Cruel Infatuation: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 3) Page 4

  I’m only mad because she’s right. Alicia does have a good life, but that doesn’t give me the right to throw it in her face. My misfortune doesn’t give me the right to talk to someone I don’t know, possibly setting them up for failure because of my age, or lack thereof. The contempt I have for my life doesn’t warrant me to be immature, naïve, and selfish.

  I want to be.

  But Alicia is right—I need to think about others around me. If Isaac ever found out he was talking to a seventeen-year-old, he’d freak.

  I don’t care that he’s thirty-two, but it’s different for men; especially when the law is involved. And right now, he’s breaking the law and he has no idea.

  Is he, though? The voice in the back of my mind says, almost having me tripping over my own two feet as I hurry out the double doors of the school.

  It doesn’t matter if anything inappropriate hasn’t been said yet; it will lead up to that. I can’t continue to lead him on. It isn’t fair. It’s best if I don’t answer back, or maybe I can give a weak excuse like I’m going camping and won’t have service for a few days.

  My phone dings, and it’s the sound I set for the dating app notification. Guilt eats away at me when I see it’s Isaac messaging me.

  IsaacGray88: I’m thinking we should call one another at some point. I want to get to know you more.

  Oh, no. This is a bad idea. This is what Alicia was trying to warn me about. I shove my phone in my pocket again, ignoring his message.

  I’m so damn stupid. How else did I think this little idea of mine was going to go?

  My phone vibrates again as I walk down the street, and I pull it out of my pocket and press the button to turn it off.

  The summer heat has beads of sweat dripping down my neck, and I stop under a nearby tree to take my backpack off and sling it to the ground. I take off my shirt, unzip my bag, stuff it inside, and take a breather. My tank top is damp, but I feel a lot better without another layer on; that’s for sure.

  Not wanting to go home, but not having another choice, I situate the strap on my shoulder and head out into the sun with Isaac heavy on my mind.

  We haven’t been speaking that much to one another. It’s small talk, no boundaries have been crossed, no nudes have been sent, but no matter what, a grown man can’t be friends with a seventeen-year-old.

  It isn’t right.

  Even the small banter back and forth with him brought me peace and let my mind focus on something other than Trevor, my mom, and my dad.

  I stop at the tree line and look back toward the school. It’s small, run-down, and a few teenagers mill around outside, soaking up every last second they can before having to go to class. I hate everything about this town. There are no opportunities, everyone dates everyone, and no one ever leaves.

  Everyone gets married to their high-school sweetheart, the men get a job at the local factory or Wal-Mart, and the woman stay at home, popping out babies left and right. I want more for myself than the dead-end life that waits for me here.

  I have to survive another week. If I can do that, I’ll admit my age to Isaac and maybe he’ll still want to talk to me and be friends.

  Another naïve thought. I’m just wracking them up today.

  I sigh in relief when the cool, damp air of the shaded woods engulf me, drying the sweat on my skin. I reach behind my head and gather my hair, twisting it until it’s tight as a rope before circling it on the base of my neck. It’s too hot to wear it down.

  When I move away here, I’m moving somewhere that doesn’t make me sweat so much.

  I wipe the salty beads of liquid off my brows with the back of my hand before the moisture can drip in my eyes. The path I take is worn, the dirt showing from the every day use from my shortcut. I hold onto the straps of my backpack and step over a small tree branch that fell from a storm we had the other night.

  My phone is burning a hole in my back pocket. I want to message Isaac back. One more time won’t hurt, right? My fingers twitch as I reach back to grab my phone, but I think better of it and drop my arm. I don’t want to be the person who traps a guy into liking her when he isn’t allowed to.

  I already miss talking to him, the freedom and peace it brought me to talk to a complete stranger. Going as far to say I like him is a stretch because I don’t know him well enough, but I know I like talking to him. I like how I feel when I do.

  It’s been a long time since I felt anything other than hatred.

  I come to the end of the woods, and my broken-down house comes to view. It’s hard to believe something so ugly used to be beautiful. It’s a ranch-style three-bedroom home with plain white siding that needs pressure washed from all the residue build-up. The roof is missing a few shingles, and the right side of the front porch sags.

  Where there used to be beautiful flowers, roses, daises, and tulips, are long weeds and dandelions. I stopped plucking the fluffy flowers when I walked up the front steps that led in the house six months ago. Wishing on weeds is pointless, especially when the wishes never come true.

  I peek around a tree and glare at the front door. Trevor should be stumbling out of it any second now, to go to the bar where most of the illegal shit he’s involved in goes down. It’s where my mom met him. She was drowning her sorrows a few months after Dad died and met up with Trevor, who only seems to bring her lower to the ground every day.

  I’ll have to bury her because of him. I guarantee it.

  I can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. My mom wants to wither away. My dad was her heartbeat. I’m not enough to keep her alive, and while it hurts like hell, I came to terms with it a long time ago. I can’t tell how many times I’ve seen her on the couch, passed out, with coke smeared on her nose.

  She wasn’t always like this. She’s a different woman now. A part of her has died, and the longer I stay here, the more she drags me down, killing me alongside her.

  Another bead of sweat falls between my breasts as I wait for Trevor to come out of the door. It’s around twelve in the afternoon, so I don’t understand why he isn’t on his way to collect money from his whores after the long night of having sex with multiple people.

  Yeah, I know. I just called my mother a whore, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…

  It’s a damn duck.

  I love her, and I’ll never tell her that to her face, but truths hurt, and the truth laying in that house hurts me every damn day.

  Realizing he isn’t going to come out of the house, I drag my feet from the woods and walk the plank to the front door. I stare at the ground, noticing the dead grass alongside of the broken cement path. There’s a lawn gnome beside the steps hiding in the tall brush, effectively creeping me out. His red gnome hat is covered in filth, and his eyes are faded from the weather. He looks more like a ghoul in my opinion.

  “Protecting the yard, Frank?” I ask him, knowing he can’t answer back. Yeah, I named my yard gnome, so what? “Things might rise from the ground if you aren’t careful.” Out of habit, I pluck a dandelion from its stem and twist it between my finger, debating if I want blow the seeds off to watch them float in the air.

  Making wishes are for silly little girls.

  The dandelion slowly slips between my fingers and falls to the porch, leaving behind seeds of doubt instead of hopeful promises.

  Twisting the knob, it’s hot from the high noon. I hiss and bring my fingers to my mouth. “Damn it.” My spit cools them off briefly, and I pull them from my mouth. I grab the hem of my shirt and wrap it around the silver handle, twist, and push. The old wooden door swings open on a haunted groan, and the sun spills in through the entryway.

  The hardwood floors are worn and scratched. The light glitters off the dust particles in the air. If I knew the house wasn’t so rotten on the inside, I would think seeing the stepping inside a place I call home a beautiful thing.

  The floor moans as I step inside, steady and unrushed. I look toward the couch and, just like every other day, there’s Mom, unconscious. Trevor is kicked back in the green recliner that used to be my dad’s. Trevor has ruined it, like everything else he’s touched.

  I won’t let him do that to me.

  Closing the door behind me, I send a silent prayer somewhere that it shuts quickly. The click is soft, and I let out a breath and take one last look at Trevor, snoring, and a few bottles of beer on the floor surrounding him.

  Tiptoeing, I move as stealthily as I can down the hall and around the corner to get to my room. My only safe place. I hurry inside and lean against the door, locking it so no one can come in. Tears gather in my eyes, but with a shake of my head, I refuse to cry. This is my life now. This won’t be my life forever.

  Letting out a deep breath, I shrug off my backpack and toss it on the bed, along with my phone. I’m sticky from sweat, frustrated, and annoyed. I need a shower.

  “Hey, Dad,” I whisper, touching the picture frame on my computer desk as I stride into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The water comes out, and I twist the handles the other way to lower the temperature since it’s so hot out.

  Undressing, I leave the heap of clothes in the middle of the tile floor and stare at myself in the mirror that’s hanging above the sink until the glass fogs, clouding my reflection.

  I don’t know what Trevor sees, but I wish he didn’t. I sure as hell don’t see anything beautiful staring back at me.

  I step inside the shower, and the lukewarm water has me sighing with relief. The sweltering heat on my skin fades, and I stand there for a minute, letting the rush of water flow down my body. I think about Isaac, how selfish I’ve been, and wrong it was for me to do what I did.

  And what makes it even worse, I have no regrets.

  I’d do it all over again.

  “Y
ou’re such a shitty person, Finley,” I tell myself as I shut off the water. I yank the towel off the rack and wrap it around my body, tucking the edge of fabric under my arm. I wring my hair out and step out of the tub.

  “You made a mistake. Just don’t talk to him anymore. Move on. Your attempt at an escape failed,” I mumble.

  I hum as I stroll into my bedroom, my wet feet squishing against the hardwood floors. Opening up the secondhand antique dresser, I snag underwear and comfortable shorts along with a white tank top.

  “You shouldn’t be allowed to walk around like that.”

  I drop the clothes in my hand and spin around, clutching the towel tightly in my grasp.

  Trevor.

  I locked my door. He shouldn’t be in here.

  “Get out of my room,” I hiss, but the bravado on the outside doesn’t match what I feel on the inside.

  I’m shaking. My mouth is dry, and my pulse quickens. I’m standing here naked, only a thin towel covering my body.

  And he’s looking at me like I’m his next drug fix.

  Trevor’s dirty hair hangs like strings in his face, black as soot, and his eyes are flames as he takes a step forward, pushing himself off the wall. His hand drags along the turquoise comforter of my bed as he prowls closer to me. I lean against the dresser, wishing it would swallow me hole so I could disappear.

  I want to be anywhere but here.

  Trevor stops in front of me and bites his lip into his mouth. He rubs his hand down his shaved chest, dipping his fingers over the ridges of his lean abdomen. “You’re a real pretty girl, Finley.” He reaches toward my face, and I flinch when he runs his fingers through my wet hair. “I love the color of your hair. Damn, you’d do well on the street.”

  His fingers drift down my cheek, and I pull away. “Don’t touch me!”

  Trevor slams me against the dresser, and I can feel the hard ridge of his erection in his jeans pressing against my thigh. His hand is around my throat. “Listen, your prude fucking bitch. I own you. I own this fucking house. I own your mom. I own everything in this town. When I say you’ll do well on the street, it’s a fact because you’re going to bring me a lot of money. You don’t have a choice. You’ll sell for top dollar. I bet you’re a virgin too. All young and ripe, waiting to be taken by a real man.”

  My face flushes with embarrassment and terror. I’ve never been this close to a man before, and he’s scaring me. I know how it sounds. Weak, pathetic, and I’m ashamed. “You don’t know shit.” I gather spit in my mouth and launch it in his face. His hands fall away from my throat, and I take the opportunity to run.

  “You little slut!”

  I run to the door, heart pounding and blood rushing to my ears. As I wrench it open, he grabs me by the arm and throws me on the bed.

  “I’ll fucking show you.”

  “Get off me!” I scream, and a tear slides out of the corner of my eye when he rips the towel from my body. I kick him in the face, and his head snaps back. I turn to roll off the bed, but he grabs my ankle and yanks me to the edge. “No,” I cry when I hear the zipper of his pants.

  “Shut up, Finley. I’m sick of you throwing this body around and not expecting it to get claimed. I’ll show you. Maybe I’ll keep you all for myself because this body is to fucking die for.”

  “You aren’t going to touch me, creep,” I say through tight teeth. I lift my leg again and kick him in the ribs, then I knee him between his legs. He falls to the floor, pants drifting down his hips. I can see his bush.

  I grab the towel and wrap it around me, but he catches the end of it and tries to rip it from my hands.

  He stands and slaps me across the face, and the force has me seeing stars.

  “I’ll give it to you. You can fight!” He gasps. A light sheen of sweat shines across his chest. I go to stand again, but he backhands me, and I fall to my knees. Blood rushes into my mouth, and I spit it out, glaring up at him from this humiliating position. My head spins, but I can’t lose consciousness. I’ll die before I have a man like him touch me.

  He grips me by my arm and lifts me to my feet. He leans in to kiss me, but I bite his bottom lip until he cries out in pain. I ram my forehead against his face, but it hurts me more than it hurts him. Trevor grips me by my hair and slams me against the wall. My towel somehow manages to stay in place, but I know that won’t be the case if I don’t get away from him.

  I’m tired. My face is sore. I can hardly catch my breath. Blood drips down my throat, and all I can focus on is his hand riding up the back of my leg. His lips graze my neck, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to dig deep for the courage and strength to fight him.

  He flips me around, and I rear my leg up again to kick him in the balls, but he blocks me. He meets my attempt with one of his own and slams his fist against my face.

  “I’m done fucking around, Finley. You’re going to lay on this bed and let me fucking have you. Then, you’re going to work for me tomorrow.”

  My eyes slide to my nightstand, and my alarm clock flips from 1:02 to 1:03. In the matter of a second, I get an idea.

  No. I’m not going down without a fight.

  I flip onto my stomach and scurry to the nightstand, but as I reach for the clock, he pulls me to him by my calf and rips the towel off me. “No! Trevor. Stop. Get off me!” I scream, and his nails dig into the flesh between my thighs, scrapping me to force my legs open. I risk it. I lift one in the air, giving him the idea that I’m going to let him have me when I kick his chest.

  He stumbles back and hits the window.

  My chance.

  I crawl along the mattress, thighs burning, and my hand lands on the alarm clock. I rip it from the wall and jump to the floor. I lift my arm and swing, clocking Trevor’s temple.

  He falls to the ground, and something inside me snaps. I keep beating him with the clock. “I fucking hate you. You stupid. Piece. Of. Shit!” I scream, and the clock breaks in half, crumbling to chunks of plastic on the ground. I kick him in the stomach over and over again until I’m exhausted and can’t breathe.

  I need to get out of here. Fuck. I need to leave. My body is trembling.

  Adrenaline.

  Shock.

  Relief.

  “Oh my god, I killed him. I killed a man.” I stare at his prone form and the blood pooling around his head. I grab my clothes and yank on my underwear, crying when the material rubs against the marks on my inner thigh. I don’t want to look in the mirror.

  I’m too afraid of what I’ll see.

  He got what he deserved.

  I get dressed, pack my bag with essentials, and grab my phone.

  I’ll go to Isaac.

  What if he is just like Trevor?

  What other choice do I have?

  On a last-minute thought, I drop to the ground and poke his body. Trevor doesn’t move. I reach into his back pocket and take his wallet out, fishing out a few hundred-dollar bills. Drug money.

  Whatever. As long as it pays, why should I care where it comes from?

  I stuff the money into my backpack and stare at him. “The world is a better place without you in it.” I wince as I throw the backpack over my shoulder. I give him my back and walk out the door, checking one last place for a wad of money.

  Mom thought she was clever hiding it from me. There’s hole in the wall covered by a Playboy poster. I rip the blonde-haired woman with fake tits off the wall and bury my hand inside the plaster, gathering a big wad of cash she as hidden from Trevor.

  Tsk, tsk, Mom.

  And I wonder where I got my ability to tell half-truths.

  Chapter Five

  GRAYSON

  “What the hell do you mean Richard knows it’s us? That’s impossible.” Jaxon takes a beer out of the fridge and slams the top on the corner of the counter to rip the cap off.

  It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

  Jaxon guzzles half the beer down in one swallow, and Zeke swipes the muffin out of Owen’s hand, taking a big bite of the homemade blueberry delight. “I don’t see how you’re surprised. You boys left a fucking mess. I can only clean up so much.”