32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter thirty-two
Madelyn
Even though my body comprehends Oliver's closeness and his words, my mind is long gone. The past torment that I had to endure from this man has shown its ugly face in remembrance. It's frozen me solid. Terrified and disgusted me into a state I don’t even recognize.
Oliver's mouth continues to move, but the noise is nothing but static. My hand hovers over Oliver's cock, and I force down vomit. “Please,” I whisper… it's the only word I can get out. My lips tremble as tears form and spill down my cheeks. I close my eyes. Just let all of this be over.
Suddenly, the sound of a thud echoes through the air, and Oliver pulls his hand away from mine.
My lungs force me to take in extra air as I stand gasping.
Jackson silenced him; that much is obvious.
I open my eyes, trying to find my bearings, only to discover neither Oliver nor Jackson are in the room with me.
This is my chance to run, but my body is not cooperating. I lift my leg up to discover it feels like a hundred pounds. The room blurs and I fall against the wall. More tears come at my body's betrayal. Now you fail me?
A shadow moves across the room, heading in my direction. Even in this state, I can recognize Jackson's body anywhere. I attempt to get up only to fail at it. Jackson comes into view, face flushed. Jaw tense. He sits down across from me.
I start right away. “Please...” I mumble. He takes my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. That shade of gold greets me. He may be calm on the outside, but on the inside, he's burning. Burning for violence or for me. I can't tell which. “Madelyn. He can not touch you where he is. You are safe.”
A shiver goes down my spine at the thought of Oliver taking me away. And at the thought of Jackson killing me. I’m trapped either way. “Safe from him or you?”
“Both,” he says. “I'll never hurt you again. But there is something you must do to ensure Oliver won't either.”
“I.. I don't understand. Where is he? Why am I safe with you?”
Jackson's hand leaves my chin, only to travel down my arm. His fingers trace along my elbow to my wrist, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Oliver is in the bathroom. Come see.” He ignores the most important part of my question, which is how am I safe with him when I'm supposed to be next.
“I don't think I want to,” I mumble. He could try to trick me. Instead of being truthful, Jackson may use this opportunity to dispose of me.
He takes my hand in his and squeezes it. “Oliver is not dead. Only knocked out.”
“Why?” I narrow my eyes at him. “You were supposed to kill him.”
“I will, but you are not ready.”
I shake my head as another bout of nausea forms in my stomach. “It doesn't matter,” I say. “Not like I want to watch.”
Jackson puts his arm around my waist, causing his scent to invade my nose.
Even in times like these, I can not ignore the rush I get when he's near and how much my body calls to him. Or how much he can calm me despite causing the chaos. “You didn’t mind seeing all the carnage that Gateley and Sam created,” he reminds me.
“I wouldn't say that.” The scene was a lot to take in. Mainly because they were fucking on top of bloody corpses.
“If you don't want to watch, you can stay here. Just don't run.” His hand squeezes my hip. I take that both as a warning to listen to him and an offer of support.
“Just go do it,” I reply, looking him in the eye so he thinks I mean business. “I'll stay.”
“Okay,” he says with a look of slight disappointment. His hand slips away, and I back myself up against the wall. My eyes track his feet as they leave the area, but not before Jackson takes his bag with him. The door swings shut behind him.
I guess he really does trust that I won't leave. Maybe he respects the fact that I changed my mind about witnessing my stepfather's murder. Oliver put me in a place where I just want to escape and never lay my eyes on him again. Plus, this could be my last chance to save my life.
My heels dig into the floor as I scoot my body toward the exit. Suddenly, a noise sounds that echoes through my core. Oliver screams in pain following shuffling noises.
My heart races from hearing his voice so warped in agony.
I glance down at how far I've come across the room and notice all the bills beside me.
My fingers brush against the paper, a tempting aspect.
It wouldn't take much to help me build a different life. “Madelyn! Madelyn! Ahh!” Oliver calls out. His pleas awaken something inside me. A combination of relief and happiness. It’s bittersweet.
“Shut the fuck up. She doesn't want to see you,” Jackson says. There is a pause followed by another scream. “Please! I'm sorry!”
It's too late for sorry, I think. For almost all my life, this man groomed me.
Without realizing it, my childhood self trusted him.
Only for him to abuse me, but when I asked to be left alone, he refused.
Oliver has received many chances. I am the victim here.
Not him. As he calls out for me. I feel only two things: satisfaction and curiosity.
Satisfaction that he's dying and curiosity as to how Jackson is doing it.
Maybe I am just as sick as Jackson is. Maybe this is finally my time to get my revenge and not feel bad about it.
Does he really think I will save him?
He must, because he calls my name again.
I force myself to stand up. Well, he is wrong.
For far too long, Oliver has taken power away from me.
I walk to the bathroom door. I've been terrified, just knowing he was waiting close by for the perfect opportunity.
My hand turns the doorknob. This is my opportunity to see he's really dead.
I need closure, even if I have to watch him die to get it.
The door opens as I force myself to swallow.
My heart hammers at the scene before me.
I take a moment to take it all in. The smell of rust mixed with the musk of Jackson fills the air.
Oliver's hands and legs are bound with cuffs to the bathtub faucet. Aside from a gash and knot on the side of his head, it doesn’t appear he has any other injuries.
That is until I look further down. He's naked from the waist down, with fresh cuts trailing from his navel to his groin.
“Oh, God,” I whisper. The room spins, making every bad thing Oliver's done go to the top of my mind. I catch a glimpse of Jackson, who doesn't hide his approval at my sudden presence. He joins me by the door with the most evil smile on his face until he realizes my mind has me elsewhere.
Oliver mumbles something, his handcuffs clanging against the tub. I ignore him completely and use all my ability to focus on Jackson.
“You are giving him too much power,” he whispers while lowering himself to my eye level. In one of his hands is a knife, the blade already bloody. He offers me the handle. “All those bad thoughts. All the trauma can come to a fitting end.”
My heart races, and for a moment, I let panic take over.
I shake my head and place myself back against the wall.
Yes, I've waited for this. Yes, I just said it was time for revenge.
Time for closure. What I don't get is why I am so afraid to act on it. Maybe I just don’t want to see myself as a killer too.
“Look at me,” Jackson orders, breaking up my thoughts.
Tears form and my lip trembles. “I can't. I want to, but I can't.”
Still holding the knife, Jackson strokes my cheek. “Madelyn, look at me,” he murmurs, his voice soft. More tears fall as I do what he says. His touch is so gentle, it makes me forget how dangerous he can really be.
Oliver bangs his fists against the top of the tub. “See! She doesn't want to hurt me. Let us go, and I won't say a word to anyone, I promise."
That phrase. That fucking phrase. "I promise.
" Oliver made a lot of promises. Heat rushes to my face.
The first one being when he put me on his lap and swore he would take care of me.
He would protect me. All I can think about now is knowing he meant something else entirely.
I force myself to swallow. To remember so that when his gone, all the trauma will be too.
Every hug, every single fucking time I sat on his lap as a young girl.
This all ends. If not for the adult me, but the little girl me who just wanted a dad.
My focus returns to discover Jackson is still planted in front of me.
I shift my focus to the knife and then to Oliver.
“But I do want to hurt you, you delusional fuck,” I say.
“For everything you did to me.” For every time you looked at me like you wanted to fuck me.
For the one time, you succeeded. Jackson holds out the knife yet again.
This time I take it and give him a small nod.
He smiles and looks at me with dangerous pride.
He wants to kill him, but is allowing me to instead.
“Thank you,” I murmur. My fingers tighten around the handle as I make my way across the room.
“Don't!” Oliver yells, voice trembling. I watch him pull on his restraints, and an even darker thought comes to my mind.
How could Mom not notice? “There's a question you need to answer for me.” I poke the tip of the blade to his chest. Oliver stops moving, eyes focused on the blade.
Without giving him a chance to agree, I ask, “Did Mom know? If you care for me even in the slightest, you will tell me the truth.”
Oliver closes his eyes. “No. I hid it well, stepdaughter. She never knew; his tone turns dark.” He opens his eyes to show me exactly what he thought of my question.
For the first time, hatred shines behind them.
“I've wasted all this time on you, and this is all you've got to ask me? About your cunt of a mother?”
Jackson rushes to my side. “Watch your fucking mouth.”