Page 35 of Betraying Bexley

Chapter 6

“So, what did you think?” Bronx nudged Bex as they sat at the table in the small dining area of her kitchen. “Kind of cool, right?” Bronx’s laptop was open in front of them as she showed Bex different types of modifications she could make to the car Jacolbi won in the fight.

“I-I d-don’t d-drive.” She swallowed hard. “S-Seems like a-a lot of work.”

“It’s fun work. Jacolbi and I can have it ready for you in no time.”

How though? With what money? They were foster kids. Bronx acted like she could pull fifty-grand out of the sky and upgrade the eighty-thousand-dollar Maserati. It was a pipe dream. If anything, Bronx should sell it and save the money. Invest it or something. Although, the car was gorgeous. Bex did want to sit in it just once to know what luxury felt like. Silly to think about since she knew her father had money, yet, she was Cinderella, minus the fairy godmother and Prince Charming.

“What are you two conspiring about over there?” Jamie, Bronx’s foster dad entered the kitchen carrying a coffee mug. He worked for the state department as a coder or whatever, Bex hadn’t paid much attention. She’d been too afraid. He loomed over her like her father did, even though he didn’t have the same menacing energy as Raul Iniguez. “How did we become the owners of a Maserati?”

Bronx laughed. “It’s not ours. It’s Bex’s.”

She gapped. “N-No. N-No way.” She looked to Jamie. “N-Not mine.”

Jamie frowned. “Bronx is there something you should be telling me?”

“Don’t listen to her. It’s Bex’s car. She won it fair and square.”

Jamie sighed. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Bex trembled. “I-I s-should g-g-g-go.”

Jamie cursed under his breath. “Bexley, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m not angry.”

Sure didn’t sound like it to her. She flinched when he placed a mug in front of her. Anxiety poured through her veins, causing the room to warp around her. Her vision and hearing narrowed to the closest door she could escape out of, while simultaneously hoping for the tension between all three of them to snap so she could breathe. She placed her hand against her chest. Her heart pounded like a stampeding heard of buffalo and she clenched the collar in her fist, desperately willing it to stop.

“Shit.” Bronx’s tone took on a hollow tinny quality as though it were muffled and far away. “She’s having a panic attack.”

Out of Bex’s peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of movement. Instinctively, she curled into herself as much as she could due to where she’d been sitting. Her gaze bounced off of every inch of the room while her breathing picked up pace. Then the shaking began. It was embarrassing. Her father saw it as a sign of weakness and exploited it while he tortured her. It was part of the sick twisted games he played with her—see how long it took Bex to gain control of herself before he tired of beating on her.

Bex whimpered. “N-N-No.”

“Hey,” Bronx murmured. “You’re safe, Bex. You’re with me. You’re in my home. I need you to take a couple of deep breaths and let them out slowly. Can you do that for me?”

Her jaw was clenched so tight, the muscle cramped, and her teeth ground together, trying to distribute the stress. She'd been waiting for this to happen after the attack at school. Stupid as it sounded. Bexley suffered from panic attacks for years due to her father's abuse. The one and only doctor who ever talked to her after she'd been brought to the hospital due to an "accident," called it PTSD. They said she needed to see someone, a therapist. The doctor had also been the only one to go up against her father and demand a child welfare report had been taken on Bex. She'd seen the therapist a total of three times, since she was in the hospital.

Two months later, when her father returned to the apartment, he brought pictures with him. The photos contained the bloody body of the doctor and therapist.This is what happens when people interfere. Do you understand, Bexley?Oh, she understood. From that day on, she tried to hide the worst of her injuries so as not to cause a ruckus. Unfortunately, sometimes her father got carried away, like with her leg. On those times, he had her bodyguards take her while he disappeared once more.

She took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slow then did it again while unclenching her jaw. Her narrowed vision slowly began to clear. She jerked hard as her muscles began to unlock. Each twitch and shiver hurt more than the last causing her to whine in pain. Heat filled her cheeks from the embarrassment chasing the anxiety away. She'd never had an episode in front of anyone, surely, they'd think she was a freak like the others and would laugh at her.

Bex blinked.

Her bottom lip quivered.

“Here.” Jamie placed a warm mug between her hands. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

She stared down at the creamy brown color then back up to the man. “W-What is it?”

“Take a sip, mija. Blow on it first though, so you don’t burn your mouth.” He gave her a small encouraging smile.

She blew on it a couple of times then took a sip. It was sweet. She sighed and took another sip, sinking into the piping hot deliciousness. “W-What is it?”

“Hot chocolate,” Bronx said. “Haven’t you ever had it before?”

Bex shook her head before taking another sip. The warm sugary goodness pushed the icy tendrils of her panic attack back, allowing her to feel marginally better. “I-I w-wasn’t allowed s-sugar.”

Jamie tsked and she jerked again. “Every kid should have hot chocolate, it’s like a rite of passage.”

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