by Shandi Boyes
My huff is barely heard over the shower switching on in the main room when Grayson replies, “Isaac has a beef with you.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
Grayson acts as if I never spoke. “So it’s only right if he can’t get you, he’d go after your family, right?”
I take a second to contemplate what he’s saying before jerking up my chin. I don’t see Isaac targeting Bobby, especially after I discovered he was telling the truth when he said the payments he was making to Ophelia were for Bobby’s trust fund, but I’m confident he’d have no issues pursuing other members of my family. His security team has been investigating Madden as well as I have the past eight months.
Grayson must hear my non-verbal reply. “So why don’t we help him along. Give him some info even someone with their head shoved so far up their own ass couldn’t miss.”
“You want to leak my father’s reports to Isaac Holt?” Surely, I’m missing something. This is a far stretch from how Grayson usually operates. It has me wondering if it’s even his idea.
“Think about it, punk. Isaac is friendly with Henry. Henry owns New York. If you want your dad to do time for his crime, this is an angle we should be looking at.”
He has a point, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, though. One of my biggest downfalls when I spiraled headfirst into depression was believing nothing I did was ever recognized. I worked hard for years, yet I had nothing to show for it—no job, no family, and no Melody.
It took Melody weeks to show me differently, and Dr. Avery months to have me believing what Melody was saying was true. Will this have me taking a step back in my recovery? If I couldn’t hear Melody humming in the shower, unaware she talks more when she’s not wearing her implants than she does when they’re on, I would have said yes. Now, I’m man enough to admit I don’t give a fuck what Isaac Holt thinks. He isn’t anyone I’m out to impress, so why not let him think he has one over me, where, in reality, he’s helping me?
“All right. Release the info.”
“Yeah?” Grayson double-checks, stunned I agreed with his idea.
“Yeah.” As a grin tugs on my lips, I add, “Can you just give me a few hours. I’ve got plans today I don’t want ruined when the news breaks.”
Grayson sounds pleased when he replies, “I’ll keep everything on the burner until you give me the green light.” With the tension keeping his back straight slackened, he slouches low into his chair. How do I know this if we’re talking over the phone? I heard his chair creak. “I think this will work well for us, punk. It isn’t kosher, but when has anything we’ve ever done been kosher?”
His reply has a double meaning, but you won’t unearth what it is until after I’ve ensured every inch of Melody is clean. I’m the one who made her all sticky, so shouldn’t I be the one who ensures she’s thoroughly cleaned?
“Call me in a couple of hours, then we’ll go over the best way to have Isaac unknowingly working for us.”
I hear Grayson’s cheeks incline into a smile. “Will a couple of hours be long enough, punk?”
My lips crack into a true and genuine smile. They’re more and more often these days. “Probably not, but since I’ve got a lifetime of hours at the ready, I’ll take what I can get.”
Pride projects in Grayson’s voice. It’s barely heard over his chuckles. “Tell your girl I said hello… maybe not while cleaning her insides with your sausage, though. Don’t want her accidentally shouting my name.”
“Grayson…”
His chuckles pick up, loving that I fell straight into his trap. “I’m joking, punk. Have fun.”
His laughter rings in my ears long after he disconnects our call, only weakening when the beat of my heart overtakes it. Fear isn’t responsible for the spike in my pulse, it’s realizing happiness is guiding my motives this morning instead of worry.
“Melody,” I say with a stomp before pushing open the partially cracked bathroom door. The mirror is foggy from how hot she likes her showers, but no amount of steam has me missing her smile when our eyes collide. “Can I come in?”
When she nods without hesitation, I enter the bathroom, removing my shirt as I go. My chest swells with smugness when Melody drags her hand across the misty glass to improve her view. As I remove my sleeping pants, she stares at me with hungry eyes, hardening my cock to the point it’s painful.
Once my boxer shorts are kicked to the side, she opens the door, welcoming me into the steamy space with a blistering smile. Upon noticing an open shampoo bottle on the bathroom shelf, I gather up the conditioner before squirting a generous amount into my palm. For years I thought I was trained to protect, honor, obey, and serve Melody, but only the past few months have I realized I had planned to do those things long before I pinkie promised her father.
When Melody galloped down the stairs of her family ranch with a mouth full of toothpaste and a foamy smile, I didn’t even know her name, but I knew I’d love her for eternity. That’s why I trained so hard and never gave up. And that is why I’ll condition her hair even with my erect cock keeping a good distance between us.
Intimacy isn’t purely physical, it’s about being open, honest, and free. Seeing someone’s bad flaws and still loving them despite them, and being so deeply connected to someone that you feel like you see their soul in their eyes any time you look at them, confirms those intimate feelings.
That’s what Melody and I have. We’re best friends, lovers, and soul mates. And once all is said and done, I’m also hoping she’ll be my wife.
42
Brandon
“Looky here, looky here, the goody-two-shoes son came to pay his evil brother a visit.” Madden’s tone is way too cocky for my liking. He’s shackled, wearing an orange jumpsuit and being guided down the hall by a man with biceps as big as his head, yet he still thinks he has the world at his feet. What can I say? You can’t change arrogance.
“What’s up, BJ? Daddy’s tenancies finally rubbing off on you.” Since his hands are cuffed at his front, he has no issues grabbing his cock to get across his point. “I’ve got a list of names longer than my arm. What’s your preference? Do you want a screamer? Or a woman who’s as quiet as a mouse…” He slants his head as his smirk doubles, “… just like your girl was. Didn’t murmur one motherfucking peep when I flipped her over and rode her hard from behind.”
He thinks he’s safe from prosecution because he was found not guilty of raping Melody.
He’s dead fucking wrong.
A nervous twitch impinges Madden’s jaw when I swing my eyes to the guard standing at his side. “That will be all, Kwan. I don’t want you caught in the middle of this.”
“What the fuck are you doing, Brandon?” Madden mutters in panic when Kwan tosses a set of keys into my chest before he spins on his heels and stalks to the door.
I wait for the locks of an old county house jail to clang into place before I disperse some of the anger thickening my veins onto Madden’s jaw. The crack my fist makes with his chin is lyrical gold to my ears as is the thud his head makes with the concrete when he drops like a bag of shit.
After laying my boot into his stomach three times, I stand over a man not worthy of my time. When I take in his bloody chin and already swelling nose, a sense of calm washes over me. I can still smell Melody’s heated skin on mine, even with us making love in the shower, and taste her toothpaste on my lips. I’ve got this. I’ve got it so fucking good Madden won’t know what hit him.
“Why didn’t you plead guilty last month, Madden? Thirty-three women came forward to accuse you of rape, yet you’re still pleading innocence.” My words are growls when I recite how many victims he’s amassed the past ten years, sickened we share an ounce of the same blood.
When Madden attempts to prop himself on his elbows, I pin him to the ground by squishing my ‘pretty-boy’ shoes against his face. I bet he’s not thinking they’re ‘gay man’s’ shoes now. “Why… didn’t you plead… guilty… last mont
h, Madden?” I talk extra slow, ensuring the twists of my foot are felt by Madden’s cheek for every word I articulate. It’s like his face is a campfire in the middle of a dead bush, and I’m attempting to stub it out.
With Madden’s face as screwed up as his morals, his words don’t come out as clear as he’s hoping. “Why would I plead guilty, fuckface? I’m not guilty, so why pretend I am?”
You’d think his reply would spike my agitation. It has somewhat of the opposite effect. “I figured you’d say that. You’ve never been one to take responsibility for your fuck-ups, so why would you let thirty-three women say otherwise?”
He coughs and garbles when I remove my shoe from his face, then he grunts when I help him to his feet. His unsteady movements aren’t to blame for his breathy response. The opening of the switchblade on my trusty utility knife is what has him panicked.
“How long have you been here again, Madden? Two, three months?”
He doesn’t answer me because he knows I’ve been tracking his whereabouts even more closely than my father has been watching me. My father knows I’m onto him, but since I’m always one step ahead of him, he can’t catch me.
“Do you know some prisoners have been here for decades? Some real sick fucks too.” As I step closer to Madden, I test the sharpness of the blade on my knife. “Some have been here so long, they no longer care if you’ve got boy parts or girl parts.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down when I mutter, “As long as you’re pretty, they’ll take you any way they can get you.”
As I stand an inch from his face, I drag my blade down his cheek. I don’t apply enough pressure to make him bleed. I just tease him with a scratch, making him hopeful I’ve marked him enough the men getting rowdy in the cell next to us won’t find him attractive.
“That’s how you like them, isn’t it, Madden? Really pretty?”
Not giving him the chance to answer, I drop my hands to the crotch of his jumpsuit to cut a large hole in the material. Once his dick and balls are exposed, it’s the fight of my life not to cut them off. The only reason I don’t is because I know my plans will hurt Madden more than losing his appendage.
When I walk Madden closer to the cell grunted moans are coming from, he stutters, “BJ… I’m your brother. You can’t do this to me—”
“Melody was my girlfriend! She was the love of my life! Yet, that didn’t stop you from raping her, did it? You brutalized her to hurt me, so now I get to hurt you.” The shackles around his ankles jingle on the floor when I spin him around so I can make his back as accessible as his front. I forgot his cellmates will be eager to have access to both sides of him. “You think rape is a game. That it’s your right to take what you want, from who you want, whenever you want?” I press my lips to his ear before whispering, “I wonder if you’ll feel the same way once you’ve been sodomized by men twice your weight and strength.”
“Brandon, no, please, I’m begging you, please don’t do this,” Madden begs on repeat when I drag him to a cell full of the roughest and meanest prisoners Henry could find.
After smashing Madden’s face to the cool metal material, I slot a key into the cell’s lock, then pull open the heavy-weighted door. Although there’s a metal bar jail door separating us from prisoners serving life sentences, they circle the cage door like vultures eager for a fresh piece of meat.
They taunt Madden when his dick shrivels at the sight of them before telling him he has nothing to be afraid of. Big Papa will look after him. He’s the giant in the corner of the space, stroking his cock through his half-removed jumpsuit while licking his lips. He’s clearly the alpha in the room, and if rumors are true, he gets first dibs even with his compadres being just as big and violent as him.
When I hunt for the key needed to open the bar door separating Madden from his bevy of wannabe lovers, Madden’s pleas turn frantic. “Please, BJ. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. I’ll give you my car, my inheritance. I’ll take you to fucking Paris.” He’s crying—actual tears, full-on snot bubble blubbering. “Please!” he screams, shattering my eardrums when I find the right key. “I can’t go in there. I won’t survive.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You’ll survive. Big Papa is a giant teddy bear. He loves his little ones so much, he never lets them go.” The innuendo in my tone ensures he can’t mistake my reply. I’m not implying Big Papa will go easy on him. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Rumors are once you’ve been claimed by Big Papa, you remain his property, only being loaned out when he wants another ‘little bird’ to lay in his nest.
When I slot the key into the lock, the words I’ve been dying to hear Madden say for months roar through my ears, “I’ll admit to raping Melody. I will plead guilty. I’ll do anything you want me to do as long as you don’t make me go in there.” He snaps his eyes to mine, his chin quivering. “Please, Brandon. I’m begging you.” He falls to his knees to authenticate his claims. It makes the men inside the cage more desperate for me to ignore his begs. His mouth is now directly lined up with their cocks. “Why won’t you believe me?” he wails when I twist the key.
“Why would I believe you, Madden? You’ve done nothing but lie to me my entire life, so you don’t deserve my trust.”
His eyes float up and to the left when he endeavors to find a way to convince me I can believe him. “I’ll tell you where I hid the drugs I slipped into their drinks. It’s not even an hour from here. You can test the canister for my prints.”
I breathe out slowly, acting pissed about him wasting my time. “It’s not enough. I need more.”
“Umm…” After drifting his eyes to Big Papa for the quickest second, he returns them to me. “I kept trophies. I have Melody’s earring. The one with the opals in them. They’re in a jewelry pouch in the hollow of the tree you and Melody got married under when you were kids.”
A combined hiss comes out of the holding cell when I grip Madden’s sweat-slicked hair in my hand before slamming his head into the steel bar. I’ve kept my cool long enough. I’m beyond being reasonable now.
“Change your plea to guilty at your trial next month for all charges, and publicly apologize to Melody, Gemma, and our mother, then, if I’m satisfied with the judge’s ruling, I won’t come back here and watch Big Papa make you his bitch.” When I yank Madden’s head back, blood trickles down his nose and over his lips. “Have I made myself clear, Madden? Or are you still seeing this as a game?”
“You made yourself clear. I-I-I’ll plead guilty. I-I-I’ll say I’m sorry.”
Although it’s hard for me to do, I slide the key out of the lock, slip it into my pocket, then stalk down the corridor leaving my rapist brother withering on the floor and crying like a baby.
43
Brandon
One month later…
I slip into the back row of the court chambers just as the bailiff announces Madden’s docket is the next to be heard. I haven’t seen Madden since the morning I had planned to make him experience what he put Melody and another thirty-two women through. I didn’t need to see him again to know he’d follow my demand. Kwan told me it wasn’t fear I was smelling when I left Madden kneeling across from men ready to brutalize him. He pissed his pants twice that night.
Even if Madden wanted to deny our exchange ever occurred, evidence doesn’t lie. I found the trophies he kept from each rape where he said they’d be. They were positively matched by his victims, and his fingerprints were lifted off seventeen articles of jewelry and clothing. He’s going down. I’m just hoping it’s sooner than Melody believes.
A smile touches my lips when Melody stands to greet the judge before starting proceedings. Although she’s not officially an ADA anymore, her position in the Justice Department is vital. She works closely with detectives of Special Victims Units to ensure evidence is gathered from victims correctly and with dignity before she aids in the prosecution of the criminals responsible for the heinous acts.
In under a year, she’s helped place nineteen sexual offenders behind bars and h
as been the support person for many more victims. I’m sure she finds her work tiring, but the understanding she gives the victims of sexual assault can’t be matched by anyone else.
A victim knows a victim.
Before Melody can commence proceedings, Madden’s attorney requests to speak on behalf of his client. Since my father is currently indicted to face his own arm-long list of felonies, Madden’s lawyer is a fat, balding man with crumbs of potato chips stuck in his knitted vest. “Your Honor, my client has had a change of heart. He wishes to plead guilty to all charges.”
Melody’s gasp is almost drowned out by the many supporters seated behind her. With this being the largest multi-victim rape trial in the country, the chamber is full to the brim with supporters. Even my mom is here, sitting on the prosecution’s side of the galley.
I didn’t tell Melody about Madden’s plan to plead guilty because, in all honesty, I couldn’t trust Madden would do the right thing. I’m glad he kept his word, but I still don’t trust him. Even from a distance, I can feel arrogance beaming out of him.
“Is that correct, young man? Are you changing your plea to guilty?” the judge asks Madden, his tone shocked. When Madden dips his chin, the judge scoots closer to his podium. “You do understand what that means, don’t you? You could be looking at life behind bars.”
While licking his cracked lips, Madden nods again. “Yes, Your Honor. I’m aware of my decision. What I did was wrong, and I can only hope you’ll show mercy for my admission of guilt.”
My jaw tightens when an admired flare darts through the judge’s eyes. Even with Madden admitting guilt, he’s using his boyish good looks to his advantage. That pisses me the fuck off and proves he still hasn’t learned his lesson.
