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Chapter thirty-eight

Daxton

W hen Trayton left my dorm room earlier today, I really believed it would be the final time I ever saw him. I thought it marked the end of it all, and even though that realization shattered me into unthinkable pieces, I also felt relieved to finally set down the burden I’d been carrying. Confessing to Trayton—even if it sounds strange—that I was the one who fell in love with him first brought a freedom I hadn’t expected. I had hidden everything behind a mask of hatred because admitting I cared and loved him hurt too much when I knew it would always be one-sided. That moment made me understand that love and hate are just two sides of the same coin, and until now, I never truly knew which side I was on.

I love Trayton King completely and unconditionally. I’m not sure where we stand now, but I know I’ll accept whatever he gives me, and it doesn’t matter how long it takes him to come to terms with it; I’m willing to wait. After all, I’ve already waited nearly ten years—what’s a few more? As I walk down the corridor, I bite my cheek to hide my awkwardness as people stare at me, only to realize that I’m grinning like a loon. I try to hide my smile, but the butterflies won’t stop fluttering inside me. I have finally admitted it to myself. I have finally told him. God, I feel free.

While jogging down the stairs and out the front door, I start heading back to my dorm when my phone rings. Glancing at the screen, I see Trayton’s name, and despite trying, my smile just keeps growing. I answer shyly with a soft hi.

“Hey.” His reply is deep and husky, making goose bumps ripple down my back with its sleepy tone. “Do you want to grab something to eat in an hour?” I burst out laughing but swallow it quickly, not believing how giddy I feel.

“Yeah,” I reply, clearing my throat. “That would be nice.”

“Great,” he says, followed by a moment of silence. Then he adds, laughing, “Is it odd to say that I kind of miss you already?” He quickly corrects himself. “Forget that—I actually cringed after saying it.”

“I miss you, too… a lot.”

“Yeah?” he says happily.

“Yeah, Tray.”

“You could have taken a shower here—with me—it would’ve saved time.” His murmur is gravelly.

“Don’t tempt me,” I quip, knowing I’d be back in a flash, though it likely wouldn’t end with dinner—and I’m pretty hungry. A deep, chuckling grunt ripples through the phone, and I swear it sends a jolt straight to my cock.

“Quickly, get ready and be back within an hour,” he instructs before hanging up. I reach to put the phone away, but it rings again.

“If you keep chatting, it’ll take me longer—”

“Daxton,” Marley’s voice commands, sending a chill down my spine as it fills the line. In a burst of panic, I hang up immediately and stare at the screen. A private number calls once more; I let it ring out as I carry on. Then a text pings.

Unknown number:

Look up.

My body stiffens, and I freeze where I stand, snapping my head upward. Scanning the area, my eyes catch him through the gate—he’s there, leaning against his car. Another text from the unknown number arrives:

Don’t leave me waiting. I will walk through that gate and come get you myself.

I know the threat isn’t empty. Marley would actually do it; he’s always acted above the law, convinced of his own untouchability and unconcerned with the damage he leaves in his wake. My entire body trembles as I take the first step toward him, knowing that this could very well be the biggest mistake I make.

Perhaps all he wants is to talk.

I glance around cautiously, making sure no familiar faces are about. The last thing I need is Trayton catching wind of this and thinking I’m back in bed with that life—he’d assume I’m dealing for them again. I’ve just got him, and I can’t risk losing him now.

You’ve been ignoring his calls—the very thing he told you never to do.

I square my shoulders and lift my head as I walk to Marley. I need to get this over with, absorb any blow he dishes out, and then figure out the excuse I’ll give Trayton. I only have to get this done, head back to my dorm to get ready, and then go on my first date with Trayton. Just the thought of that date sends a flurry of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I can do this. Whatever Marley does, I’ll take it and walk away—just like I’ve done before.

I head through the gate, and there he stands—a rugged-looking Marley, eyes blazing with fury. He tilts his head toward his car, pulls open the driver’s side door, and gets in. My heart trembles at the memory of what he did the last time I was in that car. His window rolls down.

“Get. In,” he growls, and I quickly circle the car. I take a big breath and lower into the seat. I set my shoulders, bracing myself in case his hand darts around to grab the back of my neck—but it never comes.

Instead, the doors slam shut and lock immediately.

“Look, Marley…” I manage to say through a sharp pain, and then everything goes black.

***My eyes slowly flutter open as sharp pain surges through my head. I feel a warm liquid trickling down my neck as I scan the familiar confines of my old trailer. My arms protest fiercely against the tight bindings around my wrists.

What happened?

I glance to my left and see my dad, restrained in a chair just like me, his gaze locked on the table in front of him. On the table lie three colored wraps—heroin. “Dad,” I call out; the volume makes me wince. He doesn’t respond; he just continues to stare at the wraps. “Dad,” I say again, softer this time.

Slowly, his head turns, revealing a lifeless expression. Instead of the man I once knew, I see nothing but an empty shell—a figure that evokes memories of someone I never truly had the words for. Has he fallen so far into drugs that his mind is completely lost? His vacant eyes turn and remain fixed on the three colored wraps as if they’re silently mocking him.

“Dad, what’s going on?” I ask as I tug at the bindings that refuse to budge.

“I didn’t mean to,” he replies defensively while his eyes stay fixed on the wraps—sunken, black, and red. I need him to explain the situation. It’s easy enough to guess who put us here, but where is that person, and what is the purpose behind all this?

“Snap out of it,” I hiss. I wouldn’t have dared speak to him so roughly when I was living under his roof, but now he appears so weak, so fragile—completely broken—that even a child might overpower him.

A noise jolts my attention, and I turn as Marley steps into the room. With a black coat, gloves, and an aura of cold aggression, he doesn’t even spare me a glance. Instead, he strides to the kitchen, clattering about with something, before returning to the living area.

“Marley,” I croak. “What is going on? I’ll do whatever you need—just let us go.” His eyes meet mine briefly, and they’re more soulless than I remember. Then his gaze shifts back to my dad, who offers a weak smirk.

“That old man is in a bad way,” Marley remarks as if it weren’t obvious. “What did he tell you, Dax?” he continues, tilting his head. I frown and reply, “N-nothing?” I lock eyes with him. Marley despises a lack of eye contact. He says it’s a matter of respect, something he surprisingly seems to value. So I keep my eyes on him.

“Not one word?” he challenges, raising an eyebrow as if I’m lying.

“He just mumbled something about not meaning to do it and insisting it’s not his fault.” Marley nods slowly, his eyes drifting back to my dad.

“And what exactly did you not mean to do, Karl?” he taunts. My dad’s head jerks toward him.

“You made me do it,” he confesses weakly.

“Mmm, that’s just what you keep telling yourself,” Marley replies; Dad’s eyes are once again drawn to the colored wraps.

“Why is he looking at them like that?”

“What do those wraps mean, Daxton?” I gulp, looking back at the white, black, and blue wraps.

“They show the strength of the heroin.”

“And what’s the one on there that could kill you if we don’t mix it before selling it to our customers?”

I frown. “The black one,” I say because I’ve always known. Marley imports it from abroad, and its strength is dangerously high. We can’t sell it as it is; it needs to be mixed first. The blue is weak, meant for newcomers, but it’s still priced high. The white is potent enough to keep addicts returning. We never sell the black one in its pure form.

“Karl, why don’t you tell Daxton about when you gave someone the black content disguised as white?” I take a sharp breath and turn to my dad, who’s trembling with sobs.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, he did.” Karl chuckles. “Go on, tell your son who you gave it to. Tell him how you were so furious they were leaving and refused to sell for us anymore that you gave them a farewell gift.” Marley keeps talking, but the realization hits me hard. My dad’s screams sound distant.

He wouldn’t.

Not Bex.

Not my best friend.

My stomach turns as the truth settles in—my dad was enraged when Bexley decided to leave to get better. It all fits now, in the worst way possible.

“No,” I whisper amid the chaos. “Dad, tell me it’s not true.”

But his silence says it all. I search his face for any denial but find only guilt and shame.

Marley’s laughter rings out like a cruel soundtrack to this nightmare. “Oh, it’s true. Your old man made sure your friend got a special farewell gift. Wrapped up nice and tight, wasn’t it?”

Sickness explodes from my mouth as I collapse forward, retching and shuddering while his sobs echo around us. I lean dangerously close, bile streaking down my sweater, silently pleading that none of this is real.

“He made me do it. He told me to,” he insists.

“Oh, those lies, Karl. Look where they’ve brought you.” Marley sneers in a condescending tone. “Look at your son, Karl. Look at what you’ve done—he was the only boy who cared, and now you’ve taken him away. You always hated Daxton having a friend, never liked anyone around him—especially someone like him. I bet he was… doing things behind your back every night, and you just couldn’t stand it, could you?” Marley hisses, prodding my dad as his cries of “no, no, no” grow louder with each repetition.

“Your dad wrote a letter and sent it to the police, trying to explain that everything just became too much.” My dad can’t write. He can’t spell. My dad wouldn’t have written a letter. But Marley would have.

“This is all you!” I scream, my voice torn between anger and despair as spit flies from my lips. Marley’s laugh comes out dark and calculated, the sound of pure malice.

He reaches into his pocket and produces two needles. Moving to my dad, he whispers, “It got too hard for you, didn’t it, Karl? You just couldn’t live with it anymore.” My dad, overwhelmed by guilt, nods silently as tears stream down his face. “You just wanted it all to disappear.” Marley bends over my dad, untying the ropes from the chair, and slips on two straps tightly around each arm.

“Marley, don’t,” I beg, desperation cracking me in two. “We can fix this. We won’t tell anyone, just please don’t do this.”

But even as I plead, Marley forces a needle into my dad’s arm and, without pause, injects the full contents into him. I watch helplessly, eyes brimming with tears, as Marley winks before repeating the act on the other arm with the second syringe.

My dad convulses in the chair, his body jerking violently—once, twice, and then a third time. Foam begins to froth around his mouth, his head tilts to the side, and his eyes, frozen in place, lock onto mine while a single tear escapes. I watch in horror as his final breath slips away, leaving his unblinking eyes to stare into nothingness.

He’s gone.

Tears stream down my face. Not for him, but for Bexley. I regret ever letting him get tangled in this mess of a family, this cursed life of mine. How did it come to this?

“Is that how Bexley looked? You saw him, didn’t you? You saw him lifeless in his bed?” Anger surges through me, my body shaking in its bonds. I plead silently for them to snap, just so I can end Marley. I’d do it, even if it meant spending forever locked away, just to watch him take his last breath. He laughs, his eyes fixed on me like I’m a helpless lamb on its way to the slaughter. There’s no escape.

“And then there’s you.” Marley’s expression darkens as he strides to the kitchen. The sound of liquid pouring reaches my ears, and then the unmistakable scent hits me. Gasoline.

He reappears with containers, dousing the trailer, drenching me, the sharp odor stinging my senses as I turn my head away.

“Marley!” I scream, panic creeping in with each passing second.

“Tell your dad and Bexley I said hi,” he snarls, flicking his lighter before releasing it. He strolls out, closing the door behind him.

And then, it’s all-consuming red flames.