Page 90 of Played
His words are like a lit match to a pool of gasoline, causing rage to explode inside me. So intense I’m blinded by it. He anticipates the punch I aim at his jaw and ducks before it can connect. Using all of his body weight, he barrels into my midsection and pushes me back into King’s apartment. I land on the rough carpet with him on top of me.
He straddles me, raining blows down on my head while he spews vile, hateful words. Because of who he is, the words hurt more. Because of what he did to me. I keep my arms over my head and feel myself revert back to that seventeen-year-old kid who was too weak to stop him.
But I’m not weak. I’m not a kid.
I hook my leg over his and roll us over so he’s pinned underneath me. Blood drips from a cut above my eye, peppering his cheeks with red droplets, and I wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze. “You raped me, you sick fuck! I was a fucking kid, and you raped me!” Squeezing his throat tighter, I watch his face turn purple.
Everything happens so fast. He’s clutching at my wrists with one hand. His other hand appears. There’s a glint of metal. A flash of movement. He’s got a fucking gun.
King’s voice rings in my ears. “Mason!”
I’m on the floor, blood thundering in my ears. It all plays out like a movie.
Beside me, King and his father wrestle for the weapon. King comes out the winner and brandishes the gun. He stands over his father, his chest heaving, the gun in his hands pointed down. “Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t pull this trigger.”
Fighting through the fog of anger and confusion, I jump up and place my hand on his forearm. King keeps his finger on the trigger and his glare trained on the piece of shit on the floor. Myvoice firm but gentle like my touch, I say, “Because if you shoot him, there’s every chance you will go to prison. And he is not worth it, King. He is not worth giving up your life for.”
A muscle tics in his jaw. “I heard what he did to you. He brought this gun here. He was gonna use it. I can say it was self-defense.”
I hate that he heard what his father did to me. It was easier to pretend it never happened when he didn’t know. It was easier for me to forget that part of myself. I look down at Kyngston. A dark patch has spread across the crotch of his gray suit pants, and he’s trembling violently, hands held up in surrender. “Look at him,” I say. “He’s a pathetic piece of shit. You’d really throw your whole life away—throw our life away—for him?” I place my hand on his cheek and turn his face so he’s looking at me instead of his father. “He’s not worth it. You know that better than anyone.”
He stares at me for a few beats, his green eyes swimming with tears. Then he draws a deep breath before redirecting his attention to his father. “Get the fuck out of here. But if you ever come near either of us again, I will fucking kill you.” He lowers the gun, and Kyngston scrambles to his feet and runs from the apartment like the coward that he is.
After closing the door, King locks the deadbolt and puts the gun down. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mase?” he asks in a low voice, his back to me.
“And when would I have done that? You fucking ghosted me, and then you walked back into my life after eighteen years. Eighteen fucking years, King. And what? I’m supposed to drop that into conversation? ‘Hey, babe, do you fancy Thai or pizza for dinner—and by the way, your dad forced his cock down my throat.’” I can’t fucking stand the tremor in my voice. I knew this would come between us, that he’d find a way to blame me. I knew it would fuck everything up. The truth has a way of doing that.
I’m spiraling fast, and I don’t know how to stop it. This isn’t King’s fault, but he’s here and he’s talking to me like… like what? Like he feels sorry for me. Like all he sees is that pathetic little kid who couldn’t stand up for himself. Who couldn’t stop what happened.
King turns around, his cheeks wet with tears. He scrubs them dry and places his hands on my hips. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry? I swallow down the pain, anger, and sadness blocking my throat. “Would it have made a difference? If you’d known what he did? Would you have come back for me?”
His lower lip wobbles, and he bites down on it but doesn’t answer.
“King?” I bark his name.
“I wish I could tell you that it would have made a difference,” he says, pulling his hands back and looking down at his shoes. So now he can’t even look me in the eye?
Stepping back, I suck in a breath that doesn’t reach my lungs.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think beyond my rage. So much fucking rage. It bubbles up inside of me, fighting to be let out. And I feel King’s pity too. Is it pity? Or does he feel as much guilt and shame as I do?
I’m too overwhelmed to know what the fuck is going on right now. I need to go. Need to find space to breathe. Room to think.
“I have to go.” I grab my clothes from my overnight bag and get dressed. He doesn’t try to stop me, and I fucking hate him for it. When I get back to the living room, he’s sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands.
Still, he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t ask me to stay.
“You were right, King. I do deserve better.”
My heart splits in two when I walk out the door. It shatters into a million pieces when I step onto the elevator and the door to his apartment remains closed. Once again, the only man I have ever loved has failed to fight for us.
Outside, it’s pouring, and I tip my face to the sky and let the rain wash away my tears. I don’t want to go home to my empty penthouse. But I also don’t feel like unburdening myself to my brothers, which is what will happen if I turn up on any of their doorsteps in this state. I love them all dearly, but my older brothers are overprotective and will immediately go into destroy-every-Worthington-who-ever-lived mode, and Maddox is working.
I hail a cab and give the driver Tyler’s address. Outside of my family, and at least for now, he’s the safest place I know.
“Holy fucking shit.”Tyler blinks at me from his seat on the armchair across from me.
