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This was no longer about righting a wrong. It was about claiming what I always wanted. About saving my girl and giving her the life she deserved.
Pretty eyes found me in the dark. The prick who was all too eager to assault her couldn’t see our interlocking moment while dwelling behind her.
“Just remember, Aribella, you are the least favorite. Only here as a punishment.”
What kind of punishment gifts someone a woman?
Mine.
The Decoy’s Punishment.
Vomit rushed from my gut, and the yellow chunks swimming up my throat almost washed the floor, seeing what I did. Hearing words, I wished I hadn’t.
She was here, in this hell hole because of me, and that really was the ultimate punishment.
Plaid Shirt pulled Cat into his chest. Once again, using her already bruised and bloody breast to do it. His fingers squeezed. His huge knife trailed her stomach, inching closer to her intimate parts. She squirmed back into him, desperate to create mere millimeters between her skin and his blade. His dirty dick hardened over her struggle and rubbed into her ass.
Words were on her tongue. Her pretty lips moved as she spoke—no prayed—silently.
Prayed to God or the opposite, me.
Her monster.
A clang sounded through the room, echoing in the silence. The ringing in my left ear, which randomly plagued me, drowned some of it. Plaid Shirt had dropped the knife, and that noise was the blade reverberating off the tiles.
The blade bounced on impact and hit Cat’s foot. She jumped, not expecting the stab of pain. Another stab of pain caught her as thick fingers—three of the fuckers—and those sharp nails jabbed inside her.
Her schooled expression fell. Her legs kicked and her toes curled as he lifted her from the floor by her vagina.
His other hand slinked up around her throat and tightened.
“Scream, and I’ll snap your neck,” he promised.
And that was the only thing that kept me in the fucking closet.
The girls would see if I stepped out. Trust in them didn’t exist for me. They were against Cat. Ostracizing her from the shitty little trauma bond they’d developed amongst themselves.
I fucking hated that.
Hated that they’d probably be happy for her to die if it meant they could live.
He could snap her tiny neck with the giant hand currently cutting off her airway before I could kill him for it.
And then what?
What would I feel? More strange fucking feelings that I couldn’t explain? Would it be worse than I felt now, watching him finger fuck her while she dangled in the air and squealed? While she struggled to peel his hand away from her throat, with tears filling her eyes because she thought it was the end. How would I react when nothing in the world would bring her back?
Death was final.
And I didn’t like the idea of final when it came to Cat.
I couldn’t stay in the fucking closet, biting my tongue until the taste of blood ran down my throat, doing fucking nothing while he brutally fucked her with his fingers, and her tears fell over his dirty hand.
The girls all focused on me, alerting the cunt in the plaid shirt to my presence as I crept quietly from the closet.
Cat hit the ground, tossed to the other girls’ dirty bare feet.
Plaid Shirt laughed. “I’ve been expecting you, Remington Cole.”
