Page 62 of Quiet Rage
She bites her lip, and I guess she’s supposed to be seductive, but right now, she’s anything but. “Hi,” she murmurs with a come-hither smile. “I heard the boss’s son was hot, but I didn’t know how hot until just now.”
She’s new. Not just to Dad’s payroll, but to this whole world. She’s clumsy, obvious, leaning back on her palms while sittingon the foot of the bed and spreading her legs in a skirt that barely covers her ass in the first place.
I’m only human. Of course, my attention drifts down to those spread thighs and the smooth, shaved pussy she’s revealed. “I heard you were a very good boy who deserves a reward. Do you like what you see?” she purrs.
I am so fucking tired. Of all of it. The performance, the fakeness of it all. I didn’t know how fake my world really was until I met someone authentic—someone who opened me up to thoughts and feelings I avoided before. I wish I could still avoid them. Life wasn’t easy, but it was easier than this. Feeling like one giant, exposed nerve, sensitive to even a faint breeze.
She’s waiting for an answer, giggling softly. To her, this is a game. She’s teasing me.
“Listen…” This is all so awkward and sad. I should be with Tamson now, but instead, I have this half-assed, low-budget replacement sitting on my bed. “You’re cute, but…”
“What’s wrong?” she murmurs, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout. “You’re going to hurt my feelings, big guy.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to do this.” I look over my shoulder toward the closed door, then back at her. “He doesn’t have to know, okay? You don’t have to do…all of this.”
Now she looks toward the door, biting her lip for real. “But…but he said…”
“I know what he said, and he can think you’re doing what he wants. But you don’t have to. I don’t even want you to.”
“I don’t want to go to the brothel.” Her face goes red and her eyes fill with tears, and I wish it was possible to apologize for whatsomeone else does. I wish it actually mattered—that it could change something. “He said that’s where I would go if I didn’t make you happy. My boyfriend lost a ton of money on football, and your dad took me as payment. I can’t go to the brothel.”
I don’t know who’s worse. Her boyfriend, or the man who accepted a human being as repayment. “So he doesn’t have to know. I won’t tell him.”
It’s incredible, the way she changes. Like she’s turning back into a regular person, dropping the act. Now she’s just a confused girl sitting on my bed, legs closed, nervously picking at her nails. “But you still want me to stay?”
“Yeah, you can stay. What’s your name?” I ask as I kick off my shoes.
“Kinsley.” She sounds so young and scared. Like Tamson. I can help her, at least.
“Kinsley, you can make up a bed on the floor—there’s a bunch of blankets and pillows and shit in the closet. And if you want some real clothes to wear,” I add, eyeing her tiny skirt and see-through top, “my sweats will be way too big for you, but you can roll them up. Okay? You don’t need to do anything.”
I know the look on her face. She looks too much like Tamson for me to not recognize exactly what’s going through her head. “I want to believe you.”
This time, she can. “Just get changed if you want. I’m getting in the shower.” I need to wash all of this off me.
At least, I can try. Some things can’t be washed clean.
Chapter 28
Tamson
“Thanks a lot. Have a good one.”
God, I am a zombie, going through the motions as I finish bagging a few items for a customer with two kids who are very, very excited to get home and eat their candy bars. But only if they do all their homework, or so their mom made sure to tell them.
I remember back when I used to get excited over something as simple as a candy bar. Life was better then. I didn’t know how good I had it, but then does anybody ever? That’s the thing about life. We don’t know how good things are until later, when we have something terrible to compare them to.
I didn’t know the last time I said goodbye to Jason would be the last time, either. I didn’t know how good it was to have an annoying brother who never put the toilet seat down when he was finished in the bathroom and who used to leave hair trimmings in the sink after shaving. What I wouldn’t give to get home and see whiskers on the counter. I used to get so mad, too. I would do anything to get that mad at him again.
“Excuse me?”
Blinking hard, I realize the woman is still standing at the counter, bag in hand. “Yes?” I murmur.
“I gave you twenty dollars.” When I still don’t react because I’m too damn numb, she says, “My change?”
Jesus Christ. It’s like being in a constant dream state, only the rest of the world is awake. “I’m so sorry.” I have to wait for her to hand me her receipt to remind me how much change she’s owed. I can’t even get through the basics of life anymore.
How can I, when my brain keeps flashing back to being on the kitchen table? Looking up at Kellen, suffering through his brutality, unable to understand what was happening or why. Why he had to do it. How he could use me like I didn’t matter at all.
