Page 20 of The Boy I Loved
Dad pocketed his phone before continuing. “Are you excited for school? It’s your last year.” A flash of pride entered his gaze. “Any idea on what college you’re thinking of going to?”
I’d applied to a few colleges but knew better than to get my hopes up. They were the big leagues, and while my grades were satisfactory enough, I wasn’t sure that it would be enough. There were other applicants who went above and beyond—who have been working toward this moment since they were young. That meant they were probably in sports, have done their research, and were involved in other extracurricular activities that might help them get in.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“You still have time,” Mom chipped in, tossing another small smile my way. She settled against my father, leaning her head on his shoulder before focusing back on the flat screen.
Comfortable silence stretched around us. Well, it was comfortable for them, and in any other circumstance, it would be for me too. Unfortunately, it felt like I was suffocating in it. My mind keptwandering to these dark places, to those icy, gray eyes. And then to the way he pumped himself up and down while breathing dirty words through the speaker. How he told me he loved me, that he always has, and then how quickly he followed that up withDon’t contact me again.
Way to twist the fucking knife.
I felt like a love-sick fool. It was pathetic. All this time, I thought boot camps were to whip people in shape—to teach them discipline and make them work out. Whatever happened at that camp did something to his brain. Maybe it was some form of PTSD. If something traumatic happened to him within the last two and a half years, it would explain his paranoid nature.
I hated seeing him like this. So distant and closed off. He looked absolutely miserable. But there was nothing I could do.
I glanced over at the TV. There were a bunch of half-naked girls and guys on an island somewhere, flirting with one another. Pretty sure one of those guys was already taken, but it didn’t seem to matter. They took relationships for granted. They were always looking for something better. Superficial assholes.
A trickle of light bled in through the thin curtains blocking the windows on either side of the entertainment center. My heart was heavy in my chest as I took it all in, the feeling of hopelessness wrapping around me in a snug embrace that refused to let go.
“What do you guys want for dinner tonight?” Mom asked, looking between me and my father.
It hasn’t been that long since I’d eaten, so the mere thought of food had my stomach coiling with nausea.
“Whatever you two want,” Dad answered. “I’ll eat just about anything.”
Mom gave him a playful look. “We know,” she deadpanned.
I loved how passionate they still were, even after all this time. They were close, and they always made time for me. It just madethe hole in my chest bleed more profusely. They were friends before they got together, and they got their happily ever after.
Where was mine?
CHAPTER SIX
DOMINIC
The potent stenchof decaying flesh and recently fucked pussy filled my nostrils. My muscles strained beneath my shirt as I carried Stacy through the basement. This was where all the new girls came. If they proved themselves valuable, then they could have nicer things and better living conditions. These were Clay’s rules, not mine. This job wouldn’t be so bad if all the girls deserved it. For example: Stacy Mcintyre definitely deserved it. She was shallow, conceited, money-hungry, superficial, selfish, and mean.
Our footsteps sounded against the cement, a burst of humid air wafting over our skin as we descended the steps. A sob permeated the air, followed by the sound of flesh pounding against flesh.
“Fucking Tristan,” Mason muttered with a grin tugging at his lips.
Tristan was another one of the guys who worked with us. He and Mason had so much in common it was weird. The dude couldn’t stop fucking the girls even if he wanted to. Here it was, the middle of the night, and he was still reigning terror upon the women despite an early morning fast approaching. The girls in the basement didn’t get the luxury of sleeping in. They were up by six, fed,fucked, bathed, trained, fucked, fed, more training, fucked, bathed, fed again, and then sent off to sleep. It was a schedule we were supposed to stick to, but guys like Mason and Tristan didn’t give a shit. Clay didn’t seem to mind it all that much either.
The crying got louder as we approached one of the empty cells. Nicholas moved to unlock the door, wedging it open with a loud creak. There was a small mattress on the floor against the wall with a thin blanket and pillow. On the other side of the cell was a bucket for them to piss and shit in. A lot of them threw up in them, too, but that was their problem. Stacy’s neck rolled as I moved to lay her on the mattress, her black hair fanning out all around her. I took off her heels, unclasping the buckles and handed them to Vincent. He liked to collect their clothing as a type of souvenir—especially their shoes and panties.
“You think she’ll get cold?” Mason asked, tilting his head to the side as he took in her unconscious form.
I didn’t bother covering her with a blanket. It was humid in here, but it did get cold on occasion. “Not really our problem.” I shrugged.
He snorted a laugh. “Alright. Let’s go see what Tristan’s up to.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Nicholas locked the cell as soon as we retreated from it, and he stuffed the keys into the front pocket of his jeans. Three cells down, the door was wide open, which was careless on Tristan’s part. Clay would throw a bitch fit if he walked in and saw it, but it wasn’t like she could go anywhere. Even if she managed to knock him out cold, and stole his keys, she wouldn’t get very far. All the girls were kept weak and were no match for us. Three of our men could take them all out.
The woman’s sobs were muffled as she clutched onto the sheets of her bed, Tristan pounding into her from behind. Her auburn hair fell in front of her face, blocking it from view, but I knew there would be tears marring that porcelain skin of hers. Tristan grunted,his hands tight around her hips. He glanced over his shoulder at us, a manic grin splitting his face.
“You want a turn?” he asked breathlessly. “This one’s got a tight pussy.”
Vincent stepped forward, a look of contemplation cresting his features. Nicholas put a hand on his shoulder to halt any further movements.
