Page 72 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

Brody quickly shook his head, saying, “He’s still got a little life in him yet.” I watched as he used his thumbs to pop each of his knuckles, one by one, his eyes locked on mine like he was trying to read my mind. “Do you want me to kill him?”

I had to pause to let the words sink in, because I wasn’t usedto the sound of a cooperative tone in his voice. As I sat there mulling over the options, I tried to focus on the big picture. I clung to facts like if I compiled enough of them, it might somehow make this all go away. I thought of the Bens and what Nito put them through. I thought of the look on Abi’s face as the life faded from his eyes.

“No,” I said, and for some reason, the response didn’t surprise Brody. It’s like he’d been expecting it all along. Then, I stared down at my bloodied hands. We’re supposed to be getting married tomorrow. Abi was going to take my hand and slide a ring on my finger as a constant reminder that I am his and he is mine. Nito took that from me. “Keep him alive. I have plans.”

“Plans?”

“Ones that involve power tools and soundproof rooms.”

A rare smile stretched across his face. “Well, would you look at that. Queer boy’s grown himself some balls.” He made his way to me and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ve got you, little guy.”

Ever since the men in suits carried Nito past the double doors—the same doors that are keeping me from Abi, thanks to the stupid fucking keycard security system—Brody’s been doting on me, much to my and the rest of our party’s surprise. He keeps popping up at random, holding various offerings meant to lift my spirit.

Right now, he’s standing in front of me, holding a cup of coffee and a package of peanut butter crackers. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear a single word. He’s got the hand not holding the coffee directly in front of my face, and he’s repeatedly snapping his fingers.

“Huh?” I say, shaking my head in a feeble attempt to find my bearings.

“I said, take the fucking coffee and eat the damn crackers. You’ve been through hell, and you need nutrients.” He shoves the crackers into my bloodstained hands. “Eat every one of them. If I see a single goddamn crumb left, I’ll put a bullet in your throat. You fucking hear me, boy?” He doesn’t frighten me,because I can finally see behind the mask. I can see the cracks forming in the façade he’s built just to keep others out. It’s there in the way his eyebrows draw together. The way his body jolts each time the double doors open, and he quickly looks over, holding his breath. He’s just as scared as me, and he uses cruelty to hide his fear from us.

Brody’s attempt at kindness might be out of character, but Scotty’s still his dramatic, annoying self. He’s been bugging the fuck out of me ever since we arrived. I know he’s trying to lift my spirits by distracting me, but right now, I just want to wallow in my misery. It’s a hard goal to accomplish when he’s quite literally poking me in the crotch with his finger. When we arrived, he made it a point to share the fact I’m wearing see-through pants to anyone willing to listen. After a few minutes of men and women staring at my dick bulging through my jockstrap, I tucked the cape into my pants, shielding me away. It hasn’t stopped Scotty’s ridiculous behavior.

He tugs my cape, trying to dislodge it and leave me bare. “Show me your package!” he demands. A ridiculous demand, quite frankly.

“Stop it,” I hiss, slapping his hand, but it does nothing to quell my biffle’s lifelong goal of making my life Hell. “Why the fuck do you keep blabbering about my bulge?”

“Because ...” He pulls the cape away again and points at my crotch. “I see London, I see France, I see Tatum’s underpants!”

I slowly blink at him, trying to get my point across. “Yes, Scotty. You can see my jockstrap. Well done. Do you feel better for pointing it out?”

“No, but I think he does,” he says, pointing at a man standing by the coffee station, eye-fucking the shit out of me. I sigh, closing my eyes, as I refuse to entertain this anymore.

There’s something warm and wet against my cheek.

I open my eyes and look to my left, surprised to see Scotty giving me a sweet kiss. He takes the tip of my nose between his fingers and gently wiggles it left and right. “He’s going to beokay, you know. He loves you too much to let go now. So, whatever nasty thoughts you’ve got running through your beautiful brain, I want you to tell them to fuck off.” He grabs my hand and squeezes fiercely. “You tell them to fuck off, Tater Tot.”

Mom and Dad are like islands in a sea of empty waiting room chairs. Dad’s sitting ahead of me, Mom’s to my right. Fee’s got a hardened expression she keeps aiming at everyone who walks by, for reasons I don’t quite understand.

Scotty leans against my shoulder and pulls out his phone. I watch as he brings up an airbrush app, opens his gallery, and selects an image of ... “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I don’t want to see your bare penis, Scotty. Put it away.”

Scotty glares at me. “I’m painting away all the imperfections so I can send it to Daddy to give him a cheap thrill. If you don’t want to see it, stop looking.” His eyes dip up my body, then down. “I’m not the one going around masturbating at random for unsuspecting strangers. Fucking pervert.”

“He’s doing what now?” Mom asks, her eyes bulging.

Fee places her hand on top of Mom’s and smiles. “It’s his thing.”

“He ...” She looks around the room and leans in, lowering her voice to say, “He exposes himself to strangers?” The look she shoots me is filled with shame. “I know he had his littleepisodeat the diner, but I just chalked it up to youthful ambition.” Shaking her head, she makes a tsk-tsk sound. “Oh, Tatum. Where did we go wrong?”

“I’m afraid I have to side with Mom on this one, son,” Dad agrees. “Masturbation is a healthy habit, but it’s best you don’t fall into a depraved downward spiral of sexual deviancy. Someone could shoot you, son. Then where would we be?”

“Probably in this waiting room again,” Scotty says cheerfully. “Please don’t get shot, Tatum. I’m already bored to tears, and we haven’t even been here a whole day. If you end up getting shot, I’m afraid I’m going to have to put another bullet in your headjust so we’re not stuck watching your mom and Fee eye-fuck each other for eight hours again. I didn’t sign up for any of this.”

Mom and Fee? Eye-fucking? What the hell is he even talking about? I turn my attention to the eye-fuckers in question. Fee’s staring at the floor in front of her, and Mom and Dad are exchanging looks I can’t read. Their behavior has been off the entire trip. They’re normally cuddle bugs like Abi and me, but I don’t think I’ve seen them even hold hands, much less snuggle.

“What are you talking about?” I ask Scotty. When he doesn’t answer, I search my parents’ faces for an explanation. Dad looks away, but my mother’s eyes flicker between Fee and myself before she finally lets out a sigh that makes it sound like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Tatum, we need to talk?—”

Dad bolts up in his seat, his eyes bulging. “Absolutely not. This isn’t the time, and it certainly isn’t the place.”

“He’s going to find out anyway. We can’t just keep pretending like everything’s peachy keen. It isn’t fair to him.”

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