Page 112 of Unspoken Truths

“So you’re saying that you’re not thinking about what they do to get each other off?” I ask.

Even Jared looks smug as he adjusts his cock in his shorts. That’s as much as an admittance of guilt to me.

“Lili has a very healthy sexual appetite,” Nacio says. “She has a dirty mouth, and I’ve often found Rachelle fire engine red at something she’s said. They’re definitely eating each other's pussies.”

“Fucking knew it,” I groan. “Okay, enough of that. Find out what they’re doing. I say we crash it.”

“Oh that’ll be fun,” Jared says with a nod. “I don’t know what two lesbians do for romance, but it’ll be a blast to play third, fourth, fifth, and sixth wheels.”

The fact that he’s including Elijah helps to ease the stranglehold on my lungs. It’s hard to breathe, because I’m really worried about him. If Jared thinks he’ll be home soon, I’m going to hold onto that.

“You’re ridiculous,” Nacio says, but he’s chuckling under his breath anyway. “I’ll see what I can find out. She’s had a week’s worth of peace. That’s more than enough.”

I know his dad is on his ass to leave his stepsister alone, but we don’t have that luxury. There are eyes everywhere in the Kings Society. If we aren’t delivering on what we’ve promised to do, they’ll come to remind us.

The society spans years worth of Carlysle Kings generations. The warning could come from anywhere, and we’d never know until it’s too late. We can’t afford to get lax in our attention to the little mouse.

Rachelle Reyes doesn’t deserve a life without our torture, not when so much rides on this. Killing her means that Elijah won’t have to worry about being kidnapped or pulled into his family’s business. I’ve been trying to figure out what the fuck they’re selling or dealing in. There have been too many roadblocks.

It leads me to believe it not only isn’t legal, but that whatever it is is likely to crush Elijah’s soul. He’s as dark and twisted as we are. However there’s a deep seated feeling of justice inside of him as well.

The reason he’s perfectly fine to fuck with Rachelle’s life is because he has a laundry list of her imagined sins written in his head. It doesn’t matter if they may not be real, as long as he holds fiercely to it, the little mouse will live in misery.

She may pull at our interests or even occasionally our sympathies, but it’ll never be enough to save her. The outlying bitch won’t survive high school.

* * *

ELIJAH

My parents made sure I remained knocked out for the entire flight. Every time I started to wake up, my dad would smirk and tell me,“ Go back to sleep. We’re not ready for you quite yet.”

The plane is huge, which seems odd for only three people. Occasionally, I’d hear really odd keening and moaning sounds through the haze of the drugs. I know my father doesn’t have any issues with having sex with barely legal girls and boys, but I don’t know if there’s anyone else here.

Maybe it’s better that I don’t know. We landed several times to refuel, so my parents could have picked up their sweet treats at any point and time. It took me a long time to realize what my father meant when he said that. I was fifteen when it really clicked.

It took everything inside of me not to hurl. Maybe I just refused to realize what my parents were actually selling or doing until now. There’s no way I can stick my head in the sand anymore.

“Up we go,” Mom says, roughly shaking me. “Don’t be lazy now. I have places to be, which means so do you.”

Dad chuckles as I force my eyes open. It takes me a few seconds to be able to clear the odd film over my eyesight. Shoving a bottle into my hands, he turns away as I slowly open it. My ears struggle to hear the seal crack as my hand twists the top. I could lift it to look, but my mom won’t stop watching me.

If they wanted to drug me again, she’d just stick me with a needle. Right? That’s what I’m going with for now.

Forcing myself to my feet, I see two girls hurry off the plane ahead of my father that have to be barely twelve, and feel my stomach pitch. Rubbing my chest because it hurts, I wonder if I’m having a heart attack at seventeen.

It’s one thing to hear my father and grandfather talk about their depraved preferences, but seeing it physically hurts.

“That’s not the worst thing you’ll see today,” Mom mutters. “Let’s go. Drink your water.”

My feet work as if on autopilot, years of doing whatever she wants working in her favor now. The girls are gone by the time I make it down the stairs to the tarmac. There’s no one who cares as we get into the car with heavily tinted windows, a driver silently taking us away from the airport.

The sun is going down, allowing me to gauge what time it is, but I still feel messed up as I chug water. I don’t want to puke it up since my stomach is bothering me from both the flight and the medication Mom injected into me.

“Tonight, we are going to show you the shipping containers, as we have people coming to pick up their product,” Dad says eagerly. “There’s an auction filled with wealthy people here in Dubai. When you have more money than God, it’s easy to get bored with what life has to offer.”

“That’s when you begin to reach for things polite society says you can’t have,” my mother murmurs. “We procure what others can’t with our shipping containers and ability to run under the radar. You’ve refused to pay any attention to our family business, but that changes now, son.”

I don’t know if they’re purposely not using my name because we have a driver or not. It feels weird, as if they’re both distancing themselves from whatever it is they’re planning to do next. It’s true, I’ve largely ignored their business. I thought it was boring, perhaps high end furniture or even chemicals.

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