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“Like that.”
He drops his hands back to my hips, and the second he does, my hands go limp and falter. I cuss under my breath, dropping my head. “Damn it.” My parents look to me, and they try to soothe me with words of affirmation. But it’s Kingston who I want to help me. It’s his words I need to hear to center me.
“Here, baby.” Grabbing the gun from my hand, he flips on the safety and lays it on its side.
I shake my head and tuck my hair behind my ear. He doesn’t move me or spin me; he stays planted in place, bending to my ear. He speaks loud enough for me to hear him clearly over the buds in my ears, but quiet enough my parents only get the gist. “Close your eyes.”
Gulping, I look over to my parents and search them for approval. They both nod, watching Kingston and me.
“Okay.” Closing my eyes, I wait for his next demand.
“Do you trust me, Lana?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“No, baby, I need you to really trust me, to dig deep inside you and trust what I’m about to do.”
Scared, I open my eyes and attempt to turn, but he keeps his hands firm on my hips and forces me to stay.
“Eyes closed and tell me you trust me.”
Waiting a beat, I debate what to say. I see his face in my mind, smell his scent, and feel his grasp on me, and I know I can. “I trust you.”
“Good. Now take a deep breath, and count to three when you need to, baby.”
“Okay.”
“All right, do you feel my hands here?” He clenches my hips a little tighter.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Good, what about here?” He moves his hands to my upper arms and squeezes my biceps with more force.
I wince a little and cry out. “Ow, yes, they’re tight,” I chuckle, not sure what his MO is.
“What about here?” Moving his hands up, I’m not prepared for what happens next. Gripping my neck, he squeezes, and I hear my dad release a deep breath through his nose as I seize up. And when I struggle a bit,
Kingston tightens his grip, making a soft cry bubble to the surface. My body heat skyrockets, and the pit of my stomach plummets along with my heart rate.
“Kings!” I shout.
And he whispers in my ear, “He’s not here, baby. It’s me, Lana.”
“Kingston, that’s en—”
“Back off, Jeffery!” he yells, and I start to tremble, flashbacks coming at me, like the many times Joel’s hands found my neck and nearly took the life out of my body.
“Kings! Stop!”
“You aren’t good enough. You’re weak!” he shouts, and I grab his hands on my neck, ready to tap out, because this is too much.
“Please stop!” I yell louder, but my eyes never open, too scared I’ll see the person in my nightmares.
His one hand stays on my neck, and I hear the sound of him grabbing for the gun and flipping off the safety. I struggle more and call out to my father. “Daddy! Make him stop, please!” I don’t hear his response, and Kingston’s grip on me isn’t tight at all, meaning I could get out if I wanted, but honestly, I’m too afraid. “Please, Kingston!” I cry, the tears falling from my closed eyes.
“He can’t save you. No one can! You will never see them again. You’re mine now, Lana.” His voice sizzles like the end of a blowtorch and I shudder, never hearing him like that before. “You’re weak!”
I cry.
