Page 73 of Wicked Scorn
Jeremiah nods yes for me, his expression grim as he pulls me on his lap. He can see I’m shutting down and I’m grateful he knows me so well.
Graham leans forward, eyes like ice chips boring into me. “Oakley,” he says, voice low and rough-edged. “Do you have any idea who it might be? Anybody at all? Anyone you talked to that night? Did he live at the house where the party was?”
My hands twist together in my lap, fingers knotting and unknotting like a nervous dance.
“I wish I did. Rem has asked me countless times, but there’s nothing up here.” My voice is barely more than a whisper, but it feels like it’s echoing in the vast room. “ I didn’t really have any friends at St. James. I was so used to tagging along with you guys—” I can feel the weight of their stares pressing down on me. “I thought maybe by getting out, I’d meet some new people. Turns out not everyone is as nice to me as the infamous Blackwood brothers.” I try to joke, but no one laughs. Jeremiah presses his face against my hair, pulling me tight against his chest.
“Dammit, Oakley,” Graham growls, his frustration palpable. “You cannot trust random people.”
I feel Jeremiah take a deep breath like he’s about to lay into Graham for blaming me, but it’s Penn who snaps at him. “It’s not her fault. Royce wasn’t there to protect her, and neither were any of us. So shut the fuck up before you shut her down completely. You’re the least in tune with emotions, Grammy and so let your big brother take the lead. We need to figure out who the fucker is so we can rip his dick off and make him swallow it.”
I glance at Jeremiah, hoping for some sign of reassurance, but his face is a mask of grim determination. Penn’s smirk is gone; his usual sarcastic edge replaced by a rare seriousness.For once, we’re all united by the same goal, the same need to end this nightmare.
“I’m scared,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know who it is. I wish I did. But I don’t want to put any of you in danger. Because I live here, I feel like that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Penn twirls his finger in the air as if to say, ‘big whoop’. “I’d like to see them fucking try to come in here. I hope they do, actually. I wouldn’t have to worry about public cameras, moving bodies, you know the usual shit that gets little piggies sniffing around.”
“Did your mom drop kick you when you were a baby?” Graham snaps at Penn before turning to me, “No one will touch you here. We’ll figure it out. I’m sorry that happened to you.” Graham isn’t one to express emotion and the words come out clipped and straight to the point, but I know he means what he says.
“I’m gonna get punched in the dick for bringing this up, I’m sure.” Penn’s voice slices through the quiet like a knife. He leans back in his chair, eyes glinting, and I just know whatever he says next is going to be bad. “But let’s not forget there might be other reasons someone would want to keep tabs on you, Oakley.”
I stiffen, already knowing where he’s going. At least my new laptop is not within arm’s reach of Jeremiah.
“Maybe one of your...viewers?” He raises an eyebrow, the implication hanging heavy in the air. “From your stripper shows.”
My stomach churns. The room feels smaller, suffocating. My hands fidget in my lap, fingers twisting together as if they can somehow hold me together. I force myself to meet his gaze, then look away just as quickly when I feel Jeremiah jerkforward. “It’s okay,” I say, but Jeremiah’s eyes are zeroed in on his brother.
“I never stripped, first of all,” I tell him, my voice steady but low. “But I blocked and reported any of the guys who gave me a hard time. I was careful to use a backdrop, and I never gave any identifying info, so they’d know where to find me.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you did all the things but little Ashford, when it comes to crazy baby, none of that matters. One small slip up and they can find you. I do it all the time,” Penn says, sarcasm dripping from every word. His eyes are fixed on me, challenging.
“I’m telling you I didn’t slip up,” I snap, frustration bubbling up. “But being a cam girl was therapeutic for me. It gave me control after...after everything.”
The room goes silent. I can feel every eye on me, judging, questioning. The weight of their scrutiny presses down, making it hard to breathe.
“Therapy, huh?” Penn’s tone is mocking, but there’s something else there too—curiosity, maybe even understanding. “Interesting choice.”
“Yeah, well, we all have our ways,” I reply, my voice sharp. “And mine helped me reclaim my body, my autonomy.”
“Okay, okay, chill,” Penn says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He’s snickering and I realize then he only brought up the cam site thing to irritate Jeremiah. It wasn’t this side of five minutes ago he was admonishing Graham for victim blaming me. “Just putting it out there.”
“Well, put it back,” Jeremiah snaps, glaring at him. I can tell that he’s trying to hold himself back for my sake. He doesn’t want to upset me by pummeling Penn right now. Penn wouldn’t go down without a knock down drag out fight and it would be a whole thing none of us have time for rightnow.
“Enough,” Graham’s voice cuts through our exchange, firm and authoritative. “This isn’t helping.”
“Fine. Bunch of wet fucking blankets. Did I upset you, Oakley?” Penn mutters, leaning back again. But his eyes never leave me, studying, calculating. I just shake my head no, because he didn’t.
Graham leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes moving from Jeremiah to me. “Oakley, can you remember anything—anything at all about the assault? Even the smallest detail might help.” His voice is gentle, yet there’s a steely edge to it, a promise of protection and vengeance.
I swallow hard. Memories flash like broken glass in my mind, sharp and painful. “I—I don’t know,” I stammer, my fingers twisting together in my lap. “It’s all so fragmented. I don’t even know if any of the fragments are actually real.”
“Think, Oakley,” Graham urges, his tone softening as he reaches out, almost touching my hand but stopping short probably because he knows how territorial Jeremiah has become with me. “Anything might trigger something useful. We need to find this bastard.”
I look up, my gaze drifting to the gold necklace around his neck. His football number glints in the dim light, catching my eye. Suddenly, it’s like a switch flips in my brain. My breath catches in my throat as the memory floods back, vivid and horrifying.
“That necklace,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “The guy...he wore one, too. But it had letters on it. ‘KA.’”
Graham’s eyes widen, and he leans in closer, his expression intense. “Kappa Alpha? Are you sure?”
