Page 11 of Ruthless

The short one that I haven’t seen before rips her T-shirt off, exposing her naked body, and tosses it aside. She cries out, trying to cover herself, but it’s no use. Two of them hold her down, and one stands behind her. Bile fills my stomach as he pulls down his pants, and the reality of what they’re about to do sinks in. I’m helpless to stop it.

Toothless holds my stare, not saying a word, but jerks his head, and the prick behind her shoves his hips forward into her tiny body.

Her screams are like razor blades slicing into my open wounds deeper and deeper each time they violate her. “Help me, please!”

My eyes shoot open, and I jerk up to a sitting position on the couch. Sweat drips down my face, but it might as well be her blood I’m painted in. Sucking in deep gusts of air reminds me that I’m here—I’m still alive—but it doesn’t help. It never does.

Every night it’s the same dream, same damn ending. No matter what I do, I can’t change the outcome. That’s the day I realized the devil comes in many forms. Images of those few days trapped in purgatory are permanently etched onto my skin—buried deep within my bones, and there’s no escaping them—no escaping my failure.

I rub away the tightness in my chest and eye the pack of gum on the coffee table but shake my head and grab the pack of cigarettes next to it that I stole from Axel instead. The hum of energy flowing through me is relentless. Every noise has my body on high alert. I want to shove my demons back into their box and bolt it shut, but once they’re out, it’s damn near impossible. There are only two ways to work this off, and neither is an option right now. My brothers are with their families, and I won’t bother them with my shit.

The other is… my eyes flick to the darkened hall where Kennedy is no doubt sound asleep in my bed alone. Thoughts of slipping inside her and forgetting all about that night tempt me, but I’m not gonna burden her with the fucked-up shit that runs through my head.

There’s no going back to sleep after this. There never is, so I head outside. The fresh air will help clear the clusterfuck of emotions running through my head. I light up a smoke as I sit down on the bottom step of the front porch and run my fingers through my beard.

Everything is brighter, clearer this far out in the country, away from all the crowded bullshit of the bigger cities. Cicadas are the only thing keeping me company as the night air clings to my skin. It brings a strange sense of peace, like the calm before the storm.

A cloud of smoke leaves me as I stare out into the darkness. It’s a typical humid August night in Georgia, but at least it’s home. Nothing like the heat in Afghanistan, and thank fuck for that. Trees line our property as far as the eye can see, and that’s the way my brothers and I prefer it. It keeps others out while ensuring what we treasure most stays protected and safe inside.

Tightness in my chest builds until I can’t ignore it. My body itches with the need to purge the only way I know how. I take one last drag off my cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stubbing it out with my barefoot—the slight sting of the flame igniting the craving for more.

I walk up to the nearest tree and clench my fists up in front of me. The second my knuckles make contact with the trunk, a tremor of pain rocks up my arm, and I relish in it. Pain is the only thing that dulls the chaos inside my head. It fuels the need to erase the memories. I continue to pound away. The roughness of the bark scrapes at my skin, but I never let up. Blood drips between my fingers, and I clench my fists tighter until they crack.

Their screams fill my ears, coaxing me on further until their voices melt into a sea of white noise. Every burn, every sting of pain, heats my blood. The rush of endorphins coursing through me fills the void in my chest, and yet it’s not enough. It’s never enough. It becomes an addiction—a high I crave more of.

Bits of bark fly off as I keep attacking the tree. The trunk morphs into faces—the guys, those pricks that tortured us, that little boy’s, hers, and eventually settling on mine. I slam my fist into it harder and harder, not stopping. My eyes sting, but I never lose focus. I need this.

Sweat drips down my chest, but I keep going. I have to. It isn’t until my hands are on fire and numbness washes over me that the tightness in my bones settles into a dull ache. I tilt my head back and shout up at the moon until I’m hoarse.

If Nelson could see me now, he’d be laughing his ass off, call me a pussy, and tell me to get over it. But he can’t. The dead don’t talk back.

The wood creaking from the porch alerts me that I’m not alone. When I glance over my shoulder, I find Kennedy leaning against the railing with her hands crossed over her chest. The porch light glows like a halo behind her, outlining her petite frame.

She takes the remaining steps that separate us until she’s standing right in front of me. Her blue eyes watch my every move from behind the lens of her glasses. “Everything okay?”

Now that she’s closer, I take in the rest of her. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts that hangs just below her knees. Her dark brown hair is thrown up in a messy knot on top of her head, and she’s gnawing on her plump top lip.

“I’m fine.” I clear my throat and suck in a deep breath.

The scent of lemons fills me, and I have to bite back a groan. It’s fresh and clean, just like her. And I don’t want to taint her with the dirt of my past.

Her eyes bounce from my face to my bloody knuckles and back again. If she’s frightened by what she sees, she plays it off well, but her father is Finnegan Donnelly. Chances are she’s seen much worse shit than this. “You want to talk about it?”

“No.” Every muscle in my face tightens the longer she stands here observing me.

“Are you sure? I’m a good listener.” She moves to step closer, seeking to close the small distance between us while I take one back. The last thing I want is for her to witness me like this.

“I said I’m fine. Drop it,” I snap, and the second she flinches, I feel like a huge dick, but it’s for the best. I’m not in the right frame of mind to be around her right now.

Her body tightens at the harshness in my tone, and I want to take the words back, but it’s for the best. Without another word, she spins on her heels and closes the door behind her with a soft click.

I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach at what I’ve just done and stare back out into the darkness. The clouded thoughts from earlier resurfacing and Axel’s voice ricocheting in my head. Maybe I am too mentally fucked up to be around my kid? Still, I’m not letting Kennedy or our baby out of my sight. I want them here where I know they’ll be safe and protected.

I failed them. I failedher, but I won’t fail my kid. Even if that means I have to protect them from me.

CHAPTERFIVE

Kennedy

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