Page 84 of The Boy I Loved
It was late at night,but my mind was wired. It was taking everything in me not to storm the basement right now to make sure she was safe. Tristan was the only one on basement duty tonight, and when he was alone, bad things tended to happen. Any thought I had these days was about her; it was driving me fucking insane. She was faring well to my complete and utter astonishment. She did as she was told, kept her mouth shut when needed, and didn’t draw any attention to herself. I underestimated her. I thought for sure, they’d kill her within the first two weeks, and while she wasn’t in the clear just yet, she was broaching on it.
The basement door flung open, capturing my attention immediately. Tristan ascended the stairs, drenched from head to toe in blood. His eyes were lit with something wicked, something I didn’t like to see on him.
My heart started racing as my mind conjured all of the worst scenarios. What had he done to her? Was that Hazel’s blood? Did he fuck her again? Was she okay?
Tristan rolled his eyes like my panic was misplaced and unnecessary. “She’s fine, Romeo. Sleeping like a baby.” He winked at me.
That wasn’t very reassuring coming from him. “Did you hurt her? Whose blood is that?” I demanded, unable to help myself.
Everyone was in bed by now, aside from the guards on duty. They were used to Tristan walking around in blood and rarely spared him a second glance when they saw him like that. Usually, I was the same way. But not when it came to Hazel.
“I didn’t touch your little girlfriend,” he snapped, curling his upper lip as if the mere mention of Hazel being my girl repulsed him. “Unless you count me eating her cunt.”
Heat trickled through my veins, spreading throughout my body until I was a living inferno. “I thought you didn’t eat pussy,” I gritted out. “Or kiss them,” I added when I remembered the two sucking face like their lives depended on it.
Tristan shrugged nonchalantly, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I decided to try something new.”
I already knew how this was going to play out. He was going to make Hazel his top bitch. When he tired of her, impregnated her, or fucked her up too bad, he’d either throw her to the wolves, or kill her himself. That was his pattern. He got too obsessed, but it was always temporary.
“You’re going to get her killed,” I accused, venom threading throughout my tone.
Tristan scoffed. “She’s already doomed. Look around, dipshit. Do you honestly think she’ll get through this unscathed? Clay is either going to sell her or use her for profit. I’d cut my losses if I were you, man.”
“Just because she has a cunt, doesn’t mean she’s less of a person than you or me.” I growled. I hated the way he saw things, and I couldn’t even entirely blame him. He’d been born into this life. He was groomed to think the way he did. Hell, it had probably been beaten into him.
He was quiet for a few long moments, his eyebrows pullingtogether. I couldn’t decipher the expression on his face, and it only unsettled me more.
“I need to get cleaned up,” he said instead. “Don’t bother her tonight. She’s passed out cold.” He gave me a warning look before starting for the elevator.
My gaze tracked his movements, confusion whirling through me. Since when did he care about how much sleep the girls got? Hazel meant nothing to him, so why was he pretending she did? And why did he eat her out without anything in return? That wasn’t him. Tristan was a selfish piece of shit, who only cared about his own pleasure. He enjoyed humiliating the women by making them come, but he always got his nut off, too.
I considered ignoring his demand and slipping into the basement, just to check on her at the very least. But if word got back to Clay, he’d punish me for it. Or worse … he’d punish Hazel, who did nothing wrong.
Sighing, I turned away from the basement and made my way toward the elevator. Dwelling on it wasn’t going to change anything. Even if someone decided to go after her, there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t have any power here, not like Tristan or Mason did.
Clay’s storyabout his wife whirled through my mind, conjuring up an assortment of questions. He lied to me. But I didn’t understand why. Then again, he usually bent the truth to keep me guessing, so he was always ten steps ahead. Rodney was my cousin, meaning she never had a miscarriage. He practically sold her and took the child to raise alone. It was sick and twisted—nothing I’d ever put past him. I just hadn’t expected that revelation.
I was also beginning to understand Tristan a lot more than I wanted to. He pretended to be this dumb guy, when in reality, he was quite smart and calculating. He wanted people to underestimate him, and for the longest time, I had.
When I made it downstairs, I slipped into the employee food court. The scent of eggs, bacon, toast, and other foods wafted through the cafeteria, making my stomach grumble. At the same time, the thought of eating repulsed me.
Vincent, Nicholas, Mason, and Rodney were already seated at one of the circular tables, talking amongst each other. They were so relaxed and calm, like they didn’t have the world weighing them down. I made my way to the line and grabbed a tray, filling it up with food as the line gradually moved along. When I made it to the end, I filled a plastic cup with OJ and made my way toward their table, sinking down into the chair beside Mason.
My mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts. So much so that I couldn’t even follow along with the conversation they were having around me. All I could think about was Tristan covered in blood. My hand curled around the fork in a tight grip as I stabbed it into the mound of steaming eggs.
“—I say, good riddance.” Mason shrugged, adding to the conversation I’d just tuned back into.
Vincent nodded in agreement. “I don’t even know why he chose her to begin with. She wasn’t that great.”
My eyebrows dipped in confusion. “Who?”
The eggs were soft and warm in my mouth, sliding down my throat with ease. The food was much better in here than what we fed to the newbies. The new girls only got enough nutrition to survive.
“Nia,” Rodney replied. “Tristan got rid of her last night.”
My stomach churned with nausea. I had a feeling it was her he’d gone after, but you never knew with him. He’d been talking about disposing of her for a while now.
Vincent chuckled, shaking his head. His nose ring and lip ringglinted beneath the bright lighting as he tipped his head back and took a long drink of his hot coffee. Did he even feel pain? Did it register to him? “He massacred her body,” he added. “Cut off her clit. She had some internal bleeding, and he slit her throat. Her face was also battered beyond recognition.” He seemed to like that for whatever sick and twisted reason. His face lit up with excitement as he spoke about it, his blue eyes sparking with intrigue.
