Wicked Scandal (Misfits #2)

Prologue

Breaking News: Willow Creek’s Mayor Jenkins Dead at Age 39.

Troy Jenkins, mayor of Willow Creek, was found deceased late last night from an apparent gunshot wound. Police crews were called to his home on Merry Lane at 10:13 p.m. after an anonymous call tipped off law enforcement. Investigators are working to determine if foul play is a factor in the mayor’s death.

This news comes as a shock, not only to the residents he served, but also to those who worked closely with him.

“Willow Creek will not be the same without him,” says life-long resident, Bob Denver.

Mayor Jenkins's former assistant, Beth Hill, also expressed her disbelief. “I have no words. It’s such a shock,” she told reporters. “Mayor Jenkins was such a generous and kind man. He’ll be deeply missed.”

Jenkins is one of two mayoral candidates in the 2024 election, set to be held November 8th. His opponent, Grant Cromwell, was not available for comment at this time; however, his campaign manager, Jillian Hancock, has informed reporters that he is prepared to step in as mayor of this beloved town.

Details to follow as they become available.

Catherine

Seven Months Earlier

October 19, 2023

My head snaps to the side, pain cutting across my face as my husband lashes out at me. He is usually more careful, more in control. He hardly ever hits me on the face, but apparently tonight I really pissed him off.

I already know what started this one. I was late. I got caught up with a student, helping him finish an essay he’s been working on. Even though Troy said he’d be working late tonight, I should have paid closer attention to the time. Nonetheless, he showed up in my classroom and pulled me away like a disobedient child. I’m not sure how I’ll ever face Wilder, my student, again. It was humiliating.

I take full responsibility, though. I should have known better. I’m just glad he waited until we got home to do anything about it. Had he hurt me at the school, I would never have been able to hide it. And I have become a professional at hiding.

Some days I don’t know what makes Troy rage. Was dinner too cold? Was the house not clean enough? It’s hard to put a finger on what sets him off. Though, I’ve learned the dos and don’ts with him over the years.

It’s not always like this. With the election year coming up, Troy is stressed. I’m not making excuses for his behavior, but the upcoming months before his campaign can be taxing for him.

This will mark our third election year together, and I know there is a light at the end of this very dark tunnel. I just hope I make it out alive because each term he gets worse. He never used to put his hands on me. It was alwaysjust a lot of yelling, but one day I yelled back and he snapped. For a while, though, I believed I deserved it.

But eight years and two terms later, I have realized that Troy’s anger has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him.

Troy’s hand shoots up in a fit of anger, his features twisted with rage. I instinctively flinch and lower my head, shrinking away from the blow of his open palm.

“You’re worthless, Catherine!” His blistering voice echoes off the walls of our bedroom just before he sends a sharp smack to the back of my head. “I don’t even know why I keep you around anymore.”

My ears ring and I stumble backward until my back collides with the closet door. I reach behind me, searching for the handle as hot tears of anger stream down my face. Sadness, terror, and agony no longer consume me. I haven’t felt those things in years.

Now, I only burn with an inexplicable fury. I’ve contained the rage that has been building inside me as I do what is demanded of me day in, day out. But I fear I’ll explode at any given moment and do something I’ll immediately regret. Or maybe I won’t regret it at all.

Pulling the door open, I step forward, jaw clenched as I glower back at him.

“Oh,” he laughs menacingly. “Are you going to hide now?” The cocksure grin on his face unnerves me.

Lips pressed tightly, I exhale through my flared nostrils. “I don’t hide. I simply walk away.”

“You hide. And the reason you hide is because you’re a coward. A worthless fucking coward.” He shakes his head disappointedly. “Come on, Catherine. Fight back. Hit me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Temptation claws at my insides. I’d love more than anything to punch him square in the face.

Troy steps into my space, his hot breath fanning my face as he laughs again. “You’re too much of a chicken shit, aren’t you? You thought you could stay back and help your little student, all the while letting me suffer at home alone. I should have put him in his place when I came to retrieve you. You are mine, Catherine.”

My hand shoots forward, fingers splayed wide as my palm connects with his cheek. I couldn’t help it. The thought of him hurting Wilder, or any of my students, makes the fury in my veins boil over.

Troy takes a step back, a hand going to his face where my palm left a red mark. I can’t allow him to think about it, though. If he realizes I reacted out of fear for someone else and not myself, he will have another thing to threaten me with, and soon, he would no longer be just my problem. I can’t let that happen.

My hands fly to my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Troy.” I reach for him, hoping to defuse the situation before it escalates. I watch his face, searching desperately for his temperament. He rolls his neck, teeth grinding. “Troy,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to…” I rub his arm, but he jerks it away.

Without warning, he yanks a handful of my hair and slams me against the wall. My skull jars with the impact, and I taste blood in my mouth as my cheek connects with the hard surface.

I cry out, barely recognizing the sound because it wasn’t intentional. I fight so hard not to show Troy the fear he’s instilled in me because it gives him power. I’m not usually one to take his beatings lying down, but lately, he’s gotten worse, and I feel the need to cower just to protect myself.

It’s too much—the pain, the heartbreak, the unknown.

I can’t do this anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say the words in my head, not even realizing I’ve said them out loud until Troy lets go of me, his face contorted in confusion.

“If that’s really how you feel, Catherine, then let me know when you’re ready to leave and your dirty little secret will be front-page news.”

Drawing my fingers around my lips, I glance down at them, noticing the blood dripping into my palm. It doesn’t even faze me. Bloodshed has become a common occurrence in this house.

I rub my fingertips together, spreading the sticky, warm blood between them. “You’re bluffing,” I hiss, unable to even look at the bastard I call my husband.

“Try me.” He laughs menacingly. “You’ll be a goner before you even get to the state border.” I catch a glimpse of him turning around, walking toward the bedroom door, my heart racing in anticipation of him leaving. But he pauses with his hand hovering over the doorknob, and I gulp. “We both know you’re not going anywhere, Catherine. Now go clean up the mess you made in the kitchen, and while you’re at it, throw away the chili you made. It tastes like shit.”

I prepared chili this morning in the slow cooker, knowing I wouldn’t have enough time since I was helping Wilder. I even made sure the kitchen was spotless. I washed the dishes, wiped down the counters, took out the trash, and even swept the floor three times. All that so this asshole could have a meal when he got home from work. Heaven forbid he makes himself something to eat.

If anyone’s worthless, it’s him. As the current mayor of Willow Creek, Troy is worshiped by many, but I know the real man behind the mask.

He’s cold and calculated. A narcissist in the worst form. He steals from the poor and keeps the rich richer. He preys on the weak and bargains for your soul. At least, that’s what he did to me. I can only hope one day I’m strong enough to bring this son of a bitch down. Only then will I truly be free from the cage he’s put me in.

As soon as his footsteps fade down the hallway, I tiptoe toward the door. Making sure to avoid the squeaky floorboards, I peek out into the empty hallway. With a sigh of relief, I gently lift up on the door handle to keep the hinges from making any noise as I close it.

After grabbing my cell phone off my dresser, I make my way back to my large walk-in closet and go inside. With the door closed, I drag the chain link lock I put on it a couple weeks ago, just in case I ever needed to bide my time to call the police. Not that I’m sure I would. Troy has made it clear what will happen if I ever try to leave him—my life will be over.

He isn't joking when he says I'll be arrested before I could leave him. Troy saved me from my darkest secret.

Some days, it sounds like a blessing. Other days, I know it’s a curse.

When Troy was first elected as mayor of the town, he gained the respect of everyone here. Within a matter of months, I watched the man I thought I loved transform into a beast I didn’t recognize.

Now here I am—crawling on my knees to the back wall in my closet to the only space I feel safe in my own home. I move behind a long row of evening gowns, settling in on the stack of blankets I’ve put down. Picking up a bottle of water I left back here last time, I twist the top off and take a swig, swishing it around in my mouth to erase the taste of blood on my tongue.

Peeling up a loose slab of carpet against the wall, I expose the floorboard where I cut a small square, creating a hiding space for necessities. I reach inside to pull out the metal box and I flip the clasp.

Inside is a pocketknife, a handgun I purchased last year—loaded and ready—a prepaid cell phone, instant ice packs, and a first aid kit. I take out one of the ice packs and shake to activate it.

Bringing the cool surface to my cheek, I flinch on impact. My eyes close and I relish the coolness against my battered face. The last thing I need is to show up to class with another bruise. I’ve done a fairly good job at hiding most of them, but after what Wilder witnessed tonight, I cannot allow for rumors to spread. If anyone ever tried to piece my life together and expose my husband, I’m not sure I would survive the fallout.

I have invested heavily in the right makeup to counter the bruises under any light. Troy is usually careful with where he hurts me when an event is coming up, but he has messed up a few times and left marks where people could see.

It’s the reason I invest in long gowns with long sleeves that cover most of my neck. Troy claims it’s because I’m modest. I, however, want to laugh at that. I would love to leave the house in the summer in anything but a turtleneck and pants, but he likes to make that damn near impossible, and I have to continue to cover myself so that none of my students notice.

Fortunately, I see these kids nine months out of their lives then they move on and I’m just a teacher in their pasts. One who probably didn’t even make a difference but certainly tried. No matter what shape I’m in, I always show up. Even if I hate that my career was chosen for me, I still try to give it my all because these kids deserve it.

I grab my phone on the floor beside me and bend my legs, bringing my knees to my chest as I open my SnapTok app. Seeing the smiles on other people’s faces is a nice distraction and a reminder that there is life out there waiting for me.

There’s one person in particular I enjoy watching. He’s my student, but it’s innocent. Nothing more than one person admiring another’s work. He also doesn’t know it’s me because my profile is private, and I never make my own content. Even though we've chatted on the app, I’ve kept my responses to a minimum without giving him any inclination of who I am.

Wilder has become quite the social media star with two hundred thousand followers. His videos are usually short and comical. Just random things he does that makes other people laugh. I can always count on smiling when I see him on my phone screen.

At the start of the school year, he expressed his need for help on an essay he was writing, and I offered to give him a hand with it. That’s when he told me about his passion for creating content and showed me his account. The next day, I created mine. I’ve been watching him ever since.

I tap his profile pic from the video and I go to his account so I can watch it again. As suspected, I’m taken away from my shitty life where I have to hide in my closet and put ice on the wounds my husband creates.

There’s a sort of peace I’ve found in social media. One I never thought was possible. Somehow, watching these other people live makes me feel like maybe one day I can find a way to do the same.

I catch myself smiling as I scroll through the last few days’ worth of videos, even though I’ve already watched them all a dozen times. There’s something about Wilder’s smile and zest for life that gives me hope. He’s nothing like his twin brother, Rome, who’s always raising hell at school. Wilder is different. He’s different from all of my students.

He’s a football star but doesn’t flaunt it. The girls all watch him with adoring eyes, but his face is always in a book or on his phone creating new content. He speaks like he wants to be taken seriously and raises his hand to answer most questions in my class. Something about him is just…different.

The more we worked together on his essay, the less Wilder felt like my student. Some days I felt like I had a new friend.

Troy never lets me have friends; he says he is the only one I should be focused on. But for a brief time with Wilder, things felt different. I felt different. For a moment, I had hope that my life was turning around for the better.

Except Troy crushed that hope tonight. I can’t help Wilder any longer. I fear what Troy might do to him. Even if it hurts, I have to put my walls back up and keep my distance. At least, in the real world, as Catherine Jenkins, I do.

CatEyes can be anyone she wants to be and talk to whomever she wants.

I type out a comment on his latest video, curious to see what his response is. Wilder always responds to his comments and he always says the sweetest things, even if he doesn’t know who’s on the other end of the words.

CatEyes: Good one! Can’t wait to see what you come up with next.

For the next few minutes, I escape the life I know. I’m metaphorically out of this house, away from him, and in a place of happiness.

Until I’m pulled back to reality.

“Dammit.” I hear Troy holler. “Get your ass out here, Catherine. I spilled my fucking drink.”

Just like that, I’m back in the closet, back in this house, and still married to that monstrous man.

Crawling out of my safe space, I put my phone back on my dresser, knowing it’s never safe on my person. I leave the closet—then the room—my heart thudding in my throat.

Slow, measured steps lead me down the polished wood hallway of our picture-perfect Victorian home. The walls are adorned with photos of mine and Troy's wedding, along with vibrant paintings. To the world, we’re in a happy marriage, madly in love. Yet, instead of these walls echoing with laughter and happiness, all that lingers is a somber, heavy silence.

When I reach the kitchen, I see Troy rubbing his shirt down with a kitchen towel. “What the hell took you so long?” he grumbles.

Head down, I approach the puddle of sweet tea at his feet. I was never a timid woman, but I have found that if I raise my eyes to Troy’s, he finds a way to make it a challenge. So, I do my best to be the obedient meek, adoring wife he needs until I can find a way to get out of here. “I’m sorry,” I say in a hushed tone. “I was just cleaning up.”

Troy tosses the towel in his hand to the puddle. “Good. Now you can clean this mess up, too. Had you not stacked the dishes so goddamn high, they wouldn’t have fallen over and spilled my drink.” There are no dishes on the counter so I have no idea what he could even be talking about. But it doesn’t matter. He knows and that’s it.

Gritting my teeth, I drop to my knees like a servant. Just as I grab the towel, Troy puts the sole of his shoe on my head, pushing until my face is lying in the cold puddle. My face and head hurt from the other injuries he caused tonight. The sweet taste of sugar seeps onto my tongue, my body trembling as my breaths grow tight.

“Troy, please,” I beg kindly when all I really want to do is reach up and grab him by the balls and make him be the one to have to beg for mercy. “Just let me clean this up so we can go to bed.”

Forcing pressure, my face grinds against the tiled floor. “You’re calling in tomorrow. I need you here. I want the entire house cleaned and a nice home-cooked meal on the table when I get home from work. We’re having company.”

“No,” I blurt out with my lips squished together like a fish. “I can’t miss work, Troy. You promised you’d never interfere with my job.”

Pushing a little harder, he leans down. “What can I say? Politicians lie and so do husbands. But you wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Catherine?”

I swallow hard, feeling a hard lump lodged in my throat. “No,” I answer him, because if I don’t, I know he’ll step harder on my head, and while I would be okay with dying right now, I’d prefer not to go down like this.

My heart hurts fiercely. My soul is wounded. My body battered. I’m not sure what I did to deserve a life like this, but I hope one day it all makes sense.

Tears stream down my face as a sob escapes. I can’t hold out any longer. I cry for the woman inside of me who knows this isn't right but has no idea how to stop it. I cry for others Troy has abused with his power. But most of all, I cry because as much as I want to live, I also want to die.

Life has never been fair to me. My parents didn't care that I existed and kept me in boarding schools year-round so they never had to deal with me. The last time I saw them was the day I graduated and they showed up just to pay the final bill and tell me they wouldn't be paying for my college.

That led to desperation, and a willingness to do anything in order to create a life for myself. I got into college and that was where I made the biggest mistake of my life.

I will never forget the sound of those three gunshots.

Suddenly, the pressure from my face is relieved and Troy crouches down beside me. He looks concerned, worried even. “Are you crying, Catherine?”

I raise my head slightly off the floor, knowing if I make quick movements, he’ll be triggered. Troy doesn’t like when he doesn’t have all my attention when he’s giving me his.

“Honey.” He places his hand on my sticky, wet cheek as I lick the sweet tea from my lips. “I’m so sorry.”

Here we go. Use. Abuse. Gaslight. Now the apologies.

As if he could erase everything he did with those words. Words he doesn’t mean.

I’m all too familiar with how Troy behaves. For the longest time, I fell into the trap. Troy made me believe I deserved his brutality. I was putty in his hand. He played with me—molded me. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that I realized this isn’t love. It never was, and it never will be.

Troy grabs my head and cradles it against his chest. His fingers stroke through my matted, damp hair. “I didn’t mean it, honey. I had a hard day at work today.”

“I’m sorry you had a bad day.” The lie slips off my tongue like sweet honey. It’s best this way. Honesty might actually kill me.

“I know you are, Catherine. And that’s why I know tomorrow, you’ll do as I’ve asked. This is important to me, therefore it should be important to you, too.”

He lets go of my head and I raise it off his chest, feeling so disgusted with myself for even sitting here on this floor with sweet tea stained on my skin and his slimy hands holding me. “Okay.” I nod slowly. “I’ll get a substitute tomorrow.”

A smile spreads across his wicked face. “I’m the luckiest man alive, Catherine. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I didn’t mean what I said earlier.” His fingers stroke my cheek tenderly. “I’ll always protect your secret because I love you. And I know how grateful you are that I saved you from a life of misery all those years ago.”

He looks at me, awaiting praise for his good deed. “I am.” I gulp. “So grateful. Thank you for…thank you for saving me.”

“That’s my good wife.” He pats my head like I’m a fucking lap dog. “Why don’t you mop these floors and meet me in the shower. I could use a nice release after the stress you bestowed on me tonight.”

Of course it’s my fault. It always is. And now I have no choice but to go pretend to enjoy having sex with this bastard.

Troy kisses the top of my head as he stands. Once he’s on his feet, he pulls open the drawer above my head and tosses another towel at me. “Don’t take too long. You know I don’t enjoy waiting.”

The second he’s gone, I curse under my breath. “One day you will pay, Troy Jenkins. If it’s the last thing I do, you will pay.”