Page 85 of Brainwashed
Another helpless groan gripped my gut, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed up to the stall and kicked the door open, revealing the jogger with my boyfriend’s pretty blonde hair in his fist, forcing his mouth onto his cock.
Startled at my presence, he let go long enough for the young guy to pull away and wobble to his feet.
“Are you—” I started to ask if he was okay, but he pushed past me and rushed out of the restroom before I could get the rest of the words out.
I turned a withering glare on the jogger. And sure enough, I was right.
It was Thomas Kline.
Cam’s father.
I said nothing, simply stared at him while he fixed himself up. “What the hell did you do that for?” he asked incredulously.
My head cocked. “You’re askingmewhy I stopped you from assaulting that kid?”
He huffed out an entitled laugh, even more proof that he was the man I grew up near. Mr. Kline had always oozed privilege and arrogance. He used the fact that he was raising Cam and Cassie as a single father to garner sympathy from the neighborhood and people in our town. And it worked. Mostly everyone saw him as this great guy, except my father. Dad never liked him.
I’ll admit, even I bought into theTom Kline, perfect father imagefor a while myself.
Until Cam left. And I found out his secret.
“That kid wanted it,” Tom said, brushing me out of the way to exit the bathroom stall. “He’s still in the closet, so he was nervous. It happens.”
I squinted at him. There was so much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to do to him in that moment, it was like muscle memory.
Lunge at him. Grab him by the throat.
Bash his head against the porcelain sink. Split that pretty skull open and play with his brains.
My eyelashes fluttered. I didn’t kill men like him. The Carver wasn’t here to avenge people, or wipe other narcissistic sickos off the face of the earth. He killed the guys I liked, not the guys I hated.
This wasn’t our modus operandi.
But the sudden desire to stab the life out of this man was more insistent than anything I’d felt in a long time. Or maybe ever before.
I wanted him to feel the pain I felt when his son left because of him. I wanted to spill his guts the way mine had flopped out of me when I found out how much he’d hurt my best friend.
And so, the thought popped quickly into my head;if you want him, you’ll need to play the game.
I took a breath and asked, “You don’t remember me?”
His brows zipped as he looked me over. A long, leisurely gaze up and down my body that made me sort of nauseous. I hated the fact that I used to find him attractive. He still was, too. Very good-looking, even at his age.
My fingers were wiggling with the need to get him into my tub.
With his eyes sliding over my face, I saw the moment realization dawned. “Felix Darcey.”
I forced a smile. “Hi, Mr. Kline. How’ve you been?”
“Good, good.” He nodded, remaining polite, though I could tell he was trying to feel me out. “I moved out here… oh, what was it? Three years ago?”
In my head, I said,I know you moved out of Ridgefield after Cassie left home to live with her aunt. To escape your perverted ass.
“How do you like it?” I asked, pretending to care.
“Brooklyn is great.” He grinned. “It’s the new Manhattan, they say.” He laughed pretentiously, and I faked it right back. “What are you doing out here? School?”
I nodded. “I go to LIU.”
