B-Sides and Rarities

by K. Webster

  Skip to Note for the Reader

  Gabriel Sharpe

  Seventeen Years Old

  “Next.”

  My father’s bored, gruff tone grates on my nerves and I itch to tug at the knot of my tie. But his shrewd nearly black eyes are on me—always on me—waiting for me to show one tiny sliver of weakness. Weakness is what he feeds on. What he has for breakfast, lunch, and fucking dinner. And he’s been feeding on me since I was ten years old. So instead, I fist my hands and I keep my features relaxed as I wait for his stupid little show to fucking end. He may be hungry, but I won’t be the one feeding his crazy-ass monster tonight. No, one of the shivering, bound, and crying girls standing in front of our fireplace will. As the next girl stumbles into the room, I close my eyes and let my mind flit to the past. Almost eight years ago, my life changed with the whap of a belt against my flesh.

  “Your whore mother left us.” That was his only explanation of why Donna Sharpe wasn’t in the living room slurping down one of her signature dirty martinis after school one day. I’d been confused because, quite frankly, at ten, I had no idea what a whore was. When I cried for the loss of the calmer parent in my home, my father changed. His annoyed expression turned into one of rage, and that day he took out every ounce of his fury of her leaving on me. His expensive leather belt on my bare ass tore the skin to shreds.

  But that’s not what broke me.

  He crushed me later that night. When the house grew silent and I’d cried myself dry, he stepped into my room and promised to make it all better. That night, he kissed away the pain on my backside, and in the process, twisted my head into a tangled mess of strings that he would go on to pull whenever he wanted.

  My father devoured my innocence and now that he can no longer feed on me, he’s transforming into a starved animal. His need to prey on the weak disgusts me. It only shows he isn’t as strong as he thinks he is. He may traipse around in five thousand dollar suits and drive an expensive sports car, but my dad is a pussy.

  It took this past summer for me to come to this conclusion. When he’d come into my room after I’d spent a week at summer camp, something in me snapped. I’d watched other guys my age sneak off with girls at night. Kids all around me were happy. Naïve. Untouched. And I realized that I owed him nothing.

  But he owed me everything.

  The moment he slurred out my name and dragged the covers off my half-naked body, the fear and revulsion that always made me immobile was no longer present. Instead, rage—a glorious fucking feeling—lit a fire inside of me and I exploded. The fucker put up a good fight for a drunk asshole, but I bashed my fists against my father’s face until he was unmoving. My knuckles were bruised and achy, but my pride was restored.

  My father never touched me again.

  Instead, he treated me like an annoyance. A burden. A fucking bother. Like nothing ever happened.

  But everything happened.

  That night, I transformed.

  I became someone better.

  I became my own monster. A monster dead set on not letting him feed off me ever again. I became invincible as far as he was concerned.

  Next month I’ll be graduating from high school and I’ll go on to college. Away from my father. Away from my hellish past. I’ll make a life and become someone. For once, I’m not the scrawny, lanky kid with the messy hair and quiet disposition. After that night, I began working out—fueled on by the desire to always be stronger than that beast. Eight months later and I had filled out everywhere. My shoulders were broad, I had abs, and I was no longer someone he could intimidate. Girls started to notice me and guys wanted to be my friend.

  I was no longer weak.

  “They’re all so terrified,” Grant Sharpe’s gravelly voice growls, interrupting my thoughts when the last girl comes to stand beside the three others.

  Four girls.

  All of them young.

  Some my age, some considerably younger.

  But one stands out among the others.

  A girl with bright blue eyes and messy blonde hair eyes the group in the living room with disgust. Where the other girls are crying and huddling together, this one looks as though she wants to slaughter every one of us.

  My father, his best friend, Lance, his accountant, Gordon, his attorney, Jack, and me. Four girls, four men, and me. These “pussy parties” as good ‘ol Dad called them, were nothing more than a sick form of human trafficking of under-aged girls. Lance, Gordon, and Jack are all married and their wives think they participate in monthly poker night with my father. Something innocent and legal. None of them know.

  I’ve always known.

  At fifteen, I walked in on one of their parties by mistake when I was supposed to be sleeping. It was then that I became the official mascot. The kid they poked fun at while they smoked their cigars and bid on girls. I hated every second of it. You see, father, in his spare time, recruited girls for a human trafficking ring. And their monthly “poker night” was where they test drove the merchandise before they sold them to the distributors.

  Despite hating what happened during them, I began to look forward to those nights. Those were the nights when I would watch girls who were weak and breakable. I was stronger than them. Not the weakest in the bunch. For one night a month, I was a man.

  Of course, he never let me do anything but sit and watch from afar, a hard-on straining in my slacks and heat burning my cheeks. I’d craved to lose my virginity to one of them. I even fantasized about falling in love with one of them—had thoughts of rescuing them from the biggest villain I know and running far, far away. But each time, my hopes and dreams were snuffed out as every one of my father’s friends took their pick and disappeared to the other rooms of the house. By the next morning, they were always gone.

  Tonight wouldn’t be any different except when girl number four’s eyes meet mine, I see a flash of something that stirs my heart. She’s caged and wild. Everything in her screams to be set free. The girl is different. Not weak at all.

  My gaze skims over her naked flesh and lingers over her perfect tits. Small and perky. I can almost feel my mouth watering with the need to suck on her nipple. A small groan escapes me the moment my dick thickens. I continue skimming over her flesh. Unlike the other girls, she’s dirtier. Bony. Hardened. She has a small tattoo of a black heart on her hipbone. I become fixated on the ink that mars her flesh and wonder how old she really is. The other three girls are sixteen or seventeen, but number four looks like she might be eighteen or nineteen. Our eyes meet again and something passes between us.

  Not a plea.

  Not fear or terror.

  A threat.

  I will kill all of you. Just untie me and watch.

  The smile on my lips is immediate and I wink at her, flashing her a message of my own in one simple glance. I’d cut you loose and help, if I could.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” Gordon says with a sneer from beside me. “You got a thing for one of the pieces? Which one? Let me guess…” He trails off and saunters over to them. They shriek—all of them but number four, of course. She bares her teeth at him and I wish he’d get close enough for her to take a bite. “Not this one. Her tits are too big for a little boy like you, and this one looks like a fucking boy with her stupid haircut. This other girl has some fucked-up acne and you’re way too pretty for that, Gabey,” he mocks. Then he continues down the line until he stands in front of the last girl. “But this one. She’s something special, isn’t she? Is this the one you like?”

  A growl rumbles in my chest, but I swallow it down, knowing he’s watching me. When I don’t answer, Dad tosses a piece of ice from his glass at me. “Answer him, Gabriel.”

  I swallow down the fury and swat the ice out of my lap onto the floor. “Four. I like four.”

  “My name is Krista. I am not a number,” she hisses, spittle spraying him.

  He wipes at his cheek with the back of his hand. “Krista,” he says with a dark chuckle. “You’d eat that boy for
lunch. He’s kind of a wimp. You need a man like me or his daddy over there. A man who’ll fuck you until you bleed. Gabriel wouldn’t even know where to stick it in.”

  All the men laugh at my expense and my cheeks blaze with embarrassment.

  “I know where to put it,” I snap and cross my arms over my chest. I may be a virgin, but I’m not stupid.

  Gordon laughs again and grabs a handful of her tit. She yelps out in pain and I’m already at my feet before I even realize I’ve blown my cool facade.

  “Let go of her,” I bark out. My jaw clenches and one of my newly defined muscles ticks in my neck. “I want to buy her.” The words are spoken before I even register what they mean. But as soon as I say them, I stand behind them.

  She’ll be the girl.

  I’ll save Krista and show them I’m not weak.

  Her determined eyes meet mine and they flash with appreciation. She sees me as an accomplice. A stepping stone to get her the hell out of here.

  “Absolutely not.” Father’s voice causes prickles of rage to wash over my flesh.

  “Ten thousand,” I blurt out.

  I know how these things work. These guys pay a certain amount for the girl they want and Dad collects the money. Once a year they go to Vegas with the money in the pot, somewhere I’m not invited—mascot or not—and they have a boys’ weekend where God only knows what takes place. The most any of them have ever paid was six thousand and that was for a pretty Hispanic girl who shockingly had her clit pierced. She certainly wasn’t a virgin, but they all wanted her.

  “You don’t have ten thousand,” Dad laughs and slaps the leather of the arm on his recliner. “You don’t have shit, Gabriel. It’s all mine, remember?”

  I swallow down my hate for the man and jerk my gaze to meet his glare. “I have a trust fund,” I seethe. “Mom started it for me, remember?”

  He doesn’t like his words thrown back at him and the reminder of my mother has him quaking with unmasked rage.

  “Oh, come on,” Lance says, poking fun at me, “let the wimp get his dick wet. The kid’s not as scrawny as he used to be. Maybe it’s about time he fucks for the first time.”

  I let Lance’s comment roll off me as I keep my hardened stare on my father. Dad’s lips pull into a sneer. “You’re not eighteen yet, mama’s boy. So don’t go getting all high and mighty.”

  “I’ll lend it to him, Grant,” Jack says, and I jerk my gaze over to where he sits with his fingers steepled in front of him, hiding his wolfish grin. “Plus sixty-nine percent interest.”

  His friends all laugh, each one bolder than usual as they fly high on their high dollar cocaine, but I snap my glare back to my father who regards me coldly, a humorless expression marring the face so similar to the one I see in the mirror each morning. Several seconds pass while he remains motionless. I know he’s contemplating ways to hurt me, but I don’t care. In a couple of months, I’ll be out of here anyway so it doesn’t matter.

  “Five thousand. Lend him five grand. I’ll pay the other half because we’re going to share her.” His words dig a knife deep into my gut, but I don’t argue. Instead, I give him a clipped nod.

  “Fine.”

  The men holler with obnoxious cheers, but I tune them out as my eyes find Krista’s. She now seems shaken, and I momentarily wonder if it’s by the idea of two men having her instead of one. I implore her with my gaze to be strong. Her lip trembles, but a certain understanding passes between us.

  I will save you, beautiful. Just give me a chance.

  The rest of the evening is a blur as the men negotiate what—scratch that, who—they want. Apparently, the one with the boy’s haircut was their choice piece of meat because they engage in a bidding war over her. Once the money passes hands and the men drag away their prizes, I turn to Dad.

  “Take her to your room. I’m giving you an hour with her before I come up. Don’t try anything stupid,” he barks out as he stands and strides over to the bar to refill his tumbler.

  I nod, adrenaline surging through me, and make my way over to Krista. As soon as I reach for her, she shies away and turns her back. I grab on to her bicep and pull her to me. My lips find the shell of her ear and I whisper into it. “Trust me, sweet girl.”

  Then, I guide her out of the living room and toward the stairs without sending a glance my father’s way. She stumbles up the steps, but I’m there to keep her from falling. Soon, we’re in my room and I’m shutting the door. Once I’ve locked it, I smile at her.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I praise. I know I sound like a fucking fool. I’m not exactly Casanova with the girls, but it’s the truth. Underneath all the dirt and bravery, she’s really pretty. Her lips are full and pink. I love how slender and pale her neck is—I crave to mark it up with my teeth. My dick reacts to the mental image, causing the heat of embarrassment to singe my skin.

  “Untie me,” she orders.

  I frown, disappointed in her not acknowledging my compliment, and motion for her to turn around. “Don’t try and run away. Dad’ll end this as quickly as it started if you do. Play along with me and when the time is right, I’ll get you out of here. But you have to trust me, Krista.”

  “If that’s your way of asking me to go steady, I’m going to have to pass. Your family is a touch too dysfunctional for my taste,” she snaps and wiggles her purple fingers at me.

  I sigh because there isn’t any response to what I already know. With a grunt, I drop to my knees behind her and start to work at the knots at her wrists. Her ass is perfect and I’m overcome with the strong urge to kiss it.

  “How old are you?”

  She huffs. “Almost nineteen.”

  My eyebrows knit together as I wonder what made them pick up a girl who wasn’t young like the others. “Don’t tell my dad that. You’re seventeen like me.”

  She doesn’t respond. The moment I’ve loosened her wrists, she slips out of my grasp and runs to the other side of my bed. Her hand is free from the bindings in an instant and she snatches my bedside lamp up.

  “Stay away from me!” she hisses and casts a wary glance at my bedroom window.

  I shake my head at her as I stand. “Put the lamp down. And you’ll eat pavement if you jump from that window. Let me handle this, beautiful.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  Another pang of disappointment washes through me. “Please just put it down. If he comes in here and sees you like this, he won’t be as nice as me. Let me figure out a way to get you out of here.”

  Ignoring me, she throws the lamp at me but it doesn’t go very far, since it’s still plugged in, and lands on the bed. She’s fiddling with the window by the time I reach her. My arms wrap around her and I pin her naked back to my chest.

  “Stop,” I order. Having her bare flesh pressed against my suit has my dick hardening. She’s dirty, but a faint scent of lotion—something unfamiliar to me—floods my senses. It smells fresh and clean. It’s a direct contrast of the girl wiggling in my arms.

  “Let go of me!” she shrieks. “Are you hard right now?!”

  Her words have me clenching my eyes closed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “No,” I lie and wrangle her over to the bed. “I told you to stop moving.”

  She cries out when I tackle her onto the bed. Her body is beneath mine and I have to look away from her wild eyes, so I don’t go crazy with the need to thrust into her. Her thrashing is only serving to make me more excited.

  “If he thinks I can be a man, he’ll leave me be. So just go along with this and he’ll leave us alone. I’ll get you out of here. Trust me, you want me fucking you and not him. He’s a cruel bastard.”

  Her body trembles, but resignation courses through her. “Don’t hurt me.”

  Grinning, I slowly pull one hand from beneath her and stroke a blonde strand from her eyes. “I would never hurt you.”

  I lean forward and press a soft kiss to her lips. I’d kissed a girl named Julia at summer camp because the other kids dared us. After what was the most di
zzying and exhilarating moment in my life, she laughed at me and told everyone I tasted like cucumbers. Something tells me this kiss will be better. Krista won’t belittle me because she needs me to be her hero.

  I’ll be her fucking hero.

  “He’s probably listening on the other side,” I whisper to her. “Get it together for me, sweet girl.”

  Her eyes well with tears and she nods. “Okay.”

  I reluctantly release her and right the lamp back on the table while keeping my eyes on hers. Her perky tits bounce with each nervous breath she takes. When I shed my jacket, her eyes widen with fear.

  “I. Won’t. Hurt. You.”

  She nods again and tears her gaze from me as I undress. My dick is nothing to be ashamed of and I want her to see it. I want her to see I’m all man—not a wimp like my dad and his friends say. Her curiosity wins out because she once again flits her eyes over to me. I watch with pleasure as she skims over my body with a look of interest.

  Once I’m fully naked, I crawl onto the bed beside her. I’m not sure what to do with her, but I know what my dad expects. He is going to want me to take her. Hard. The way he and his repulsive friends do. And once he takes his turn, I’ll make him sorry. I’ll save her from this hellhole and we’ll go somewhere. Together.

  “I have a confession,” I say with a smile as I tenderly stroke her taut belly.

  She shudders at my touch but regards me with pinched brows.

  I can’t look at her when I say it. “I’m …a, um,” I struggle, my father’s taunts echoing in my head. “I’m a virgin. I know how sex works, though, so you don’t have to worry about me putting it in your ass by accident …like they said,” I rush out and then snap my mouth shut. So much for not making a stupid ass out of myself.

  Her eyes flicker to mine. “We don’t have to do this,” she murmurs. “We can pretend.”

  Groaning in frustration, I run a shaky hand through my hair. I hadn’t thought of that and now I feel foolish that I’m three seconds from losing my load against her naked thigh. I need to fix this. “What I mean is, I have had sex.” My eyes clamp closed and I hate the way my cheeks burn with shame. “It’s just been—“