Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
LUCAS
Five years ago
“What does that even mean?” I ask, eyes narrowing. His words make no damn sense. He wants to know what my mouth can do? What kind of sick, twisted—
Before I can finish that thought, Tim is on me.
His hand fists my hair so fast I barely react before he’s yanking it hard and flinging me across the room like I’m made of paper.
I hit the floor with a loud thud, wood biting into my ribs, breath knocked out of my lungs.
Their laughter erupts, echoing around the treehouse like a cage tightening around me.
I blink up at him through the haze, my vision swimming, but I’m not crying. I refuse.
Tim strides closer, crouching low until his face is inches from mine. The look in his eyes is cold. Cruel.
“This is why I hate gay people,” he sneers, voice low and vicious. “Why the fuck do you walk around the house like that. With your fruity-ass lotion and shiny lips, wearing those tight little shorts, like you’re begging for someone to want you. That is tempting as fuck.”
I force myself up onto one elbow, glaring back at him.
“It’s my mother’s house,” I spit, breathing hard. “I’ll wear whatever the hell I want. And if you think that’s tempting, Tim, then maybe you’re the one with a problem.”
His sneer falters—just a crack—but then his face twists into pure rage.
“Maybe,” I add, tone sharp, “you’re the one that needs to come out of the damn closet.”
His whole body goes rigid. Red climbs his neck to his ears, his jaw clenches, then the slap comes.
Hard.
Right across the side of my face, his palm connects with my ear so brutally, I swear I hear ringing. My head jerks to the side, my breath catches, and then another strike lands, this one across my mouth.
I taste blood.
“I’m not gay, you little freak,” he snarls, his voice shaking with something raw and ugly as he grabs my shirt and drags me up by the collar. “You think this is some kind of joke? You think I want you?”
He’s so close I can smell the liquor on his breath, the sweat on his skin.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts slowly and deliberately back to my eyes.
“For someone who isn’t gay, you sure as hell want to kiss me, from the way you’re breathing in my face,” I snap, even though pain is still ringing in my ear like a bell struck too hard.
Josh chuckles, low and cruel. “He’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”
“Not for long,” Nate says from somewhere behind him. I turn just in time to see him open a bag Caleb’s holding. A cheap tequila bottle—my mother’s favorite brand—gleams under the dim light. He pops the cap, downs a swing, then walks toward me like he owns the floor beneath us.
I flinch when he shoves Tim aside and grabs me by the back of the neck, yanking my head up. The bottle scrapes against my skin before the liquor slashes across my mouth and face—cold, stinging, burning my eyes. I try to shove him off, but his grip is like a vise.
“When I’m done with you,” Nate breathes, his lips grazing my cheek, “that smart little mouth won’t be able to snap at anyone ever again.”
Something in his tone makes my blood chill. It isn’t just a threat. It’s a promise.
He sees the fear tightening my throat, creeping up my spine like ice water, and he grins, slow and unholy.
“That look turns me on.”
My gut twists.
I shove him. Harder than I think I can. Somehow, I break free, lungs bursting, but I barely make it up before Tim’s on me again.
And puts a blade to my throat.
Everything stills.
“Stay. Fucking. Still,” Tim hisses, pressing the tip of the knife just enough for me to feel the bite. “You move again, and I’ll cut your neck open and watch you bleed out. And then—when you’re done, I’ll take this knife and carve your best friend Tyler into something unrecognizable.”
My heart claws against my ribs. My legs are shaking. I can’t breathe.
Not because of the knife.
But because now, it’s real. This isn’t just a scare tactic; this is a trap I walked into, and I know deep in my gut: I’m not walking out the same.
Maybe not at all.
“On your knees, Lucas,” Nate says, voice like gravel. He’s standing just beside Tim now, arms crossed, jaw twitching. “Get off that damn floor and kneel.”
The knife is still pressing against my throat. Tim’s not bluffing. I can see it in his eyes; he’s waiting for a reason to slice.
I swallow hard. My breaths come shallow. The air feels thick, too heavy to breathe.
Then slowly, hands trembling, I lift myself to my knees.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, voice raw. I look up, and there they are. All four of them. Standing side by side like some twisted council, smirking down at me. Their shadows swallow the dim light leaking into the room.
The bile in my stomach turns, cold and bitter.
Caleb lights a joint, like this is a party. He takes a long drag, lips curling with satisfaction, before handing it to Josh, who does the same. The smoke snakes through the air, bitter and sharp. Then to Tim, who only releases the knife from my throat once it’s his turn.
But he doesn’t put it away. He holds it proudly.
Tim drags in the smoke, exhales, then passes the joint to Nate. Nate takes it like he’s holding something sacred. And then he steps toward me.
“Open your mouth,” he says, voice low. Calm. Too calm.
I shake my head, lips tight.
I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I’ve never touched any of it, not even with a mother who practically lives in a cloud of smoke and cheap tequila. I sell weed, yeah—but I’ve never let it own me. Someone in my fucked-up family had to stay sane.
“I said open your fucking mouth,” Nate growls.
Then his fists slam against my face hard, sharp, and fast. My head jerks to the side.
Pain explodes across my cheek. The burn radiates to my jaw. A small, helpless whimper slips out of me, and I hate it.
I blink through the tears that threaten to fall, vision swimming, but I don’t let myself cry.
I open my mouth. Slowly. Weakly.
He shoves the joint between my lips.
“Inhale,” he hisses.
I do.
The smoke floods my lungs like fire, and I break into a fit of coughs, my chest heaving. My body recoils on instinct—but they laugh. They all laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve seen.
“Pathetic,” Tim sneers, watching me like I’m nothing but a joke.
They make me inhale again. Then again. My lungs burn. My head spins. I try to turn away, but every time I resist, a slap follows. One side of my face stings. Then the other. But I don’t cry. I won’t.
Even if my cheeks sting. Even if my eyes blur.
Then I hear it.
A belt snaps open.
A zipper.
My body freezes.
I blink through the haze, forcing my gaze to clear, and my chest tightens when I see Nate standing there, just in his briefs.
He’s hard.
And he’s looking at me like this whole thing — my pain and fear excites him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hear Josh say, voice sharp, uneasy.
“What I said I’d do,” Nate growls, eyes never leaving mine. There’s something feral in his expression. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it, too. Don’t lie and tell me you haven’t imagined what that pretty little mouth would look like around—”
“Shut up,” Tim cuts in, his voice tense. “That’s not what we planned.”
“I don’t give a fuck what we planned,” Nate snaps. “I know you’ve thought about it. I know all of you have.”
Nate’s hand clamps into my hair, yanking my head back.
“Open your mouth,” he growls.
“No,” I whisper with a glare. I barely recognize my own voice. It’s hoarse, low, but still mine.
He flinches—just a bit. Then smiles wider, like he expected it. Like he enjoys hearing me resist, my whole body is trembling. I don’t know if it’s fear, or shock, or the crushing weight of reality setting in.
Nate presses his hands to my jaw, fingers digging into already bruised skin. A fresh wave of pain surges through me. I try to turn away, to keep my mouth shut, but his grip on the back of my neck holds me still, tight and unrelenting.
“Hold him,” Nate snaps.
None of them moves at first. There’s a brief pause—a sliver of hesitation—but it vanishes.
“Fuck,” Caleb mutters, stepping behind me.
He grabs both my arms and yanks them back, locking them behind me like shackles. The pain shoots straight up my shoulders, cruel and sharp.
I’m caged. Caught.
And there’s no way out.
Nate leans in, his breath hot against my ear.
“Your mom is sleeping peacefully right now,” he says softly, like it’s a secret between us. “One call… and someone I know will make sure she never wakes up again. Fire spreads fast in houses like yours.”
He pauses, letting the silence close in around me. Then he adds, quieter:
“And Tyler? I’ll do worse to him than I’m doing to you. Much worse. Don’t think I won’t. unless you cooperate”
My stomach sinks.
Something in me dies right then.
All the fight drains from my body.
It’s like watching the light go out in my own soul.
He pulls back and lifts my chin like he owns me
“Now open your fucking mouth,” he growls. “And do what that stupid trap of yours was always meant for.”
I stare at him. My throat closes. My whole body shakes.
I don’t want this.
Please…
But I open my mouth.
“Don’t you dare bite me, Lucas,” Nate says with gritted teeth as he occupies my mouth, “if you do, I’m gonna shove this cock so far back on your throat you won’t be able to breathe.”
And for the first time that night, I let the tears fall.
Not from the pain.
Not even from fear.
But because I know that no matter what happens next, something inside me will never come back.
They take turns using my mouth to pleasure themselves, and I barely register who does what anymore.
Even Josh, who looked like he might back out, stays in the room. He hesitates at first, like everything about what is happening disgusts him— but in the end, he does it too. And from the way he groans and grabs my hair, it looks like he enjoyed it much more than the others.
The tears don’t stop. But I never beg. Not once.
What’s the point?