Page 16 of Quiet Rage (Wicked Falls Elite #5)

Tamson

Thank God, Mom and Dad left the door unlocked. One of the few things that’s gone my way today.

I vaguely notice the sound of Kellen’s engine as he pulls away.

He waited for me to open the front door.

I bet he thinks that makes him a good person.

Meanwhile, I don’t know how he can live with himself.

God forbid he be decent for the sake of being decent.

No, he has to make sure to get something out of it first.

I still taste him on my tongue as I run up the stairs with his sweater hanging around my knees. I have to take it off. I have to get every reminder of him off me.

There’s a sob trapped in my throat by the time I reach my room, closing and locking the door before falling against it.

Now the sob can come out, and it does—silent, but with the power to wipe out all my strength.

Not that I had that much to begin with, but now I can barely drag myself to the bathroom.

Only the feeling of being soiled and the desperate need to wash this experience off me is enough to keep me moving.

There were times between yesterday afternoon and the moment Kellen woke me up that I was sure I would die in that closet. I tried not to give in to despair, I really did, but certain situations make it impossible to stay strong.

My body is so sore from head to toe, it takes effort to pull the sweater over my head and toss it on the floor.

Then I have to go to the trouble of taking off my bra and panties.

Finally, I’m able to step into the shower, where the first touch of hot water on my skin is as close to heaven as I can imagine.

Such a simple comfort, but profound enough to bring me to tears.

All I can do for the longest time is stand with my head lowered while water runs over my hair and down my back.

Pretty soon, my tears mingle with what’s running down my face and dripping from the tip of my nose. How could they? What has to be wrong with a person to think there’s anything normal or right or funny about what they did? How could they do that to me?

I can’t stop shaking. Tears turn to sobs rising up from deep inside me. I can’t stand up anymore. I’m not strong enough. With my back against the wall, I slide down its length the way I slid down the door yesterday once I knew nobody was coming for me.

This is never going to end, is it? They’ll never give up.

They’ll never stop finding new ways to torture me.

How am I supposed to live with that? How do I fight it?

I couldn’t fight the girls yesterday; I couldn’t stop them from stripping me down and locking me up.

I was unprepared, just like I’ll be unprepared next time because there is no way for me to anticipate what these psychos are going to do next.

They will always have the upper hand. And I’m always, always going to be on my own.

What if I just give up?

The idea lights up something inside me, even as my sobs go on.

My heart is breaking, I’m sure of it, and I wish it would.

I need this to be over. Images flash through my mind’s eye—are there enough pills in the medicine cabinet to get the job done?

What about Dad’s razor blades in his bathroom?

All I would have to do is take one. Or I could use a knife from the kitchen.

It would take nothing to slice myself open and bleed out, and finally, finally be done with this.

Not just Tiana and Kellen and everybody else at that vile school. Life in general. Finding reasons to keep going with life was hard enough to begin with. Living without Jason, my only ally, my only friend.

It would be so much easier to give up. Nobody could blame me. If they did, I wouldn’t be here to listen to it, anyway. I find it hard to believe hell could be any worse than what I’m living through, anyway, so I’m not worried about all the things I was taught growing up.

I think they did it. I think they finally broke me for good.

I wonder if he would be sorry. Kellen, the guy whose cum still lingers on my tongue.

The thought makes me gag and lift my head, mouth open, so some of the water raining down on me can fill my mouth.

I don’t care that it’s hot. If anything, that’s better than cold.

It makes me feel a little cleaner as I rinse out and spit again and again.

I can’t imagine being cruel enough to take a situation like this and use it the way he did.

He must have been in on it, or else how would he know where to find me?

It’s not like he was surprised, not like he demanded to know how I ended up there.

All he did was make sure I knew he was doing me a favor.

Was I supposed to weep and thank him? Does he think he’s a big hero now? I wouldn’t be surprised.

But he did come back and get me. He gave me his sweater to wear, and he drove me home. He even turned the heat on to make me more comfortable.

No, he does not deserve praise.

But he did save me.

And even though the price was letting him come down my throat, he was… gentle. Tender. Touching my face, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away my tears.

I didn’t know what to think about it then, and I still don’t, sitting here on the shower floor until the water doesn’t feel hot anymore. I’ve been in here that long.

My fingers are starting to prune by the time I pull myself together enough to sit up straight and heave a deep sigh.

I’m absolutely drained, hollowed out, having gone through every emotion imaginable since I ended up in that closet.

I feel like I’ve aged a decade as I force myself to my feet and go through the motions of washing up.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seriously considered giving up, ending it all, but it might be the closest I’ve ever come to making it happen.

I guess I’m too stubborn, or maybe I’m just scared.

Either way, by the time I’m finished and have turned off the water, I’m determined to get through this somehow.

For all I know, they’ll end up killing me trying to top their evil little prank the next time they get bored and want to hurt me.

But I won’t be the one who makes it happen. I won’t let them break my spirit like that. They don’t deserve it.

It is such a relief to get dressed once I’m dried off.

To dry my hair, to let the warm air hit my skin after hours spent shivering and cold and aching.

Meeting my gaze in the mirror over my dresser, I can’t help thinking back on the way he wanted me to look up at him when he finished.

There’s a weird sensation in my chest when I remember locking eyes with him.

It was like we connected in that moment, as sick and twisted as the idea is.

It could’ve been a lot worse—I know that.

I expected it to be as soon as I saw it was him who had come to free me.

But my jaw tightens, and my eyes narrow, and I remind myself who he is. I can’t forget all of the harm he’s done. He doesn’t get a pass just because he had an attack of conscience.

A knock at the bedroom door makes me jump and turn off the dryer. “Are you ready?” It’s Dad, and no big surprise, he sounds impatient. “Come on, we need to get to the store.”

I wonder what he would’ve done if I never came home today.

He probably would have looked for me, but only because I didn’t show up for my shift.

I don’t know why it is so important that he never find out what’s going on at school.

I guess I don’t want to worry him and Mom when they have already been through so much over Jason.

I don’t want to admit I can’t handle things on my own, either. That has a lot to do with it.

“I’ll be right there,” I call out, running a brush through my hair, wondering how he would react if he knew that just an hour ago, I was waking up on a freezing cold, filthy floor, wearing nothing but my underwear.

Some things, I can do with my eyes closed. Working behind the register at the store is one of them.

If anything, I’m kind of glad to be working today.

I can switch my brain off while going through the motions of greeting customers and ringing them up.

I can read during quiet times when there’s nobody in the store.

If I was home, there’s a good chance I would zone out, reliving every terrible moment of my captivity.

I think the worst part was having no idea what time it was, how long I had been in there.

How much longer I would have to survive it.

Dad is in the back, dealing with inventory stuff, which is another small blessing. He doesn’t even know I didn’t come home yesterday. He hasn’t said a word about it.

Something has been on his mind lately—again, I remember Kellen mentioning the beating Dad took.

The question of why the beating happened is more important than who delivered it, and I have to wonder how much Dad is hiding from us.

Not that he has to work hard to hide anything from Mom, zoned out as she always is, and not that he would typically share things with me, anyway.

But if there are problems, challenges, I feel like I would rather know about them than have it all be a secret.

Timing is an incredible thing sometimes.

Like the timing of Kellen releasing me from my prison when he did, just early enough that I was able to get ready for the day before my parents knew I was gone.

I stand behind the counter, asking myself what Dad could be hiding from us, when the bell above the door chimes, and I look up to find two tough-looking guys strolling in.

Something about them makes my body go still and my senses sharpen. Something about the overly casual way they look around tells me they’re not customers. They seem hostile, like they’re sizing the place up and taking a mental inventory.

The younger of the two, shorter with flinty eyes, looks at me before one corner of his mouth slides upward in a way that makes me want to gag. I have truly had enough of men to last me a long time, but I’m supposed to be professional, so I give him a tight smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, you can. Where is the owner?”

Meanwhile, his buddy walks along the ends of the four rows, looking down each like he expects to find something.

“I can get him for you, if you want.” Something tells me I shouldn’t, but then again, something tells me they won’t leave until they see him. I don’t get the sense that these are the kinds of guys who accept the word no easily.

As it turns out, Dad must be watching the feed from the camera mounted over the door. Suddenly, he’s rushing out from the office. “If you’re here to see me, see me,” he barks, red-faced, teeth bared in a snarl. “Leave her alone.”

“That’s just fine.” The older man—not exactly old, but closer to middle age than the other one—looks friendly but sounds menacing as he steps up to Dad, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “You know what we’re here for, so don’t waste our time.”

What are they here for? The question sits in my mouth, where I hold it back behind clenched teeth.

“Nico, why don’t we go back to my office and talk about this?” Dad keeps glancing my way, telling me he doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of me. Is this what he’s been hiding? What do these men want with him?

“There’s really nothing to talk about,” the younger guy says, while Nico squeezes his shoulder. I can see his fingers sinking in until Dad winces. “We’re here to collect what you owe.”

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips while my thoughts race. That’s what this is about? I should’ve known. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s owed money, but it is the first time it’s gone this far, with people threatening him, beating him.

“I don’t have the full amount,” he says with a shrug.

“I can give you everything I can spare right now, but it’s not the full amount.

” Sweat trickles down his temple, and he starts to tremble when he gets no reaction from the two men standing in front of him.

God, I wish he kept a gun under the counter. At least I wouldn’t feel so helpless.

“That’s too bad, Frank,” Nico says, pulling him in close, almost whispering. “Because Dante and me, we have orders.”

“Our boss told us if you can’t pay, things have to get ugly.” Dante actually manages to sound like he regrets what he’s about to do before he walks over to a rack of magazines and tips it onto the floor, where it lands with a deafening crash.

“What are you doing? Stop that!” My cries fall on deaf ears as I watch in horror.

Nico holds Dad in place, forcing him to watch as his partner sweeps an arm down one of the shelves that holds canned goods, dog and cat food, boxes of cereal.

He laughs while marching down the aisle, stomping on the boxes, making them split open and scatter their contents.

Then, he decides to start kicking the freezer doors. I flinch every time he makes contact, eventually cracking the glass before he starts kicking it in.

“Okay, okay!” Dad shouts over the sound of glass breaking and my tiny, terrified squeals.

“No, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Nico shoves him up against the counter, right in front of where I’m standing on the other side, frozen in horror. He pulls his arm back, and I barely have the chance to realize what’s about to happen before he drives a fist into Dad’s face.

That’s what shakes me out of my frozen shock.

“No!” Scrambling out from behind the counter, I try to throw myself between them, using my body to shield Dad.

It’s instinct, pure and simple—I mean, what could I hope to do, really?

But I have to do something. I can’t stand here and watch him be beaten.

“Get the fuck out of the way, little girl.” Dante pulls me off him, shaking me until my shoulder threatens to pop out of place. “We’re here to do a job, but we could spend a little time with you, too, if you want. What do you think, Dad?” he asks, laughing as he turns toward my bleeding father.

“Fuck you,” I snarl before stomping on his foot as hard as I can. He howls in pain, giving me a second of satisfaction.

Before he growls and backhands me hard enough that my head snaps to the side, and agonizing, white-hot pain explodes in my head. Add that to that the pain of being thrown to the floor, and my body is one big, throbbing ache.

And all I can do is scramble backward and cover my face with my hands once I’m against the wall. I can’t stand the sight of them beating Dad up in the middle of the ruin they’ve created.

It’s bad enough that I have to hear it.