Chapter Twenty Five
Bridgette
The day I’ve been dreading is here. The rescheduled date. My father called me this morning and informed me that Thomas would be picking me up straight from my dorm, and that I better be presentable. He also instructed me to be a good girl for him. We both knew what that meant, and it made my stomach roil instantly.
I’ve been texting Asher for hours, hoping I can pull off some kind of excuse again to delay. Even if I left pissed the last time. Unfortunately, the asshole won’t return my messages.
Me: What are you doing today?
Me: Do you want to get together?
Me: I’ll suck you off until you see stars.
Me: Asher, answer me.
Me: We can do whatever you want! Please.
Me: I need your help, please. Asher…
I attempt to send one more, but it fails. What the fuck? I hit call when a strange sound comes through instead of ringing. Blocked. Are you fucking kidding me? He blocked me? This is not happening.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, sending a message to Jeremy.
Me: Want to hook up tonight?
It takes ten minutes for him to respond, and when he does, my stomach flips.
Jeremy: This is Jeremy’s mother. He is currently in the hospital. He will not be ‘hooking up’ with anyone, Miss Brenton.
Cool. Just pissed off an Elder wife. As if this night couldn’t get any worse. Jeremy is in the hospital? What happened to him? I know I won’t get answers from his mom, so I set my phone down before hearing it buzz to life. I practically jump for it, praying it’s Asher. Unfortunately, it’s not.
Thomas: I’m here, sweet girl
Swallowing roughly, I look down at the red satin dress I put on. I got ready as a backup plan, but it looks like that is my only plan now. Fuck. Slipping my phone and key card into my silver clutch, I step out of my room and into the hallway. There, just a few feet away, is Thomas. He is smiling at me with his hands in his pockets of his slacks while his eyes devour every inch of flesh I have on display. Which I’ll admit is not much. I tried to select my most conservative dress without being too obvious.
He holds out his hands for me to take as he pulls me in and kisses my cheek. His rough stubble scratches against me before pulling away.
“You look divine.”
“Thank you,” I say with a dip of my head.
I keep my eyes on the ground, a move he notices as he chuckles and lifts my chin up until I meet his gaze.
“Nervous, sweet girl?”
Something like that.
He smirks, like he finds me adorable. He should. He’s the one who taught me how to tie my fucking shoes. Tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow, he walks us down the hallway and to the elevator. With his head held high, he struts through campus like he’s performing a victory lap after winning the ultimate prize. Granted, it’s already much better treatment than what I receive with Asher, but the slimy feeling that’s left in wake of his touch doesn’t make it feel that way.
We walk to his Lincoln town car, his driver already in the front as we slip into the back seat.
“Where to, sir?” his driver asks.
“16ninteythree will be good,” Thomas says as he shuts the door.
The car takes off almost immediately, and I don’t even have time to put on my seatbelt before Thomas is curling his arm around my shoulders. I try to pull away subtly, but he pulls me right back to him.
“Why are you being shy, Bridgette? It’s just me.” He smiles like he’s enjoying my discomfort.
“This is all just a little strange for me,” I say, softening it with a smile.
“Why is that?” he asks as he lifts his other hand, twirling a piece of my hair around his finger, like I’m his own personal toy to play with at any given moment.
“Well, I’ve known you my whole life. Isn’t it a little odd for you?” I question.
He smiles, his finger releasing my hair as he trails his fingers down my throat, dancing over my chest just above my cleavage, leaving that same grimy feeling in his wake.
“Not at all. I’ve admired you for quite some time.”
“How long?” I ask with hesitancy.
A salacious grin spreads across his face.
“Longer than you’d ever know,” he says before cupping my neck and hauling me towards him.
I do my best to push against him, but he overpowers me easily, forcing his tongue into my mouth. It’s too warm, too wet, and honestly disgusting as he licks every inch of my mouth. I can’t help but cringe as I freeze up, praying it will be over soon.
When he pulls himself away, he groans as he begins peppering my neck with kisses.
“Fuck. You taste better than I ever imagined,” he grumbles against my neck. “Remember that birthday party you had when you were fourteen or fifteen? The pool party where you wore that skimpy little white bikini?”
Bile rises in my throat. “I was twelve.”
He pulls away from my neck, grinning. “You were so fucking hot,” he says before his mouth latches back onto my skin.
Nausea roils through me as I do my best to lean away from him. Oh my god. He’s a full on predator. I was a fucking child. That was almost ten years ago. What the hell is wrong with this sick bastard?
Thankfully, the car stops, and I look to see that we’re already at the restaurant. Perfect. I make a bold move of opening my car door, forcing Thomas to release me as one of the restaurant's attendants open it the rest of the way for me.
“Welcome, Miss,” he says with a head dip as Thomas quickly follows behind me, wiping his mouth as he does.
He catches up to me easily, wrapping his arm around my waist as he hauls me into his side. I feel his eyes on me and make the mistake of glancing up at him. He gives me a sickening wink that promises much more later, and I’m fucking petrified of it.
* * *
It’s been two weeks since that night. It was a date from hell. He predictably boasted about himself the entire night, slurping down oysters like it was supposed to turn me on, while I proceeded to drink until I couldn’t remember anything. Which is a blessing if the aching between my thighs and bruising around my throat was anything to go off the next day. I woke up in my bed, wrapped in an unfamiliar blanket. I felt dirty, used, exposed. I thought not remembering would help, but for some reason, it’s almost worse. Now I don’t know what happened, for how long, or when it will happen again. Because I’m not a fool, it’s not a matter of if, but when.
I laid in bed and cried all day before I mustered up the courage to crawl to the bathroom, where I took three showers and four baths, scrubbing my skin until it was red and raw. Now, I’m ashamed to say I’m just numb. It wasn’t the first time I’ve experienced unwanted touches, and it won’t be the last, but it never makes it okay. Never makes you feel less disgusting, less broken.
I’m sitting at a table in the dining hall, glaring at Skyla sitting beside Asher and across from Maggie. Skyla and Maggie are laughing about something, smiling. I’m not sure if I believe Maggie when she told me her and Skyla were hooking up. I mean, it’s Maggie. She could convince a nun to eat her pussy, but they don’t give ‘together’ vibes. There are no forbidden glances, no stolen touches. They just seem like friends, which has me wondering if she was just trying to rile me up or distract me from the truth. Maybe I was onto something with the whole Liam thing.
My eyes scan the room, coming up short on finding Liam. My eyes land on Jeremy and Dane a few tables over. Dane is currently in a wheelchair, and Jeremy’s injuries are slowly healing as well. The story is they fell down a set of stairs, but everyone knows that’s bullshit. I heard Vincent Griggs was the one to drop them off at the hospital. The school psychopath has also been watching Skyla with an extremely close eye. Better her than me.
When Jeremy got out of the hospital, I texted him and asked him what happened. He admitted that Griggs overheard him and Lewis placing bets on who could fuck Skyla first, with or without consent. Everyone knows of both their reputations, but I thought Jeremy was past that shit. Clearly not. He reassured me they were just messing around and would never actually do it, but I was fucking pissed. Not for the reason I should have been, either. I was pissed because everything seems to be about Skyla goddamn Parris.
Asher leans in a little closer to Skyla and something about it sets me off. I know he was with her that day when I needed him. When I begged and pleaded for him to answer, and he fucking blocked me. It was probably her doing. She probably made him. All of my problems got so much worse when this bitch came to town, and she walks around like she doesn’t have a care in the goddamn world.
Forcing myself to my feet, I grab the empty plate in my hands as I begin walking over towards them. Of course, the precious Brethren’s children couldn’t possibly dine off anything less than fine China. Which is perfect for this scenario. When I get close enough, Asher’s eyes clash with mine as I fake a trip, lifting my arms above my head and smashing it down over Skyla’s head. The plate shatters apart in my hands, cutting my palms, but well worth it to hear her scream.
It echoes throughout the entire room, silencing everyone in an instant. Blood instantly blooms across the back of her head as she screams out in pain. I smile in satisfaction, but unfortunately don’t see Asher coming at me like a freight train.
Before I know what’s happening, his hand collars my throat as he lifts me into the air, slamming me against the wall. My eyes bug out of my head, my feet dangling uselessly, and all of my air is effectively cut off. I struggle and fight against him, but his hold on me is unyielding. My long nails begin digging into his wrist, drawing blood even, but still, his hold remains as his eyes burn into me like he’s ready to snap my neck.
Fear runs through me like I’ve never felt before as my vision begins to cloud.
“Now that I’ve got your attention, this is a reminder for you and anyone who is smart enough to listen,” he shouts in my face before turning his head to meet the eyes of as many as possible.
“My fiancée is off limits,” he continues. “If you look at her, I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out. If you talk to her, I’ll cut out your tongue. And if you touch her,” he says, letting out a savage growl as he squeezes my throat tighter. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
I feel myself begin to lose consciousness as Maggie’s voice calls out.
“Shit, hold still.”
Asher turns, seeing her pull chunks of the plate out of Skyla’s profusely bleeding head before Asher abandons me. He tosses me to the ground and I land with a hard thud before he rushes over to her. I gasp for air, wheezing and coughing until I can regulate my breaths.
Rolling onto my back, I look up to see Asher scoop Skyla into his arms like the goddamn princess she clearly is and run with her out of the dining hall. As they disappear, Maggie casts me a look. It’s a look of hurt, of disappointment and disgust. She shakes her head and grabs her bag, walking in the opposite direction. For some reason, that hurts more than almost being choked to death by Asher.