths. My stomach roils as he approaches.“Noooo, pleaseee. I’ll be good. I promise.”
I know it won’t matter. His grubby hands reach for my face. I won’t open my mouth otherwise.
“Open up, you rich piece of shit. If your father did what he was told, you wouldn’t be here now.”
* * *
Gasping for air,I catapult out of my sleep. The dreams are back. Cool air hits my feverish skin as pools of sweat roll off me.
It has to be the fucking selection. Stress is the only thing that brings on the dreams. I’ve worked hard to forget that week of my life. The intricate tattoos lining my skin mask the scars, the feel of my blade slicing through skin feeds the monster, and the cries of people’s pain soothe my soul. It’s my version of therapy.
Climbing out of bed, I head to the bathroom and wash my face. I need therapy.Fine. Throwing on a pair of gray lounge pants, I grab my case of knives and head to my basement.
Entering the code, I pull open the door. Whimpers greet me as I flick on the lights. A row of bright beams illuminate the concrete walls and the metal slab the whining woman is strapped to currently.
“Did you miss me, Pamela?” I beam down at her prone form.
