Chapter 17

JUNE 4 – SUNDAY 2:45 AM

N ash

Four weeks in a row was definitely a pattern. Considering my father hated to be predictable with his schedule because he was paranoid, this was fucking odd. I couldn't take it anymore and had to know who he was meeting with and why.

I'd already scouted around the outside of the house and there were no guards or security. What the fuck was up with that? My father didn't go anywhere without guards. Lawrence only visited houses loaded with state-of-the-art security and monitors. Unless it was so state-of-the-art that I didn't even know about it. There wasn't even an alarm system on the door. The back door looked new but had a basic lock, not even a deadbolt.

If that wasn't fucking weird enough, breaking in had been a breeze. It looked like a model home. If you wanted spacious with no substance, this was it. A kettle, microwave, and coffee maker were the only things in the kitchen. The table was neat and clean, with fake bowls of fruit. What the hell was this place? There was no noise of any kind, which was also bizarre. I'd expected voices, at the very least.

It was a decent-sized home but not massive, and it took me no time at all to slink around and realize that there was nothing to find or see. Opening the basement door, I froze and looked up as loud music began to play. I didn't recognize the band, but it was some form of death metal. Shining my light downstairs, I could tell from the thick wall of cobwebs that no one was down there, so I quickly closed the door.

One step at a time, I snuck my way up the stairs, keeping my back to the wall and my gun ready for anything. This was not my father's type of music, but as I got closer to the room and heard the crack of a whip, I knew why it was playing. Shaking my head, I looked around at the empty rooms with beds. Could my father really have kept one of the trafficked girls and was torturing her every week? Then again, it could be a new girl every time. He could have one of his soldiers bring one and tie them up to be used for him.

He had never been shy about abuse or torture, hell, even rape. He didn't care about us knowing, so why bring certain girls here? I guess he could be torturing random people, but that didn't seem likely either. This place was so much more public than the torture chamber under the mansion.

Crack, crack, crack.

I flinched as I imagined what was going on behind the closed door. In the past, I would've walked away. I would've said it didn't concern me and I could deal with it after I took over, but not now, not when the girl needing help was so close. If I took a beating for stopping him, then so be it, but I couldn't just walk away.

Crack.

A faint, muffled groan reached me, and I'd heard enough. Backing up, I got in my stance and kicked as hard as I could. The door crashed open with a bang, and my ears felt like they were going to bleed from the loud, screeching music assaulting me.

Stepping into the room, I readied for the worst that my father could do, but there was nothing in the world to prepare me for this. I stood in the doorway while my mouth hung open as I computed what the fuck I was staring at.

It was a dungeon. Every kind of sex toy you could ever dream of was hung or strung up around the red-lit room. My father had one similar at home, but his toys had sharp hooks, barbed wire, and electrical currents for a really fun time. Those who went in rarely came back out alive. Sadistic fuck. The window was blocked out, and there was sound-canceling board all over the walls and ceiling.

My eyes darted back and forth between the two people who seemed as frozen with shock as I was while my mind reeled and traveled back to another time. To a time when the house felt like a home, and despite my father's vile temper, he wasn't as brutal. Back to a time when the house was filled with the scent of fresh baking daily, and I believed in absurd ideas like marriage.

"What the fuck is this?" It was all I could come up with to say as I stared at my father hanging from the ceiling. He had leather cuffs holding him in place, with a ball gag in his mouth, a tail hanging between his legs—that could only be from a butt plug—and a cock chastity belt with spikes. Aside from that, he wore nothing, and my brain felt like it was going to explode in shock.

I locked eyes with him and then the woman behind him with a long whip in her hand. It took my muddled brain a moment to figure out who she was. I hadn't seen her in years, and with the revealing leather outfit and vibrant red makeup, I needed to be sure this wasn't some crazy illusion. Walking over to the stereo, I hit the power button, but the silence was worse.

Turning around, I crossed my arms. "Mom, do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on here?"

She licked her lips as she coiled up the whip in her hand. "Hi, son," she said, her voice as soft and sweet as I remembered, which didn't fit the scene in front of me.

My father started to struggle and yell through the ball gag. "Ignore him. Tell me what I'm looking at?"

She shrugged. "Your father and I separated, and I left. I came back to town a little while ago, and we reconnected. We realized that we still loved one another and had a certain chemistry that we couldn't find with anyone else. We knew remarrying wouldn't work. Neither of us had been happy then, so we started getting together once a week to do…well, to do what we always did best."

Jesus Christ, they did this before I was born. I didn't need to picture how my mother got pregnant. No child should envision that. I cringed.

"How fucking long has this been happening?"

My mom looked at my father, who was as livid and mortified as I'd ever seen. He didn't like to be caught off guard, and my arrival had certainly done that.

"A little over two years, I guess."

My mouth dropped. I hadn't seen my mother in ten years. No Christmas card, happy birthday, phone call, text, or a fucking messenger pigeon, but she'd been whipping my father and doing God knew what else once a week for two years?

"Is this a joke? Please tell me that this is some sort of sick game to screw with my head?" I looked around the room for a camera like this was a comedy show, and I was the punchline. "Okay, Dad. The Vicky thing didn't get me, but you got me this time. Cause…fuck."

"No, it's not a joke," Mom said. "We thought it best if I just stayed away since it had been so long, and you were doing well without me."

"Are you fucking delusional? You think living with him is normal?" I pointed at my father, not caring if he heard. "You think slinking around in the night following your father is normal behavior? You think bolting my door so he doesn't drag me from the bed in the middle of the night is okay?" I glared at her. "Fuck you."

"Son, don't speak to me that way. I'm still your mother."

"You left me with a narcissistic sadist who beat me for fun, and you never looked back," I yelled. "I always thought you left because he hurt you! Obviously not, so what was it? You just decided you didn't want to be a wife or a mother to me anymore, and walking away was easier?"

She rolled her shoulders. "Some people are cut out to be parents. I realized I wasn't one of those people. But that has nothing to do with you. It was how I felt about me, not how I felt about you."

I lifted my gun and pointed it at my mother. She sucked in a deep breath and held up her hands. Turning the gun on my father, I glared at him as hurt and rage consumed my body. It was tempting to end it all now. How easy it would be to kill them both and be done with my fucked-up family once and for all? But I lowered the weapon.

"Newsflash, neither of you ever should've been parents." Pulling out my phone, I snapped some photos of my father and mother as he yelled at me through the gag. My father's eyes promised pain.

"You know what? You're right. I don't want to see you again," I said as the last of the little boy who'd longed for his mother died with the words.

"Nash, please don't be like that," she said, her eyes sad. I shook my head, unable to wrap my mind around the insanity. How did I come from these two people?

Walking over to my father, I stared at him, purposely letting this moment and what he looked like seep into my brain. He was seething, his nostrils flaring, and there was a tiny piece of satisfaction in that.

"If you lay a hand on me again, I'm sending these photos to every Don I can think of and then selling them on the dark web. I'm pretty certain this would fuck with your plans to marry Vicky and any other alliances you have planned." I grabbed his face, not caring what he decided to do to get back at me. "Don't. Ever. Touch. Me. Again. I will ruin you."

"And you…." I pointed at the woman who gave birth to me. She didn't deserve the title of mother. "Don't come near me, don't speak to me, don't show up at the house even if he invites you. Nothing. Stay gone forever this time. You're not my mother. You're nothing more than a walking incubator. I'm actually disappointed he didn't kill you. That would be a far better memory than this." I shook my head.

I gave him and my mother one last look, then walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, out the front door, and marched to my truck. By the time I got in and started the vehicle, my hands were shaking with rage and the knowledge that whatever I'd thought of my father, my mother, had always been just as bad. Anyone who could leave behind their child with a man like Lawrence was a monster of a different breed. The truck peeled out of the hiding spot as I stepped on the gas.

With a yell that could wake the dead, I slammed my hands on the steering wheel.

"What the fuck?" I yelled over and over again.

JUNE 4 – SUNDAY 3:25 AM

Liam

What the fuck? Leaping from bed, I grabbed my gun off the nightstand and ran for the front door. My parents had gone on a Mediterranean cruise and taken Sienna with them, so at least the insane pounding wasn't going to wake anyone but the dead.

Jogging down the stairs, I noticed the person outside casting a long shadow through the decorative glass onto the marble floor. The doorbell began to ring in rapid succession like it had short-circuited. I peeked through the material at the side of the door and put the gun down.

"Jesus fuck. What are you trying to do, get yourself killed," I bitched at Nash as I opened the door. He stumbled in, his eyes bloodshot. "Are you drunk?"

"Not enough. What do you have to drink," Nash asked, his voice slurring as he headed for the lounge. My parents loved having large parties and insisted on having a whole room dedicated to making them look like the best hosts anywhere.

"Come on in," I grumbled and slammed the door closed before following along behind him as he pushed open the double doors like he was making a grand entrance at a ball. "What the fuck is going on," I asked as Nash wandered around the room.

"I need alcohol, lots and lots and lots of it," he answered.

I'd never seen Nash like this. A couple of drinks at a party, sure, but stumbling drunk, never. He wholeheartedly believed that he needed to stick to his regiment as closely as possible to make an Olympic team. From what he ate and drank to his training schedule and his belief about any habit like drugs and smoking. It was to the point of obsession. He also never drove intoxicated, but he clearly was now.

"Dude, I'll get you something to drink, but follow me."

"I can't fucking believe it," he said.

I figured I wasn't going to get a straight answer until I got him what he wanted. Leading him into my game room, I pointed to the couch while I went on the hunt. I didn't have much stashed in here, but I grabbed the partial bottle of tequila and held it up.

"Do you want a shot?"

"Naw, gimme the fucking bottle," he said, staring straight ahead.

"Alright, you're officially weirding me out. What's going on," I asked, handing him the bottle and flopping down in the chair across from him. He spun off the top with his thumb, and I watched in fascination and horror as he chugged the remaining four inches like it was water. I cocked an eyebrow at him as he held the bottle over his tongue to get every last drop.

Nash held up the empty. "I'm out. I need more."

"No. I'm not in the mood to take you to the hospital to have your stomach pumped. How about you tell me what the fuck is going on, and don't you dare puke on my floor."

He growled at me but slumped back and held the bottle to his chest. "Do you have any acid?"

"What? No. Why do you want acid?"

"So you can burn my eyes out of my head," he roared before tossing the empty bottle at me.

Catching it out of the air, I stood and wandered over to the minibar once more. "Okay, here's the deal. I'll make you a drink, but only if you start talking."

"Fine, but once you hear this, you can't un-hear it. My mother is back in town," he said, and my hand stilled as I poured two fingers of vodka into a tall glass.

"When did she get back?"

I topped off the vodka with water, a splash of ginger ale, a squeeze of lemon, and a few ice cubes to slow him down before walking back to Nash and holding out the glass.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's your drink. Now, don't be a picky asshole when you're in my home."

"Fucker, fine." He took a sip and winced but continued to drink. He needed the water. If I had to hide it to get it into him, then that was what I'd do. "Apparently, she's been back for over two years." I stared at him, not sure what to say to that. "And it gets better." He still managed to chug the rest of the drink and then grabbed his head. "Too cold." I should've put more ice.

"It gets better? Did she show up at the house?"

Nash shook his head. "Nope. Her and my father are still in looove," he said and gripped the glass to his chest dramatically. "But don't want to live together, so they've been meeting up once a week to…well…fuck it." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened it, and tossed it at me.

I almost threw the phone back at him as I got a glimpse of the image. "Fuck me. What the hell?"

"I walked in on that." He nodded, and I set the phone down while I took his glass, suddenly feeling like I needed one for myself.

"You know, man, I thought that my father scared her away. All this time, deep down, I thought she saw the monster and couldn't handle it. Fear had gotten the better of her, and she took off. As painful as that was, I could understand it. I could forgive that. He's scary, he's abusive, and he's…well, you know what he is." Nash looked at me, his eyes filled with a sadness I hadn't seen since we were young boys. "She told me that she didn't want to be a mother, and that's why she left. But!" He held up his finger. "I wasn't to worry because it wasn't me personally. Not me, personally? How the fuck do you not take that personally? I fucking loved her! I mourned her leaving like she had died. Fuck you, world! Fuck you!"

I quickly made another drink filled with mostly water before walking over and handing it to him. He just stared at it like it was a crystal ball and held the answers he sought.

"She left me with him, knowing what he would do. She still loves him, knowing how he hurt me. All the bruises, cuts, and broken bones, the mental anguish, and him killing my unborn child, and all she has to say for it is I wasn't cut out to be a mother." His voice was soft and sounded lost. "No shit Sherlock."

I'd never seen Nash cry. Never in all the time I'd known him had he ever cried in front of me. But a single tear rolled down his cheek, and I had no idea what to say or how to help.

He began to chuckle, which turned into a maniacal laugh that was wracking his whole body. I grabbed the drink from his hand before he spilled it everywhere and set it down.

"You okay, man? You look like you've lost it?"

The question only seemed to make whatever he found amusing worse. I would've laughed with him if I wasn't so concerned he was going to pull his gun and end it all. There was a scary level of insanity in his eyes.

As Nash began to calm down, so did the tension in my body. He locked eyes with me and smiled. "My fucking father is getting more ass than I am," he said, laying his head back on the couch and passing out. Okay, now that was funny. I grabbed my drink and took a swig as Nash's phone began to ring in his jacket. He didn't budge or flinch with the noise, so I reached inside and pulled it out.

It was Theo. "Hey, it's me," I said.

"Where's Nash? I thought I called him."

I looked at his lax face. "You did, but he's…he's indisposed at the moment. Long story, one you may not want to know about. What do you need?"

"Ren's house was attacked. We're on our way back, but we have to drive."

I ran my hand through my hair. "Shit, is everyone alright?"

"Yeah, except for Ren's aunt. She's dead."

"Fuck." There was more turmoil surrounding Ren than I'd seen with any other student who had attended Wayward in my three years there. It worried me for whatever the fuck we were getting dragged into, but that was a debate for another time. "Tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen."