Blackthorn Elite: The Entire Series

by Beck, J. L.

  “It’s Jackson,” I growl into the phone.

  “Oh,” is all she says.

  “Is Kennedy there?” I try to keep my voice casual, but I’m pretty sure she hears how difficult this call is for me.

  It takes her a few seconds to answer, my guess is she’s probably as shocked about me calling as I am. Oh, the things I fucking do for you, bug.

  “No, why would she be here?” Worry overtakes her shocked tone. Fuck, this isn’t what I wanted to deal with, but without knowing where Kennedy is, that worry could be very real. “She’s at Blackthorn. Isn’t she?”

  “No one has seen her in three days,” I explain. “I thought she might have taken a trip home or something.”

  “Oh, my god, no.” She sounds frantic at this point, and her worry is starting to spread over to me. “She hasn’t been here, hasn’t called either. Hold on, let me check something real quick.”

  I listen to the phone being set down, followed by some typing on a computer. A few moments later, she comes back on the line, her voice a little calmer now, or at least more composed.

  “I just checked her credit card statement. She used her card to check into a hotel in town.”

  Relief washes over me, making me face the reality of how worried I was about her. “What hotel?”

  “The Dunham Inn.”

  “I know where that is. I’ll go check on her, and if there’s a problem, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Really? You would do that?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell her to call you later too.” I hang up the phone, grab my car keys, and head out the door.

  On my way to the hotel, some of the relief I felt has already morphed back into anger. What the fuck was she thinking just taking off like that? Hiding out in some hotel? Was this her way of fighting back?

  Or maybe she truly was jealous over seeing me with Crystal the other day? If I cared about her feelings, I would tell her Crystal was no one to me, that the second we rounded the corner, I pushed her away. That I even told her to leave me alone, but I’m not about to reveal that fact just to make her feel better.

  Flirting with Crystal was only to hurt her feelings. I didn’t really think she would be jealous and only hoped to show her that she meant nothing to me. That I could have anyone I wanted, that she wasn’t anything special. Mainly, I did it to piss her off, not to run her out of school. Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the hotel and hand my keys to the valet. Walking into the lobby, I’m happy to see a young woman behind the reception counter. That’s going to make all of this go so much faster.

  “Hello, do you have reservations with us?” she greets.

  “Hi there.” I give her my most dazzling smile. “I’m actually already a guest. Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced my key card. You wouldn’t be able to make me another one, would you?” I follow up with some puppy dog eyes.

  “Oh, sure, I think I could help.” She giggles and bats her eyelashes at me.

  “The reservations were made under Meyers.”

  “All I need is your ID and room number.”

  “Well, the problem is my wallet is in the room… and I am terrible with numbers. I checked-in three days ago. You must have not been here that day, ’cause I sure as hell would remember someone as pretty as you.”

  Her cheeks turn crimson red as she starts to type something on her laptop. I continue smiling, even though on the inside, I’m wishing for this to be over as soon as possible so I can get to Kennedy.

  She pulls out a card and hands it to me. Giving me her best fuck me eyes, she says, “Here you go, Mr. Meyers. Room four-hundred-and-ten.”

  “Thanks,” I snap, watching her face fall before taking the card from her finger. I spin around and head to the fourth floor. You can run my little bug, but you’ll never be able to hide from me.

  83

  Kennedy

  You know that strange feeling you get when you’re sleeping, and you feel like someone’s watching you? But there isn’t any possible way that could really be happening. Not when you are locked inside a hotel room. No, that couldn’t happen. Unless you have someone like Jackson in your life.

  Blinking my eyes open, I’ve barely woken up when I let out a screech at the shadow hovering over my bed. A hand comes out of nowhere and presses against my mouth, a moment before Jackson’s face comes into view. His gaze is hard, and I know instantly that I’m in trouble.

  “I’m going to pull my hand away, and you’re going to tell me what the fuck you’re trying to prove by coming here?” The deep tone of his voice jolts my body awake, and my nipples harden against the thin material of my T-shirt, which, other than panties, is all I have on. Even with the blanket covering me, I feel so exposed and unprotected.

  Pulling his hand away, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at me like a disappointed father.

  I suck in a breath. “How the hell did you get in here?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Worry about answering me,” he growls. He looks menacing, but I’m not scared of him.

  I knew this moment would come. I knew he would find me eventually, but I didn’t count on it being in the middle of the night, so I didn’t prepare anything to say. What am I going to tell him? That I was jealous? He would love that. No way I’m giving him the satisfaction of knowing that. So, I say the first thing I can think of instead.

  “I don’t want to catch any diseases from you. If you make it a habit of sleeping around without a condom, then I’m not going to be one of your girls.”

  Jackson stares at me for a split second before tipping his head back and laughing. He’s actually freaking laughing. A sound I haven’t heard in a very long time, and if it wasn’t for the situation, I might actually enjoy hearing it.

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself, bug. Now be a good girl and take that shirt off. I didn’t come here to talk.”

  Of course, he didn’t. Like I would actually believe that he came here to make sure I was okay. That he was worried about me.

  “I’m not having sex with you.” I stand my ground, clutching onto the blanket in front of me. “Get out.” I point to the door. I’m done being his whipping post. Done. I’m not doing this anymore.

  “No. I didn’t come all the way here just so I could turn around and go back home. I’m not leaving. At least not until I get a piece of you.”

  Wrinkling my nose at him, I reply, “Then get comfortable on the floor because I’m not sleeping with you.”

  He tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows like he is examining me, ready to test my limits. He’s going to push me, see how far he can bend me before I snap.

  “I’ll tell you what. Either sex or you let me see your thighs. Which one is it going to be?”

  Shaking my head furiously, strands of my blonde hair whip across my face. How did this escalate so quickly?

  “No… no to both.”

  I know the answer between those two choices. I would rather have sex with him than let him see, but I refuse to give in. I won’t let him bully me into this. He needs to leave.

  “Choose, Kennedy!” he yells, his eyes piercing my soul.

  “No!” Clutching the blanket to my chest, I start to scoot away from him, but I don’t get far before he’s on me. Grabbing the edge of the blanket, he tugs, ripping the only protection I have from him away. Like an animal that’s wounded, my eyes dart around the room, looking for a place to hide. He can’t see my scars, he can’t. He’ll use them against me, hurt me more.

  I won’t give him any more ammunition than he already has. I’m tired of giving him a loaded gun and expecting him not to shoot me in the heart.

  With the blanket gone, I push up onto my knees and dart across the bed, but of course, Jackson anticipates the move and latches onto my ankle with his hand.

  “Let me go!” I yell, my voice cracking.

  He’s going to find out and ruin everything. He’s going to break me for the last time. Using my free leg, I kick at him, trying to get him to
release my leg, but every hit reminds me of how strong he is.

  “Give it up, Kennedy. Let me see what your secret is,” he taunts and flips me over onto my back. Pushing up onto my elbows, I panic and lift my leg to kick him, but he tugs me to the edge of the bed, causing me to fall flat on my back again. Before I can recover, he presses his entire weight down on me. Trapping my body beneath his.

  “Sex! I choose sex!” I yell out because anything is better than this.

  “It’s too late to choose.”

  “Please, Jackson, please…” I beg like I’ve never begged before, my heart jackhammering inside my chest. I’m barely breathing, my lungs refusing to fill with air. Any second now, he’s going to find out. He’s going to see the jagged scars, and everything is going to be over.

  My plea reaches his ears, and a look of indifference flicks across his face, but he doesn’t get up. Instead, he moves my hands into one of his own and holds them to my chest while he uses his body to hold me in place. His other hand disappears between our bodies, and then I feel it.

  His fingers against my thigh. Touching the scars, tracing them.

  I freeze as if I’m stuck in quicksand, and every movement sinks me deeper into the ground. Tears leak from my eyes and down my cheeks. I shiver, knowing the inevitable is going to happen. I can’t stop him. Even if it doesn’t happen today, it’ll happen eventually. What’s the point of fighting him?

  Feeling utterly defeated, I go limp in his arms. His eyebrows pinch together in confusion as he lifts his body off of mine and parts my thighs. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, trying to defuse the panic that’s claiming every cell of my body.

  His breathing changes, and I cringe when I feel his gentle touch on my mutilated skin. He’s inspecting them now, the rough edge of his finger traces each line.

  “Who did this to you?” the words come out in a rough whisper, and I wonder if he meant to even ask the question. I don’t respond, my throat too tight with fear. Everything is going to fall apart now. He knows… god, he knows.

  A heartbeat passes, and another, and then I feel his hand against my cheek. His touch is gentle like a wave caressing the edge of a beach.

  “Who did this to you, Kennedy? Who hurt you?” The vulnerability in his voice has my eyes flicking open without right or reason. Through my blurry vision, I look up at him. He looks like a piece of glass hanging on the edge of something. His sharp edges will cut me deeper than any self-inflicted wound if I let them.

  “Kennedy. I’m trying really hard not to lose my shit, so tell me who did this to you so I can beat the fuck out of them.” His jaw pops, and I know he isn’t lying. He pulls away, and I shiver at the cold that rushes through me at the loss of contact.

  Whiplash, that’s what this is. Just five minutes ago, he was here for sex, to hurt me, and degrade me. Now he suddenly cares? Anger rushes in, flooding my mind, overtaking the panic and fear. Now I’m just furious.

  “Does it matter who did it? Would you believe me if I said you did?”

  “Me?” He takes a step back like I’ve slapped him. “I didn’t fucking do that to you, and we both know it.”

  “You’re right, you didn’t physically do it. Didn’t slice the skin, but you’re part of the reason they’re there.” I pause and look away, feeling ashamed and sick that he now knows how fucked up I really am. “Why do you even care? Why does me being hurt matter to you? It’s never mattered before, so don’t pretend like it does now.” I snap my thighs closed and scurry backward on the bed.

  Jackson shakes his head and scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m not going to ask you again, Kennedy. Who did this to you? I don’t give a fuck about anything else right now. Just tell me who did this to you.”

  I shake my head, shutting down completely.

  “Tell me, or I’m calling your mother and telling her that someone is hurting you.”

  “ME!” I snap, “It’s me. I’m hurting myself. I’m the reason there are scars on my thighs, I did it. Are you happy now? You know my secret. Go off and tell everyone. I don’t care anymore.” My heart cracks in my chest, and it’s like every feeling I’ve been holding in pushes through to the surface.

  “Y-you?” he chokes on the single word.

  I give him a sad smile. “Yeah.”

  “Why would you do that? Why would you hurt yourself like that?” He isn’t looking at me with disgust like I expected him to, but the look isn’t necessarily pitying either. In fact, it seems like he’s just seeing me for the first time. Recognizing that our pain is the same. “Why? Just tell me why so I can understand this?”

  “Because… I… it just helps me deal.” How am I going to explain this to him in a way he would understand when I don’t really understand it? “I guess when I cut myself, everything in my mind goes silent. For one second, I don’t feel guilty or ashamed.” I look down at my hands, wondering what’s going to happen next. Is he going to laugh in my face? Tell everyone? Now that he knows there isn’t anything I can do to stop him from making me the laughing stock of the entire school.

  I can’t hold the tears back any longer and start to silently sob while I wait for him to mock me. My stomach twists and knots, and I feel the itch to cut myself right now to shut everything off.

  “You want to do it now, don’t you?” he questions.

  I don’t know why I bother replying, it’s none of his business. I don’t have to tell him what I’m thinking or feeling, but I want to. I want someone to know that I’m suffering, just one person. “I do.” I sob, wiping at the tears that keep coming.

  My vision is so blurry, I can’t see anything, but I know he’s still there.

  “You can leave now. You’ve got what you wanted. Go tell everyone, go make a mockery out of me like I know you want to.” The ache in my chest is intensifying, making it hard for me to breathe, and I gasp for air like I’m being choked.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Scoot over and climb under the covers.”

  “Why?” I ask as I start doing as he says. I’m so used to doing what he tells me, I simply act and ask questions later.

  “Because I want to hold you, that’s why. Now don’t ruin this. Roll over and let me do this.”

  “I don’t want your pity.”

  “I don’t pity you, Kennedy. In fact, for the first time in forever, I think we actually might have something in common. Now roll over before I make you.”

  Doing as he says, I roll over and pull the blanket up to my chest. A moment later, I hear clothes hitting the floor, and then he’s crawling under the blanket and moving toward me. Heat envelopes my body, and when he puts his arm over me and tugs me back into his bare chest, I feel… safe, which is the strangest thing since he’s the last person I should feel safe with.

  “What do you mean by we have something in common?”

  “I feel the same about fighting in the pit. I like kicking the shit out of someone, but I don’t mind getting my face smashed in either. Physical pain is better than the alternative, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Sleep. Your secret is safe with me, Junebug.” He uses the nickname he used to call me when we were younger, and my heart shatters. I sob into the pillow while he holds me tight, holding all my broken pieces together. Then, I close my eyes and fall into a fitful sleep, wondering if he really means it.

  Is my secret safe with him?

  84

  Jackson

  Seeing her pain for the first time is like ripping the scab off an already healing wound. I thought what I was doing was the right thing. I thought she was bluffing, pretending that she felt bad, but the proof was right there. I thought that discovering her pain—seeing her suffer—would give me more satisfaction than it did. Instead, it made me sick, made me hate myself a little bit. Knowing she was cutting herself, causing herself physical pain. All along, she had been suffering right in front of me. I was just too self-absorbed to see it. Too wrapped up in my own pain, in wanting to make sure she was hurting, to notic
e that she was.

  I spent all night holding her in my arms, listening to her sob. I can’t wrap my head around her thinking I was going to tell. Make fun of her. I almost scoff at the thought. It’s totally understandable why she would think that, but I’m not that big of an asshole. I won’t have her doing it anymore now that I know though.

  What if she cuts herself too deep?

  I can’t have her death on my conscience, and I can’t lose her. I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive her or if I ever fully can, but I don’t want to lose her.

  After not sleeping a lick, I drove back to my apartment just as the sun was rising. Yes, I’m a pussy. I didn’t want to be there when she woke up. Mainly because I’m not sure what I should say to her. I don’t know how to react to the knowledge that she’s been hurting herself, cutting herself for god knows how long to deal with the pain.

  I think about what my mother told me as I toss a ball at the wall and catch it. I haven’t dealt with my sister’s death because I feel like the moment that I do, the moment that I accept she’s dead, I’ll start the process of moving on, of forgetting her, and I can’t imagine ever forgetting someone like her, even if she is dead.

  Then the shit with Kennedy makes me feel guilty, it makes me feel like I’m betraying my sister. Yet, I can’t shut off the fact that I care about her.

  Sighing into the empty room, I wonder what Jillian would want me to do? Would she approve of me caring for Kennedy? Would she be okay with me forgiving her?

  Confusion seeps into my bones. I don’t get a chance to focus on it, though, because my cell phone starts ringing, interrupting my thought process. I grab the device from beside me and look at the screen.

  It’s my mother. I haven’t talked to her in some time, and I kinda miss her. Hitting the green answer key, I put the phone on speaker.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, sweetheart, how are you?”