Chapter 12 #2
The party is in a house outside of town, barely ten minutes from Del Mar, but the moment we step inside, I see familiar faces. Heat and noise crash over me. The music thumps through the floorboards and through my ribs.
Knox’s hand is locked around mine as he pulls me through the crowd.
We reach the edge of the room near the sofa, where the same people are sprawled across it like on a night when Judas took me out.
Mina. Axel. Dahlia. When I turn my head, I spot Nico and Harper tangled together on the dance floor, moving under the flashing lights.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Mina says to Knox.
“Cut it, Mina. She’s with me,” he says, tugging me down onto his lap as he sits.
Dahlia coughs the word “Slut” through her breath.
They both laugh.
My eyes scan the room, expecting to see Judas step out of a doorway. But instead, Nico’s gaze meets mine for a second, then he looks away.
“What did you just call me?” I snap, trying to stand, but Knox’s arm tightens around my waist.
“Here. For the nerves.” Axel presses a drink into my hand, laughing.
I take a sip. The burn slides down my throat. Knox’s hand is already creeping under my dress. I push it away and stand, but he drags me back down. When my head dips close to his, he murmurs, “Look how hard you’re making me.”
I feel him against my thigh as I shift, every movement pinned by his grip. Each time I try to rise, he forces me back, this time pressing me down onto him. His hand holds me there, and the room starts spinning just a little.
“Damn, Knox,” Axel says. “Wanna share?” He laughs.
The lights smear. Voices stretch and blur, drifting in and out like they are underwater. My head drops against Knox’s shoulder.
“I’m pretty sure she’s down for it,” Knox laughs, lifting my skirt. “Damn.”
Axel steps closer and hooks an arm under mine, hauling me up. “Come on, baby girl. Let me take you to sleep.”
Dahlia slides toward Knox, unbuttoning his pants, her hand disappearing. He groans. “You go have fun. I’ll join later.”
“No,” I whisper, but my legs fold under me.
Axel scoops me up and carries me toward the stairs. He carries me to the second floor. No one stops him. They just watch, like nothing is happening. Like, this is all my fault.
Something was in the drink. Something that made my whole body go numb.
Axel opens the bedroom door and drops me onto a bed. The mattress sinks under me as he climbs over. I can feel his breath hot against my skin.
“I’m going to fuck your brains out, you little slut,” he whispers.
I push at his chest, but my hands barely move.
He shrugs off his shirt and leans down, mouth brushing my neck. He laughs above me. His grin makes my stomach knot because I know what comes next. I know I shouldn’t have come here. I can’t reach my phone. I can’t call anyone.
He yanks my thong down, forces my legs apart. I shake my head, my voice breaking.
“No.”
He doesn’t stop.
I feel the warmth of his hands, the space between my skin and his touch shrinking.
The door slams open, and it slams shut again.
I can’t see anything until blood sprays across my face.
Axel collapses to the floor. My head lolls to the side, the room tilting. And I can see a man standing there in a white ski mask.
He drives the knife down again into Axel’s chest. Again. And again.
I blink. My eyes blur, and 2014 floods back in. I remember it like it was just yesterday.
2014.
Justin took me to the basement.
He pushed me into the glass cage and snapped a collar around my neck. The metal was cold and had a green glow.
“If you scream,” he said, “I will turn it on.”
He pointed around the room, toward the wall beyond the glass. He told me this was where he kept the bad boys and girls who tried to fight him. His smile was evil. He knew he was untouchable because he was a cop.
Whatever game he was playing with our lives, I lost.
I tried to scream anyway.
The collar bit into my skin, burning my neck.
A jolt tore through my body. My knees gave out, and I hit the glass floor; the sound of my bones cracking against it was louder than my own voice. I dragged myself up and slammed my palms against the walls.
He slammed back from the other side, his face twisted, his mouth moving as he shouted towards me.
He told me no one would believe me. He told me he worked on these kinds of cases. He knew how stories like mine ended. That he would kill me, and no one would find the body.
He pulled me out of the cage and shoved me toward the stairs.
He told me he would do it again. And again. Until I stopped fighting.
So I stopped.
I let him hit me until my skin became dark shades of yellow and purple under his hands. Until every breath felt like it scraped my ribs on the way in. When he was finished, he threw the words at me like another strike.
“Get the fuck up and make us dinner.”
I tried.
My feet slid out from under me. The floor tilted. I went down.
The belt snapped across my back again. I gasped and forced my hands under me. I pushed. My arms shook. I got to my knees, then my feet. The world spun, but I kept moving. One step. Then another. The basement door was at the top, just a few steps away, yet it felt so far.
I reached it, opened it, and walked out.
Mom was in the living room, a bottle of whiskey loose in her hand. Her eyes narrowed at me, like she was trying to focus through fog.
“I want pasta,” she said, and stumbled toward the couch.
I swallowed.
The house was quiet. Sofia made no sound, so I told myself she was asleep.
I made it to the kitchen. The sink was full of dishes, and rotten food was still in it. I knew no one would wash it if I didn’t do it myself. But as I approached, movement caught my eye through the window.
There was a man in a white ski mask who circled the yard. He was tall, dressed in all black. The mask was the only thing that stood out.
He was looking for a way in.
I moved to the back door. My fingers found the lock and twisted it until it unlocked. I stepped away and returned to the sink like nothing had changed.
The door opened behind me.
A man came in and tilted his head as he came closer, holding a black hunting knife. His gloves were dark, marked with a shark symbol that flashed when the light hit them.
“Do it,” I whispered. “Kill me.”
My body betrayed me. I shook, but he didn’t do anything.
Instead of raising the knife, he reached out. His gloved fingers touched my chin and lifted my face. The bruises pulled tight under his hand. I flinched.
Justin’s voice cut through.
“Where is that little brat? Is she cooking?”
The man pressed a finger to my lips, shushing me.
He stepped back and leaned against the wall, waiting for him.
Justin came into the kitchen. The man dragged him down, and the knife flashed once, slicing his throat. Then again, making the blood spill across the floor.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
The man turned his head toward me. I couldn’t see his eyes through the mask, but I felt them on me anyway. I wanted to see them. I needed to.
I took a step.
My foot slid in the blood, and my head hit hard on the floor, making a white noise burst behind my eyes.
And I closed my eyes.