by Rina Kent
But what comes next makes my skin grow cold.
He moves up against Jessica’s back and starts kissing the side of her neck. Her moan reaches the camera, but then cuts off abruptly when she snaps out of her trance and leans to the side to get away from Marcus’s mouth.
“Wha’ ya doin’?” she demands sulkily.
My eyes open, but it seems all I care about is making out with Jessica. If I see Marcus past her shoulder, I don’t seem to notice, seem to care.
I slide my hands up Jessica’s neck and draw her back for a kiss. She struggles and breaks free. “Get out, Marcus!”
“Yeah, Marcus,” comes my slurred voice as I kiss Jessica’s throat. “Get out.”
“Is that any way to treat your wingman?” Marcus slides his hands down Jessica’s waist, and she arches away from his touch and deeper into mine.
“Marcus,” she says, her voice dropping in pitch.
“Shh, princess.” Marcus swipes her hair off her shoulder and plants another kiss on her skin.
“Briar, tell him to get out,” she whines.
Instead, I grab her ass and throw her onto her back on the bed.
Because I never was a gentleman, was I? Whenever I got hard back then, I couldn’t think about anything except what I wanted to stick my dick into. It had been Jessica for months already, and I’d been more than fucking patient.
My jaw’s aching how I’m gritting my teeth, but I’m past the point of ending the video.
What happened to Jessica was all my fault. I will watch every second Marcus recorded and live with the torturous consequences of having that night forever etched in my mind.
It’s the least I deserve.
I expect Marcus to leave, now that it’s been made apparent I don’t want him there. I guess that’s what I thought back then too, in my drunken haze.
Marcus takes a step back, turning a little as if considering. It’s impossible not to notice the erection tenting the front of his jeans. And as if he just became aware of it himself, he runs a hand over his groin, flattening his dick against himself as if suddenly embarrassed that we made him horny.
On the bed, Jessica starts moaning as I stick a hand under her skirt. But I’m slowing down, my movements becoming clumsy and heavy-handed. She hisses as I begin fingering her, and then squirms out from under me.
“You’re hurtin’ me.” Her tits bounce as she sits up and runs her hands through her hair. Her face is slack from alcohol, her mouth a sloppy, unhappy crescent.
Marcus is still in the shot, but he’s still as a statue — perhaps not wanting to draw our attention to the fact that he’s still in the room.
“Sorry, babe,” I mutter, pushing up so I’m on my knees. “Lemme make it up to you, yeah?”
I grab her hips and drag her closer, and then I flip her around. She arches and lets out a low moan as I squeeze her tits, kissing her neck until she’s writhing against me.
My voice comes through on the camera, but it’s unintelligible. Marcus looks at the camera, his mouth opening like a naughty kid who’s just heard his first swear word, and then he does the unthinkable. He takes his fucking dick out of his jeans and begins jerking off.
I thumb my eyes closed and sit back in the chair, forcing back nausea. I’ve known Marcus since we were kids, but I never thought he’d be capable of doing something like this.
But I can’t stop watching now. Because, up to this point, Jessica gave me full consent.
What if I didn’t rape her? What if she let me take her virginity, and then had a change of heart in the morning?
It won’t bring her back, but it might make those fucking nightmares stop, knowing I’m not guilty.
The bedsprings start shifting, and I make myself open my eyes.
I hold my hand out to block Marcus from the video so I don’t have to witness him getting off from a few feet away while I screw Jessica.
Except…I’ve still got my jeans on.
Jessica’s skirt is off, her panties tangled around her knees, but all I’m doing is finger fucking her.
I lean forward in my seat and go to skip the video ahead.
I fold over Jessica’s back.
My hand freezes an inch from the laptop’s touchpad.
Here it is.
This is where she yells at me to stop, and I don’t.
I slide my hands down Jessica’s ass, and ease her open. Marcus chose a perfect spot on the mantel — if the light in the room hadn’t been so dim, this would have made a pretty decent porn flick.
But instead of taking out my dick and shoving it into her, I slide off her and onto the mattress.
Passed out?
I press both hands to the desk’s cool metal surface, biting the inside of my cheek as Marcus stops jerking off.
On the bed, Jessica arches her back and makes a crooning sound. When she seems to realize I’m not trying to mount her like a wild animal, she glances to the side and sees me laying on my back, one hand on my chest the other flung out, chest already rising and falling in steady sleep.
She straightens on her knees, giggling, and tries to tug her underwear up her thighs.
But she can’t, because Marcus catches hold of them with a finger. She struggles for a second before throwing a glassy look over her shoulder. It takes her too long to focus on Marcus, and when she does, she first smiles, and then frowns.
“Whad’ya doin’?” Her frown deepens as Marcus slides onto the bed behind her.
“Hush, princess,” he murmurs.
“He’s passed out,” she declares, still trying to pull up her panties as if she doesn’t realize Marcus is the one keeping them down.
“And the bastard left you high and dry,” Marcus says. He slides a hand up the inside of her thigh, and strokes her. Her eyes stutter closed, and she lets out a low moan. “What kind of gentlemen would let his best friend’s girl go to sleep all horny and shit?”
“Wait, no. Don’t,” Jessica grates, but she’s doing fuck-all to stop him rubbing her clit.
My stomach’s so tight, I’m surprised I haven’t puked yet. I narrow my eyes, not wanting to watch what comes next, but at the same time unable to look away. It’s a car crash. Body parts strewn on the road as haphazard as broken auto parts. And I’m craning my head to see, because I’m horrified and fascinated at the same time.
“No,” Jessica moans, as Marcus shoves his fingers into her. “Please, stop.”
Marcus puts his hand between her shoulder blades, and urges her down onto the bed, doggy style.
His dick is already out, and he positions himself at her entrance, fixed so entirely on his task that he seems to have forgotten about me, the camera, every-fucking-thing except wet, drunk Jessica.
“No. No!”
He thrusts so hard into her that she lets out a hoarse shriek.
It must have hurt like hell — Jessica’s body goes stiff a second before she begins thrashing under Marcus’s hand. He just bends over her, his other hand going to the back of her neck to keep her down as he begins fucking her even harder than before.
When she starts screaming, he grabs a fistful of sheet and shoves it into her mouth.
And, all the while, I’m laying right next to them, passed the fuck out.
I’m frozen where I sit as I watch it all play out. Bitterness floods my mouth, but I keep swallowing it down, forcing it back.
He keeps talking throughout. Princess this, whore that. Slapping and grabbing her ass as he watches his dick sinking into her.
Marcus comes quickly — maybe a minute or two in — while Jessica’s still sobbing around the sheet he used to gag her with. When he pulls out, there’s no mistaking the streaks of blood on his dick.
I sit forward in a rush, blinking hard.
That doesn’t make any sense. I was the one with blood on my dick. That was how I knew I was guilty when Jessica confronted me the next—
Marcus sits back with a long sigh, stroking a last few drops of cum from his dick, and then slaps Jessica’s
ass so hard that even her muffled squeal reaches the camera.
Then he looks down, and slowly lifts his hand to study his palm.
His body tightens, and he scrambles off the bed, gaping at his hand.
He didn’t know she was a virgin, and why would he? I never told him that’s why she wasn’t sleeping with me — just that she hadn’t put out yet.
“Fuck,” Marcus’s voice comes through the speaker. “Jesus, fuck.”
Jessica slumps to the side, and yanks the sheet from her mouth with trembling hands. “You fuck!” she says through a sob. But she’s staring at me where I’ve passed out beside her. She thumps my chest with a fist and breaks into a string of sobs.
Marcus moves around to my side of the bed, waiting until Jessica burrows her head in her arm before climbing up beside me.
What. The. Fuck?
He unbuttons my fly with shaking hands.
No.
I begin shaking my head, my breath coming too fast, too hot, scorching my throat with every exhalation.
He pulls my dick out of my pants, and then stares at it, face devoid of emotion.
Then he begins jerking me off.
“Fuck!” I push away, closing my eyes as I slap the laptop closed.
That’s why I had cum and blood all over my fucking dick that morning. That’s why I never doubted Jessica when she said I’d raped her. How the fuck could I, with that much evidence stacked against me?
Indi
Marcus grunts as he hoists me up and cradles me to his chest. I buck, moaning into my gag as I struggle to get out of his arms. He grabs my hair and tugs so hard I see spots. I go rigid, and then relax into his embrace as he starts walking.
It’s impossible to tell where he’s taking me. It feels like late afternoon, but it could just as easily be a shady area we’re in. For some reason, I keep thinking of the church where I first met Briar, where he and Marcus were conspiring. It would be kinda poetic, him taking me there for whatever nefarious purpose he has laid out for me in his deranged head.
As I feverishly attempt to place myself, both in time and space, memories come to me. Fragments, like raindrops splashing on my face, each one jolting clarity through me.
He had a pair of sneakers in his hand when he came to my bedroom door. The same ones that were outside.
Was it him that night, watching me?
I bite the inside of my lip, willing away the feel of his hands on my thigh and shoulder. His footsteps crunch over something.
Twigs? Dry leaves?
The church then.
It’ll end where it all began.
What did he say to me in the hallway at the party last night? How peaceful someone looked. Her. She looked so peaceful.
Had he been talking about Jess?
“I didn’t hurt her,” Marcus says.
I flinch at the unexpected sound of his voice, and get goosebumps when my mind latches to his words.
Get out of my fucking head!
I make a sound through my gag, and Marcus laughs. “You don’t believe me? You’ll see. She’s just fine.”
Who the fuck is he talking about?
But then he’s setting me on my feet. Pushing on my shoulders until I sit on something hard and smooth.
A light breeze touches my cheek, bringing me the scent of burned wood. I squirm, blinking back tears when Marcus steps back.
He doesn’t even bother lashing me to anything. What would be the point? Where would I run, bound and blind?
There’s a soft sound a few feet away, and I freeze.
Someone else is here, but who? And why are they so quiet?
Briar.
It’s an irrational, panicked thought, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
It’s been the both of them all along, hasn’t it? Was this all just some sick game for them, keeping me guessing? The one luring me in, while the other stalks me from the shadows?
“Please,” I push through the gag. “Don’t hurt me.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then I hear a muffled whimper.
Not Briar. Addy.
I should have been relieved, but I’m not. At least if Briar was here, I might have stood some chance at getting him to let me go. I know I didn’t imagine the chemistry between us. That inexplicable connection we’ve had from day one.
But he’s not here.
Maybe he’ll never be. Maybe he doesn’t even know I’m gone.
In which case it’s just me and Addy…
And Marcus.
Chapter Forty-Two
Briar
I stand in a rush, pressing a fist against my mouth until the urge to puke dissipates some. All this time, I was convinced I was a rapist.
The worst part is, I was kinda okay with that. Thinking about it brought the occasional fit of guilt and rage, but at the same time I felt numb to everything. Like it was all happening to someone else.
Because it did.
Because I never raped anyone. I never told Marcus to get rid of Jessica. He did it by himself. To protect himself, in case Jessica’s memory came back.
And the idiot kept proof. Fine, he didn’t exactly keep it laying around the house, but it didn’t take that long for me to find it. Did he honest to God think this video would never be discovered? And the drawing? He sure loves his trophies.
Fucking psycho.
I glance to the side, and avert my eyes when they touch on that perverted drawing. But then I do a double take. At the angle I’m sitting, the person depicted in the picture looks even more like Indi than before.
Thought she was lying about the murder. About the fire. Just like she thought I was lying, I guess. Meanwhile, I was bumping fists and buying drinks and playing X-Box with the person who raped and tortured her fucking mother.
I bow my head and rub my fingers over my lids.
Is that what he’s doing right now? Does he have Indi at his mercy, while I sit here with my fucking thumb up my ass? I alerted the police, but what the fuck else can I do?
I thump the desk hard. Then again. Again. Welcoming the pain, drawing it deep inside to douse the guilt and shame drowning me.
I can show the cops everything — the video, the drawing, the hoody — but what would that help? It might as well just be Indi in that drawing, because I know deep down that’s exactly what he’d do with her if he got the chance.
Bound.
Gagged.
Nak—
Marcus’s bedroom door bursts open. I jerk and twist around in the chair.
Brandon Baker is standing in the doorway.
“The fuck you doing in my house?” the man belts out in a hoarse voice.
Christ, he’s drunk. I move to the window, but slowly like I’m backing away from a wild animal.
I guess Marcus got his build from his mother, not his father. Brandon Baker is wide and tall as an ox with a thick neck and a broad nose. Marcus’s features are more delicate, almost fox-like in comparison.
This is only the second time I’ve met Brandon. The first was more than five years ago, when Marcus and I were still teens. He’d been in better shape back then, but still a hulk of a man. Alcohol abuse has webbed red veins over his nose and cheeks, and turned his eyes a shade too yellow for a healthy person’s.
“Thought Marcus was home,” I say, trying to inject casualness into my tone. “But I see he’s not, so I’ll leave.”
Brandon’s bloodshot eyes fix on the laptop before coming back to me. “You looking at his stuff?”
“No, course not.” It’s probably an idiotic thing for me to do, but there’s still a bit of space between us — and Marcus’s bed — so I do it anyway. “You maybe know where he is?”
Brandon’s laugh turns into a phlegmy cough before he’s done. “Prolly sticking it in some cunt or other.” His eyes narrow. “Or an asshole, all I know.” He gives me another long look, as if trying to determine if that might have been my asshole before.
I lift my hands. “Fair enough. I’
ll just be on my way.” Those stilted words are barely out of my mouth before Brandon takes a few lumbering steps closer to me.
From what I remember Marcus telling me, he started out working as a bouncer at a night club. That was before he started his own security company, of course. Which is how he met my dad. A security company that obviously does well for itself, if this house and its location in Lavish is anything to go by.
But Marcus also said his father was into some dodgy shit. That would better explain their finances than a security company in a town where there isn’t an electric fence in sight. Not unless installing a safe at some rich guys house made him enough…
Client lists.
Addresses.
I tilt my head, and advance a step before I can stop myself. “You made him do it, didn’t you?”
Brandon doesn’t seem to hear me. Instead, his hazy expression of drunken anger slowly contorts into surprise.
“Ya look nothing like ‘er,” he says.
What? Who?
But that’s not important. “I asked you a question.”
Brandon arrives in the present with a condescending snort. “Pissed tha’ m’boy isn’t actually your fucking bestie, you queer prick?”
I scowl at him. “The hell you on about?”
Fuck knows I can’t take him down, but I’d love to try. Even if it meant being bludgeoned into a coma, I’d love nothing more right now than to crack my knuckles into this ogre’s jaw.
“Marcus does.”
My mind feels like scrambled eggs. I shake my head, frowning hard. “What are you—?”
“His mum,” Brandon says. “Spitting fucking image.” He lifts a finger, tut tutting me for all the world like he’d just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. “But not you. Ya look like your father.”
And why wouldn’t I?
Wait…what?
“Natalie,” I say quietly.
Brandon’s face hikes up in a grimace, then he turns and spits into the corner of Marcus’s room. “Whoring cunt,” he says, spittle dotting his lips as he moves around the bed. “Tramp wouldn’t keep her legs closed if you paid her.” He laughs, rough and loud, and makes to grab me.
