Page 21 of Shared With His Friends
Dane’s blue eyes grow broad with something like hope. Ash smirks, huffs a little sneer out and asks, “How are you gonna do that? We couldn’t find her.”
Kicking Jet’s foot with mine, I grab his attention. “Get yourself cleaned up, man. Stop wallowing. She won’t come back to you if you’re like this.” Pointing to the boyfriends in the corner, I snap my fingers. “You two are in charge of getting this nasty sty cleaned up. Get the staff back here, and pay them well.” Grabbing the Ferrari keys, I head toward the front door. “I’m going to get her and bring her home.”
I haven’t been to this part of town in years, and as I approach the area, my stomach ties in knots as all the old memories of hardship come roaring back. It was one day in October when I decided I’d had enough and was never going to starve again, no matter what. Jet was always there for me, lending me whatever I needed when I asked. But I was always too proud to ask for much, knowing how people used him. After we graduated high school, I practically moved into his compound. He never objected and never told me no.
The car smells of gasoline as I unload the can I just bought at the station. Heading toward the little single wide, I swivel my head around, making sure none of the neighbors catch a glimpse of me, but the houses are far enough apart here that likely no one notices. The only streetlamp is set closer to the road, so I likely appear as a large shadow if viewed from a window nearby.
The screen door is falling off the hinges and almost does when I open it and lift my knuckles to tap on the thin faux wood door. Some grumbling and shuffling can easily be heard through the open window, along with the sound of kicked empty aluminum cans and paper rustling. A skinny man with sunken cheeks and a bloom of cigarette smoke greets me, sipping a malt liquor bottle.
“You Amber’s uncle?”
Clearly having a hard time holding himself up, he growls, “I already donetoldyou kids that I don’t know where that bitch is. Not taking care of me, that’s for sure.”
Shoving up the stairs and past him, I take inventory of the small space.
“What the hell? You can’t be in here.” Every word he says is slurred. Forcing myself through the nasty-ass little hall, I find a bedroom that could have been hers. The closets are thrown open and things are ruffled through, like someone was searching for things… or taking them. Nothing of value seems left behind.Except… there’s one picture I snag from the bedside table and, after removing it from its frame, I slip into my back pocket before returning to the main room.
The man teeters toward me, but I drop my gas can on the ground and grab him, twisting his arms around to his back.
“What the fuck? I’m calling the po-lice…” Practically falling into my arms, I pull out the handcuffs from my pocket and lock his wrists up.
“Got any duct tape, my man?” I ask, glancing around the area while shoving him into his old, crusty sofa. God, he stinks worse than Jet.
I don’t spot any twine or other things to tie him up… “Ah, never mind. Found something better.” He’s wailing garbled yells now, but I enjoy them. Almost like a symphony of terror. It delights my heart. “Here we go.” Lifting the baseball bat that was standing behind the door, I head back to the couch, lift it above my head, and slam it onto his ankles. They crack with a loud snap as he screams in agony. “Are they broken, yet?” Reaching down, I swallow back bile as I have to touch his offensive feet to jar his legs, making sure they’re unusable. Hmm, another hit should do it.
With four more chops with the bat, I’m pretty sure his legs are non-functional. Tossing the bat aside, I grab his pack of cigarettes off the coffee table. His voice comes out in hoarse cries as tears fall down his cheeks. “That’s for being an utter piece of shit to my girlfriend. Also… enjoy your last cigarette.” Lighting it up, I stuff it in his mouth, and he sucks on it like a pacifier, his eyes wide as he watches my next move.
Grabbing the can, I spray gasoline all over the house. From the back rooms, through to the front. Then all over him as he spits out the cigarette and starts yelling, “No, no, no… I’ll do whatever you want! Please!”
“Dropping that lit cigarette in here was fucking stupid. But I didn’t think you were very smart.” After removing his handcuffs, I punch his face in a few times until he passes out. Setting the can in front of his face, I head toward the door, then light another cigarette and toss it inside the open window. Before I can make it down the stairs, a loud explosion almost blows me off my feet, the glass shattering out of the windows.
Stripping off my hoodie, I sprint back to the Ferrari and wait a good ten minutes before calling the emergency services. It’s another eight before they arrive. Fussing with my hair, I huff breaths quickly and jump from the car, then make my way to a fireman near the truck.
“Hey! I was the one who called you guys. Just driving by and saw this. Is there anyone inside? I was… I was too afraid to check.”
“Oh, thanks for calling. No, it was best you didn’t. Looks like there was a man inside, but he wouldn’t have made it. Smoking near a gas can was stupid… Do you know him?”
Looking as upset as possible, I stare at the ground. “I knew his niece. Went to school with her. Name’s Amber Leigh. She’s probably his emergency contact.”
After gathering my information, the crew gets started on finding her while I wait around in the car near the woods. In an hour, a red Lambo pulls down the driveway and parks in front of me. When she gets out, she stares at the burning ashes of her childhood home, the curvy silhouette of her figure lit up by the orange embers.
She stands with her hands on her hips, completely unaware of my large body creeping up behind her. When I snake an arm around her waist and one over her mouth, she screams into my palm and thrashes, kicking her legs wildly. Lifting her up like she weighs nothing, ‘cause she doesn’t, I haul her into the woods without the rescue crews even noticing. It’s too dark now tomake anything out, except a few feet in front of us. I throw her into the ground and lay my body on top of her back, squishing her into the soft mud.
“You gonna be a good girl and let me rape you?” When I release her mouth, she pants and tries to turn toward me, but my weight won’t let her.
“W-Wade?”
“You thought you could run from us, didn’t you? Scared?”
Digging her claws into the grass, she tries to claw her way out from under me, but it only helps me get her tight-ass jeans down around her hips. When she yells for help, I grab her hair and pull her up, so her ear meets my mouth. “Listen, you gonna use the safe word? If not, then shut the fuck up. Priss? Say it. Say the safe word.”
Huffing out tears, she sobs and sniffs. “N-no.”
“What was that?”
“No.”
“That’s not your word. But I like it… Keep saying it as I fuck you into the mud.”
