34. Web of Lies

"Hey," a soft voice whispers.

There's a hint of panic in it that makes my pulse quicken. Is he coming back? Will he break another one of my bones?

"Urrr," I groan softly as my brain reconnects with my body.

He seems to be enjoying peeling my skin back lately. It gives him the long, agonizing screams he wants from me.

"Hey, you," the person whispers, "Are you okay?"

This time, I can tell it's feminine, and hope rises within me. It's warm and comforting. Something that has seemed out of my reach until this moment. There's someone here, and it"s not him. I crack an eye open, wanting to get a glimpse of the woman trapped with me. When I'm finally able to pull apart my lashes caked in sleep and probably dried blood, I'm met with icy blue orbs shining through this dimly lit room. The air in my lungs freezes, and I quickly crawl backward on my hands and feet, ignoring the fire in my fingers where the nails are missing. The chain scrapes along the cement floor, and the metal cuff around my ankle is heavy, but I don't care. It's… It's…

"Monica," I breathe. Her name is a living thing clawing up my throat. I've screamed it too many times. When Jax's face morphs into hers or when I'm lost in a dream, chasing after her. "Are… Are you really here?"

She's a ghost. An apparition of everything I've done wrong in my life. Like the ghost of Christmas past, she's here as a reminder before I die, but for some reason, I'm comforted when I see her.

"Yes, Brandon." She asks, confused, "What happened?"

I wonder what I look like to her. I'm sure it's not good, considering Jax has lost his patience with me over the last week or so. I'm disoriented and have no concept of time in this windowless room. He's been trying to get me to spill what I know about him and our mother. In all actuality, I only know what my father has told me, but if I spilled the family secret, then my father would be next, or even worse, he would go to jail due to my loose lips. Everything we've worked so hard for will fall apart. What if it already has?

"Brandon!" she urgently whispers, snapping me from my thoughts. I don't say anything. My brain is foggy as I try to remember what she asked me. There's a beat of silence as a rat scurries in the dark. I glance around the room, trying to locate the little fucker. It's been nibbling on my wounds while I'm sleeping. "What happened to you?"

My muscles tighten at the sound of her voice. I forgot she was here for a split second. What is she doing here? Isn't Jax her boyfriend? Did he turn on her against me? He has no loyalty, as my father would say, not like my other half-brother did unless drugs are involved.

"Why do you care? I tried to kill you." I brush her off, shifting on my sore palms

Monica sighs, and her blue eyes blink out in the dim lighting before they're back on me. "I know, but I also understand why you did what you did."

"You do?" I ask, surprised.

I scrunch my forehead in confusion, pulling my skin taut. There's a tearing sensation, and I have to bite my lip to hold down the groan that is building in my throat. Jax chooses locations, like my brows, where subconscious movement occurs to create a constant reminder of what he wants from me. Answers. If I just give him what he wants, then all this will end. All the pain and suffering will stop.

"Yeah, you loved me, and I never saw you. I kind of understand that," she whispers.

I'm not sure if I closed my eyes for a moment, but she's closer than before. What I thought were shadows surrounding her face was actually her hair. Why is her hair black?

"Plus, you caught me doing an unspeakable act. I was at my lowest point. You have to believe me," she pleads, inching closer.

I want to believe that what I witnessed was an act of impulsive lust, but that wasn't the whole reason I snapped. It wasn't even the fact that I'd been waiting for her patiently to notice me for years. It was that even after all this time of plotting, planning, and spreading those rumors about her family using corpse's skin as furniture and clothes, or how she's like the living dead, rotting on the inside. I did all of this to keep people away from her—she chose the very half-brother I was warned about all these years. I was never going to be good enough for her, even if I was the last person on earth.

"That wasn't it, Monica." My voice cracks on her name. "It was because you chose him over me. That's not how it was supposed to go."

My dry throat is desperate for water. The scab that replaced my brows over the last few weeks of torture oozes warmth down the side of my face. I lick at the substance like water, hoping it will ease the deep cracks in my tongue. An acidic, pustulous flavor fills my mouth, but I don't stop. I wipe my fingers over the wet trail before sucking on them. My body is eager for more to quench its thirst.

I glance at Monica, who has her head tilted to the side at me, curious. "What?"

"How were things supposed to go, Brandon?" She asks, piecing my words together.

"Huh?" I ask, knowing I've fucked up.

"How. Were. Things. Supposed. To Go?" Her words are measured as she crawls closer to me.

That night of catching her in the act rushes back and hurts worse than anything Jax has done to me thus far. "Jax is a twisted fuck. You weren't supposed to be with him. You were supposed to be with me!" I holler because the pain of everything inside is cutting me deep. I can't hold it together anymore.

She wipes her face where my spittle landed on her cheek. I thought she would be mad, but she's not. She's… smiling?

Her teeth gleam a bright white in dim light. "Who said I was with him? I came here for you," she admits, inching closer until she's straddling my lap. "Now tell me. What makes him twisted?"

Her fingers trail my chest lightly, causing a shiver to race down my spine. That anger within me dampens at her touch, smoothing me. "He. He," I stammer and shake my head. I'm not thinking clearly. I've never had her on top of me like this. Yet, it's something I've always dreamed of. "My dad told me Jax used to strangle himself in the closet while he masturbated. Then his father caught him and started making him do it for fun in front of his drinking buddies as punishment for how sick he was."

"How does your dad know about that?" she asks, continuing her soft caresses over my abs.

I close my eyes, savoring her touch. I remember my dad telling me about my mother and how she went back to Jax's father even after all the terrible things he was doing. It's what got her killed by my father, all because she needed to protect Jax. If it weren't for Jax, she would've been with my father instead. It was always about Jax. I felt a kindred spirit with Jeremy because he was just as discarded as I was. I only met him a few times, but every time I did, he treated me like an equal.

I slam my lids open when her hand grips my length. "Are you still with me, Brandon? How does your dad know about that?"

Her delicate fingers wrap around me, and I lose all sense of control. My lips loosen, and the secrets I've kept locked away for so many years spill over and keep coming with each pump of her hand around my shaft. I tell her how my dad told me. The story isn't pretty. There's love, hate, jealousy. All things my father repented for when he took me in to save me from the King family and brought me in as his own.

"She wouldn't leave Jax's father, not even after what my father told her he was doing with Jax. He said she didn't believe him and refused to leave. Her boys needed her, even with me inside her belly, innocent and untainted by the world I was about to be introduced to. My father waited till I was born and confronted her at her place of work. He had made a deal with Jax's father. A deal with the devil, in my opinion. That he could take me away, but he had to kill the unfaithful wench. My father said he would do anything it took to save me, even if that meant killing the one woman he's ever loved."

When I finish my story, I notice Monica has long since let go of my shaft, resting on her haunches. I can't read her expression in the dim lighting, but I feel I've conveyed the story with as much empathy as my father once recited it to me many times before.

More skitting breaks the quiet between us as rats run away from wherever they come from. Her voice is distant, detached from my brain, when she says, "There's doing bad with good intentions, but there's also good with ill intent. I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, too. You had a choice, and you chose wrong."

My blood runs hot, and the voice in my head screams, ‘She's not real. This is another dream'. "You know nothing!" She should've been mine! Fuck her! The despair and self-pity I felt before is gone.

I push back on my palms, but I'm halted by something sharp splitting through the top of my hand. Glancing back, I noticed a rusted nail pointing to the ceiling, my blood coating it.

"ARRR!" I holler more from the raging storm inside me than the physical pain.

"Brandon," she sings. It's ethereal, haunted in my ear.

I whip my head around, but she's gone. My hand throbs with the fresh wound, and my racing heart slows. She was a figment of my imagination. That's all. I haven't failed my father like I thought I did. Taking slow, deep breaths, I focus on that instead of the pain. I'm alone. I'm fine.

"My father shouldn't have spared Monica. He should've killed her with her parents, then I wouldn't be in this situation," I mutter, beating myself up for falling for her.

The subtle water drip from an unknown source comes back to me like a lullaby in the dark. I cling to the noise, letting me know I'm still alive. I know where I am.

"You know I've always loved your eyes." She laughs manically.

There are soft steps behind me, and I whip my head around. The room spins and distorts. Static like from an old broken T.V. rushes into my ears. A warm pressure clamps down on either side of my hips.

"They gleam like the eyes of a spider in the light." My vision clears, and I see her on top of me.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I chant, "You're not real. Not real. Not real."

I'm losing it. That's all this is.

How long have I been here again?

She's straddling my waist. I feel her, but this isn't real. This is not real.

My shaft glides between her wet pussy lips, and I'm hard as a rock. I'm throbbing painfully, desperate to sheath myself inside her. She'll never know how I was told to watch her, study her, follow in her footsteps, and take over her family business. How I fell for her even though I helped my father cover his dirty acts like the death of her parents. I've even taken the risk of giving her a piece of her father from the crash I had to clean up. She would never understand the way she consumed my life, but it was still never enough.

I peek through slits to see if she's gone, but she's not. My heart thumps heavily against my ribs, and electricity shoots down my spine.

"You know they look even more beautiful when you're terrified," She states, shifting her weight on top of me.

My vision blurs, and I blink back the tears that are demanding to take over. Once the spots clear, I see her. Light accentuates the dried blood on her cheeks. She's lost it. She's absolutely insane. She's nothing like the woman I once knew. Jax has ruined her.

She leans over. Her hair is black. When did she dye it? My mind equated the darkness surrounding her like a halo to the shadows in the room. A few of the strands brush my cheek, reeking of chemicals when her lips touch the shell of my ear. "How does it feel to be the one caught in the web you've weaved?"