54. Mack #2
"Fair point," I grit out unhappily, having to acknowledge his words.
"But let's see what you're made of tonight.
" I narrow my eyes at him, taking in the delicate features of his face.
This close to his face, I can count the damn freckles on his girly cheeks.
"God, your face is so fucking delicate. How have you ever survived in this world?
" I growl, reaching into my pocket and grabbing the zip tie with Oliver's name written all over it.
"Now be a good fucking boy and stay still while I do this. "
I’ll give it to him; he doesn’t move a muscle as I maneuver him to the side and tie his wrists behind his back.
Tighter than they need to be, might I add.
He doesn’t try to move them or wiggle his fingers when I take the pressure off his hands and stare down at him, trying to decide what to do with him next.
Torture? Nah, then Hux and JJ would kill me.
Taunting? Yeah, maybe a little. It’s hard to coax answers out of the guy when I can’t lay a finger on him.
If I had my way, he’d be tied up in the basement of our house until he gave us answers.
“Was that necessary?” he asks in a monotone voice, watching as I admire my handiwork with a wicked grin and then turn him to his back again so he’s staring up at me.
“Oh, all of this is necessary, Davenport,” I grit out again, settling my weight on top of his body and pressing down and watching with delight as his lips part and a wheeze rattles through his chest. “Now, I have some questions that you’re going to answer.
” I raise a brow, staring deep into his green eyes as rage boils through my veins.
Memories of him waltzing out of the trees the day I found the treehouse in shambles play in my mind on repeat.
Over and over again. The remnants of Olivia’s trinkets.
Her porcelain figurines smashed on the floor.
Her curtains pulled down. Her pillows ripped to shreds, and the fluff everywhere.
My vision turns red, focusing on all the rage and pain festering under the surface.
He was the only one around. The only one who could have broken all of Olivia’s trinkets.
So, now he’ll pay until he fesses up.
“Yeah? And what are those?” he asks through another slight wheeze as I take some pressure off his chest and let oxygen pour in through his nose.
I’m not an absolute monster. I wouldn’t purposely strangle the guy.
“How much pressure can you put on me to make me stop breathing?” he asks in a choked tone, glaring at me.
He wiggles under me until I slightly let up, but my fingers curl around his throat, forcing his chin to rise, and I gently squeeze.
“I don’t think your daddy would be too happy if you murdered someone.
” His delicate face tightens with every word he says, and distress flashes through his eyes.
Yet, he doesn’t fight back. How odd. I was secretly hoping he’d come out swinging and we’d fight it out.
“Not my fucking dad,” I rage out, shaking my head.
“But, yeah. That’s what we’re going to play.
How much oxygen can Oliver not get before he passes out?
” I squeeze a little harder, making his face turn red.
“Now, were you the little shitbag who destroyed my treehouse?” I slowly let up, letting him suck in a few breaths for good measure.
I don’t want to kill the guy. I want a confession falling from his desperate lips as he begs for his life.
As Oliver sucks in oxygen, the redness seeps from his face and slowly collects around my handprints forming on his throat.
I can’t help the smirk that pulls at my lips at the sight of it.
It’s beautiful. Finally, my revenge against this asshole is coming true.
Ahh, the night is young, too. As I inspect the beautiful red on his flesh, something else catches my eye.
Something that I haven’t noticed before.
I tilt my head. A sickening swirl erupts in my stomach at the sight of it. A raised scar right across his throat.
“This is what happens to traitors!” Franco’s voice echoes through the basement where two men are on their knees and he’s situated behind them with a sharp knife raised in the air. “Watch now, boys. This is how we take out the trash in our territory.”
I gulp when he runs the blade across the man’s throat and throws him forward until he’s gargling and slowly dying.
“No. I didn’t destroy the treehouse. I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he states quickly, coughing a few times, and bringing me back to the present.
Fuck. The last thing I need to do is get lost in the memories of Franco and his bullshit punishments toward people.
His tone doesn’t change. He doesn’t bat an eyelash.
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” I hiss, putting pressure on his throat again.
“I detect lies. You lie to me, and you’ll fucking die here, Davenport.
No one will fucking miss you.” That’s a lie.
It seems Davenport has made all kinds of new friends on campus.
Including Simon across the hall. Whatever.
I can threaten all I want. “So, did you destroy my treehouse?”
“No,” he gasps out again, glaring at me. “I didn’t destroy your treehouse.”
It feels like there are unsaid words left on the tip of his tongue when he wiggles his small body under mine, but continues to hold my gaze.
So, I stay where I’m at, glaring back at him with narrowed eyes.
He doesn’t blink. I don’t blink. No one fucking moves a muscle.
He simply stays there with my hands wrapped around his throat, cutting off his oxygen, and remains completely still.
“Why aren’t you fighting back?” I grit out, loosening my grip around his throat and staring at him.
“Fight me. Tell me the fucking truth!” I roar, sucking in several breaths to calm myself down.
Deep down, I know Oliver ruined Olivia’s things.
I wasn’t there to protect her when she took her final breath, but I’ll protect everything about her now.
“What gave you the right to go into my treehouse and take all her things and fucking destroy them?” Emotions clog my voice, but I shake them away.
I don’t have time to show what I’m feeling. Especially to Oliver Davenport.
He blinks several times, breaking the spell between us. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says in a softer voice than normal. “What treehouse? I wouldn’t destroy something if it wasn’t mine.”
“The one in the woods,” I retort quickly.
“The woods?” His brows furrow as we sit in silence for more than a minute. “Oh, past the cemetery?”
“Playing dumb won’t get you anywhere,” I growl. “I saw you, Davenport. I saw you waltz out of those woods with a fucking grin on your face. The very same day, all her shit got broken into pieces. I know it was you. Now, own up to it, and your punishment won’t be too fucking brutal.”
“I went for a walk,” he says, twisting his face.
“I walk in those woods sometimes when I’m bored.
The other kids told me they were haunted, so I went to check them out.
I never saw a treehouse. I never broke your things.
I wouldn’t.” There’s a kernel of truth resting in his words, but I can’t get myself to believe anything he says.
“I swear, Mack,” he says in a softer tone now.
Hearing my name on his lips has goosebumps spreading across my flesh.
There’s something there. Something real in the way he says it.
But I don’t have time to dissect why it elicits a visceral reaction in me.
No. The only thing I have time for is pulling the answers from his lips.
A short amount of time, might I add. I tilt my head and study Oliver more.
The delicate features of his face. The slope of his button nose.
The high cheekbones and pouty lips. He’s so small.
So tiny beneath me, it feels like I could break him in one go.
Then, there’s the innocence lurking behind his eyes.
The spark that keeps me rooted on top of him and frozen with thoughts.
What if Oliver really didn’t do it? What if he was simply walking through the woods?
I’m a rational man. Okay, not usually. But still.
I can be. There’s something about Oliver that nags at me.
This kid, who showed up at the beginning of the year, has a way with people.
I’ve seen him interact with everyone. He was able to sway Huxley not to fight back in the hallway of the admin building when Amanda cried wolf.
I’ve seen the way Malic Monroe looks at him, too.
Hell, even my stupid brother has gaga eyes for the guy.
So, I need to figure out what his deal is.
Is he innocent? Or is he a massive manipulator hiding behind a mask of innocence?
“Liar,” I grit out, reaching for the black bag in my back pocket.
“It’s a good thing we have time to talk this out.
” I grin, holding the bag between us, and climb off his small body until I’m standing.
“Now, sit up. This is going over your face. We have somewhere secret to meet, but we’ll discuss why you ruined my girl’s shit more as we walk to it.
And if you tell me the truth, I won’t drop you off in the deepest, darkest part of the cave and laugh while you cry, trying to get out.
” I grin, imagining how Oliver will react when I do, in fact, drop him off in the deepest part of the cave system with no lighting, no maps, and no way to get the sack off his head.
Cruel? Well, that’s the fucking point. If they can’t manage to get themselves out of a sticky situation, then how the fuck are they supposed to handle being in a gang? Answer—they can’t.