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“What did you do to her?”
The man in my grip’s face turned crimson. His poppy eyes moved to Cedric, his brow sweating more than ever.
“You guys enjoy?” Cedric sniggered, ignoring their fear.
“Yes. She’s nice.” The other man swallowed audibly.
Nice was an unusual way to describe a girl you’d likely just ass raped for shits, giggles, and your own fucking pleasure.
“Look, Remington,” that same man began, straightening his blue suit—I fucking hated blue suits. I hated how much they reminded me of Pencil Dick—the prodigy—because he always fucking wore one.
This guy had a pencil dick, too, and it was hanging down his leg with a wet patch because the dirty fuckwit hadn’t bothered to put his shorts back on.
“Do not talk to me like you fucking know me.” My grip tightened, and the man trapped beneath it turned the same color as his friend’s ugly suit.
His hands started clawing at my skin, catching the new tattoo on my finger that was yet to heal.
I couldn’t have him ruining it.
One hand left his throat and collided with his face, blood dripping everywhere as his giant nose exploded beneath my force.
The middle man, dressed somewhere between fancy and scruffy, heaved everything up from his weak stomach and rushed past Cedric and his friend and out the front door.
“Let him go, and no one has to know about this,” the one in blue suggested.
I laughed, the sound reverberating behind the cruel bell that constantly fucking rang these days. I did what he asked, letting his friend go, ass over head, to the floor, as I pushed him down the stairs. “Who you gonna tell?”
No one.
Because he couldn’t tell anyone half a story, and judging by the terrified look on his face, he thought me far too unpredictable not to tell the rest myself.
“Get them out of here. I’m going to see Cat, and when I get back, we’ll be talking.”
Cedric played the big man, straightening his five-foot-something frame and shouting words I ignored at the back of my head.
But I still felt his tremble rattle the staircase until I stepped off the last step.
Entering Cat’s room, I found her on the bed. She was still out of her mind. Fluttering lashes revealed sad eyes before they closed again.
“Afternoon, Little Nightmare.” It was a horrible term of endearment for someone who was living an actual nightmare.
I’d suffered them for weeks, too. I suffered through images of her hurt and abused while I was away.
As it turned out, those nightmares were premonitions. Purple lay on her inner thighs, with some yellowing marks, too.
Gently, a thumbpad moved over them all.
“I got something for you.” I sat at the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.
Pulling out a new bear from my sweatshirt, I placed the little thing beneath her hand on her slow-moving chest.
The panda and its pink bow brought familiarity. I could have sworn I’d already bought one that looked just like it, but it wasn’t here. And it puzzled me that none of the others were lining the bed like they usually would.
Scanning the room, I expected to see them somewhere, huddled in a corner or behind some furniture, avoiding the horrors that had gone on here, but they were all missing.
Refusing to acknowledge what my gut was saying, I asked, “Guess what I did while I was away? I got my first tattoo in honor of the vows we made.” The C on my finger was untarnished, but the many nail scrapes around it pissed me off.
I reached below Cat, moving her more into the center so I had room to rest at her side. After my long flight back to the States, I was so tired. I hadn’t even collected Michael, who was still at a local cattery, adding charges to my account.
