Page 23 of Fatal Fantasy

Just like when Tyson showed up at the spa, calling me baby girl, my heart flips in my chest, a wave of butterflies reminding me that this is really happening.

“Every time I said your names he added two more …” I start, sitting up and lifting the sweatshirt off my back, finally feeling brave enough to reveal the depths my father went to in order to gain my compliance.

“Baby girl, you don’t have to,” Tyson says, but I shake my head, appreciating his fierce defense of me, as well as allowing me to share what I want at my own pace.

Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop, and when we linked our pinkies together, it unlocked something that I never thought I’d have again – the ability to trust.

“There’s six new ones. After that, I had to pretend you didn’t exist, and became a compliant prisoner in order to negotiate my freedom. Until today, it’d been six months since your names left my lips, but in that moment, I knew it was you, Jasper. I wasn’t safe by any means, but my heart felt the home it’d been missing all this time,” I say, confessing every thought I had, spewing every detail I deem relevant until I lose the ability to speak.

“What about the man you’re supposed to marry?” Tyson slides the sweatshirt down my back, his gentle touch covering the scars and returning my modesty.

Sighing, I prepare to explain the next chapter of this story, the one that will likely send them both on a violent rampage.

Not only are they protective, they’re possessive as hell, and describing the arrangement with Vincent will turn my boys into the monsters they were born to be, but I’m not sure how much strength I have left in me to explain his role in all of this – and what he made me do.

TEN

TYSON

Usually I can keep calm, allowing Massi to be the half of us that snaps at the drop of a hat, but listening to Carter, and seeing her scars, is turning my vision redder than the devil’s ass.

Admittedly, I would love nothing more than to wrap my hands around her pathetic father’s throat, snuffing the life from him way faster than he deserves.

Instead, I stuff down the violent fantasies, choosing to be present while Carter dictates what to share, and staying neutral in order to comfort her when she needs.

That fighting spirit is still there, lying dormant beneath all the trauma she’s endured, but she’s not convinced that there’s anything resembling strength left in her body, only proving how bad she had it while we were apart.

It takes a lot to brainwash a person, to change the way they think – especially about themselves – but Carter’s been through the most brutal form of torture, by someone she thought would never hurt her.

As much as I don’t want to know, for my own sanity, I have to ask about the groom-to-be.

In order to understand every single thing she’s had to deal with in our absence, I have to listen while she highlights the horrors, something I never thought I’d be strong enough to withstand, but for Carter, I’d endure any storm just to find her beneath the rainbow.

“What about the man you’re supposed to marry?” I change the subject, covering her scars and pulling her into my chest, letting my arms act as defense against what she’s afraid to say aloud.

As soon as the words leave my lips I feel her deflate, the deep sigh leaving her chest a clear sign that this is another heavy topic, and I’m desperately waiting for the moments we can share that are light-hearted, like we used to.

“Vincent. He’s not as bad as someone else would be,” she says, recoiling at the sound of his name, but attempting to play it off like no big deal.

“Did he …” I start but she cuts me off, shaking her head and turning up to look in my eyes, a desperate plea behind her baby blues to let this go, but I won’t.

Anyone who hurt her, or made her feel like death was the better option, will feel my wrath, something I rarely ever let loose, but will be happy to do in order to get retribution against any person who brought my girl to the lowest point of her life.

“Don’t, Tyson. Don’t ask me that,” she whispers, but I take her chin between my fingers, staring down at her until she realizes that I will not let her live alone with this for another second.

“Carter,” I warn, but the second her name leaves my lips, tears slip down her cheeks, furthering the devastation I feel in my bones as she details more of what happened to her.

Sitting here, listening while she speaks, or shows off her scars, has taken every bit of grace I possess not to lash out, something she’s truly never seen from me since I tend to leave the irrational behavior up to Massi.

Surprisingly, he’s been stiff as a board, completely silent through this conversation, only consoling Carter with slight touches and reminders of her strength.

It’s as if we’ve switched positions or swapped bodies, our reactions to this groundbreaking information in complete contrast of how we’d normally react.

“My father made it clear that he wasn’t allowed to sleep with me until after the wedding, but he walked in on me changing during those first few days of our newfound predicament and found a bargaining chip,” she recalls, her eyes fluttering shut as she searches deep within herself to reveal the darkest truths to us.

“What did he see?” I reply instantly, keeping this line of communication open, hoping that she doesn’t find a reason to shut down, or worse, shut us out.

“Your names on my skin,” she mutters, like that moment we shared is something to be ashamed of, but I keep my rage in check, waiting until she finds the courage to finish.