Page 291 of Satan's Spawn

“Confident how?” Micah presses.

“He was very good looking, and often sought out by the girls in school. He knew all of this but took a liking to me. I thought it was sweet, especially since Crayton had made it obvious to everyone in school he had...conflicting…feelings about me.”

“So Crayton was jealous?” He quirks a brow.

“No, I mean, maybe it seemed that way to everyone else. But when I got to know him it became clear he was just being protective.”

Micah feigns disbelief. “How can you prove an aggressive bad boy like my client was actually trying to protect you from an ‘All-American’ boy like Felix Crimson? Especially when the letter he wrote claims my client physically assaulted him twice on your birthday?”

“That’s because Crayton was enraged. He was the one who had to save me from him.”

Micah’s next statement gets cut off by Crayton jumping wildly out of his seat, shouting, “Don’t you fucking do it, Rebecca!” His eyes glass over when he slams a fist down on the table. “Please.”

Panic erupts in the courtroom, and Cillian tries to settle him down. I can spot my mother seeming confused by the outburst, which is odd coming from someone who’s dead set on Crayton being a criminal. That’s when I realize I’ll be breaking her heart, too, with my confession.

“I’m guilty! I did it! I fucking killed him,” Crayton booms, making Cillian beg him to stop talking.

The judge slams his gavel several times. “Mr. Beaumont, get your client under control before I hold him in contempt!”

Micah rushes over to Crayton, whispering God knows what in his ear. Crayton shoves him off and drops harshly back in his seat, staring ahead with so much pain and anger spread across his face.

By the time Micah gets back to me, the last of the jurors are settling back in their spots.

He looks almost as sad as Crayton with the idea of what’s about to happen next.

“Miss Dawson, can you please tell the jury why my client had to save you from Felix Crimson?”

My eyes flutter closed, and all I can see is me, my monster, and the darkness of the tunnel around us.

Tasting the salt on the skin on his cock.

Feeling the hard tugs of his hands in my hair.

But there’s my dark hero, swooping in and slaying my monster, once again. Whispering soothing words and offering gentle caresses. Carrying me away in his arms.

“Miss Dawson,” Micah repeats, startling me out of my stupor. “Please answer the question. Why did my client have to save you from Felix Crimson?”

Crayton’s eyes are silently pleading with me as I say, “Because he was raping me.”

48

BEX

“Ihave a good feeling about this.” Stretching out on Crayton’s bed, I let out a good squeak. “Everything is gonna work out, just watch.”

He lays on his side next to me, laggy and bedroom eyed. “You always have good feelings.”

It’s the night before closing arguments, and I decided to spend it here so nothing can go wrong and we can ride together in Cillian’s limo to the courthouse. I’m leaving no room for errors or time constraints—exactly how I’ve been doing the past few trips together.

Even though the trial has been quick, it’s been exhausting for everyone. Especially Crayton. But for all the wrong reasons.

It’s been two weeks since my testimony, and he still hasn’t gotten over it. In fact, it’s all he wallows about when we’re together. Not the fact he may go to prison, but the fact I had to come forward about something I never intended on telling the world.

What he doesn’t realize is how I actually feel better now that I have. Mom has been more attentive than annoying, even though she was adamant on pressing charges against a dead guy.

It sounded bonkers until Micah mentioned we can go after his family's estates. Mom already had a pen in hand to sign off on the charges, but I put a stop to it.

Felix is dead and, in my eyes, Crayton already served him a greater punishment than any amount of money could. Mom accepted my decision, and now we’re at the constant questions stage. I get the daily dose of “are you okay?” and “are you sure you don’t want to talk to a professional?” Even the occasional “are you sure you don't want to go back to La Jolla?”