Chapter 45 Willow
WILLOW
I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling sore but cozy. Ransom is tucked up close behind me, and I don’t want to move at all. But I kind of need to pee, and I really don’t want a UTI, so after debating for a short moment, I manage to wriggle out of his hold.
He’s a heavy sleeper, and the combination of the long night and the booze he drank while Malice stitched him up seem to have him out like a light.
A smile tugs at my lips as I watch him sleep in the darkened room, then I throw on a shirt and slip out of the room as quietly as I can, moving down the hall to the bathroom so I can pee.
I sigh with relief as I empty my bladder, then wash my hands quickly and leave the bathroom, ready to crawl back into bed and go back to sleep. But as I start to head down the hall, I notice a light flickering from Victor’s room.
It has to be so late it’s early by now, probably sometime around three a.m., and usually Victor has his door closed, so I’m surprised he’s still awake.
Instead of heading back to Ransom’s bedroom, I move down the hallway to Vic’s room to poke my head in.
Honestly, I’m kind of glad he’s still up.
I’ve been wanting to talk to him after everything that happened the other night.
He didn’t participate as directly as his brothers did, but he was still there.
It still changed things between us, and I want to clear the air.
It’s impossible to ignore the way I’m so drawn to him, and I think he feels something for me too, despite the fact that he can be so closed off sometimes.
I’ve been learning so much more about him lately in the small little moments we’ve shared, and if I’m being honest with myself, I want more of that.
The more I piece together of his story, the more I’m starting to understand him.
He’s broken in some ways, because of what their dad did to him.
Because he spent so much of his childhood being groomed to be some kind of brutal soldier instead of just getting to be a little boy, so now it’s hard for him to tap back into his own humanity sometimes.
It calls to something in me—maybe the part of me that feels like I was never loved and cared for the way a person should be, just used and treated like a burden.
I stick my head into his room, about to whisper his name, when I realize that I was wrong.
He’s not awake after all. He’s stretched out on his bed, sleeping soundly, his face smooth and more relaxed than usual.
My eyes dart from him to one of the computer screens on the large L-shaped desk set against the walls, and I realize the flickering light wasn’t coming from him working on the computer, but something playing on the screen.
It’s a video of some kind, and I frown, stepping farther into the room as the images flash across the screen.
I tiptoe across the space, squinting a little in the darkness to see it better. Then I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle a gasp of shock.
This isn’t just some random video.
It’s images of me.
There’s footage of me in my apartment, oblivious to the fact that I’m being watched. There’s a shot of me in the bathtub, my eyes closed as I touch myself. The sound is muted, but when my mouth moves, I know I’m moaning, and my face flushes at the memory even as my blood runs cold with shock.
There’s a clip of me on my bed, spread open and flushed, with Malice’s head between my legs as he eats me out. I watch as I thrash around, bucking and arching against him, clearly losing myself to the pleasure.
There’s even blurry footage from the golf course where Colin attacked me and tried to rape me.
In the clip, I can see him kissing me and groping me.
It doesn’t show me trying to fight him off, and the angle and image is so bad that it looks like I’m leaning into him.
Like I want it. The two of us end up on the ground with him on top of me, and then the setting changes again.
This time, it’s a living room with a couch and two chairs, and four people occupying the space.
I recognize it immediately, and ice crawls through my veins.
This is from the other night.
It’s a wide shot, the camera probably hidden somewhere near the base of the stairs.
I’m on my knees in front of one of the chairs, sucking Malice’s cock, taking as much of him as I can into my mouth.
At a certain point, I look up. My eyes are glassy and wide, and even without the sound on, it’s obvious that I’m begging him for something.
After another few seconds, it cuts to me riding Ransom’s cock, his hands gripping my hips, my head thrown back as I take it.
Then to Malice, hunched over me, fucking me hard and viciously.
Using me like a rag doll. Then there I am sprawled out on the couch, already a filthy mess, looking fucked out and wrecked.
Victor comes over, his cum spattered hand gripping his shaft, and I lean up, licking his dick like I’m starving for it.
My stomach clenches, a wave of nausea rushing through me. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
What the fuck? What the fuck is this?
The fact that there’s footage of me from my bathroom means that Victor did have a camera in there after all.
When we went through all the ones in my apartment, he never said anything about that one, and I know it’s not because he forgot about it.
He never forgets anything, and he was watching me in there.
Watching me do things. He just never told me. He lied.
He has to be the one who hunted down footage from the golf course after finding out what happened to me. For what? I’d already told Malice who was responsible, and they went after Colin, so why would he need the video?
On top of that, they taped everything that happened the other night. That’s what hits me like a punch in the gut.
They recorded it. They made a fucking sex tape.
My stomach is in knots, and I chew on my lip, staring blankly at the screen as the video footage starts to play all over again, as if it’s set on a loop. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Victor is still asleep, and he hasn’t moved from the first time I looked at him.
Leaning down, I move his mouse, clicking on something else on the screen.
A message pops up, and it looks like it’s meant to go with the videos.
It’s clearly Victor who wrote it, from the detached and almost formal tone of the writing. My eyes skim the text quickly, and then I have to go back to the top and read it all over again, feeling sick.
The words are harsh and cruel, and just like the video, they’re about me. It’s so much worse than I ever thought Victor could be, even back when he didn’t seem to like me very much.
She’s a whore, just like her mother, the message reads. She’s filthy trash who’s perfectly happy to spread her legs for anyone, as you can see. She’s already been well used, and on top of that, she’s damaged. I can assure you, she’s worthless.
Tears blur my vision, and I keep reading that last line over and over again.
She’s worthless.
Bile rises to my throat, and I take a step back, as if that can distance me from the words on the screen.
I have no idea who they’re sending this message to, or if they’ve posted it online, or what. But I guess at the end of the day, it doesn’t even matter.
Whatever this is for, it’s horrifying and violating. It’s a confirmation of every awful thing I’ve ever believed about myself, right there in full color on the screen. With the videos to prove it.
Worthless.
Damaged.
Trash.
On top of that, it’s also confirmation that all the things that turn me on, the things I’ve tried to deny and hide from, really do make me some kind of freak. And that’s all I ever was to these men.
A hole for them to fuck.
A virgin for them to ruin.
An easy lay.
I thought they were different. I thought that at least they weren’t going to use me and hurt me. They’ve done plenty of bad things, but they never tried to force me. They stood up for me. Malice protected me.
And for what? So I’d lower my guard, and he could turn around and have Vic do this? Was it Malice’s idea?
Does it even matter now?
My mind is suddenly full of the memory of what Ransom said earlier tonight. About how he and Malice have shared before, but I’m different.
I remember how that made me feel special and warm, and I want to kick myself for believing any of it.
God, how could I be so blind? I bet he says that shit to every fucking girl who comes through here. I bet he flashes those gorgeous ocean eyes at them and tucks their hair back, using all that charm to make them fall into a false sense of security.
And I was dumb enough to fall for it. Or maybe desperate enough. Desperate enough to believe I meant something to them, when I should’ve been trying to keep them at arm’s length all along.
I was just one more in a long line. A piece of trash they decided to pass back and forth between them. And when they get tired of me, then what? Are they planning to throw me back out onto the street? Kill me because I know too much?
My chest tightens, and it gets hard to breathe for a second.
I feel so fucking stupid.
Everything I wanted—the stability, the better life, the college education and real job—all the things I gave up when I came to live with these men? I gave them up for nothing.
So they could have fun with me before humiliating me and casting me out. Just a part of whatever sick game this is.
For a while, I felt like I had finally found a place to belong. Like I was with people who understood what it feels like to be broken and lost. I sat there, listening to their meetings and their plans, eating my favorite foods with them and thinking that it meant something.
But it was as flimsy as a house of cards, and now those cards are scattering in the wind.