Page 199 of The Unravelings

But this? An unsuspecting Oliver? Fucking perfect.

“Who the fuck sleeps with glasses on?” I grumble, yanking them off his face and setting them on the desk beside his bed. I’m an asshole, but I can take care of things. See Mom and Dad? I’m a good boy. He doesn’t flinch when I lean over him, grinning. “Wakey, wakey, dickbag!” I tease, grabbing his wrists and forcing them above his head and onto his pillow. As I do, his dark green eyes pop open and settle on me with a bleary stare. “Morning, Sunshine,” I quip, crawling on top of him and straddling his narrow hips. Fuck he’s so damn tiny. How the hell did this stick knockout Brutus with one punch?

Whatever.

Leaning down, I press harder into his body until I’m chest to chest and eye level with him, glaring into his widened green eyes. “Here’s how this is going to go,” I murmur, leaning down until our noses are barely touching. “You’re going to be a good boy and let me tie your wrists behind your back, and then I’m going to throw this hood over your head. And then, you’ll be my bitch for the night.” I grin when he blinks at me, but there’s no ounce of fear in his eyes as he examines me.

Damn it.

“Is this for the initiation?” he asks in a scratchy voice that seems to climb an octave higher than I’m used to hearing.

“Of course it is. Do you think I’m here on my own?” I chuckle, tightening my grip on his wrists and locking gazes with him again. My body remains on top of his small one. “You’re so fucking dainty,” I complain, my gaze dropping toward his chest and stomach. “Too fucking small. You’ll have to learn how to toughen up, Davenport. Or you’ll never make it with us. I mean, if you survive tonight.” I grin again, taking in his heated cheeks and blank stare.

Damn it! I’m going to have to up my game a little to scare this kid. He’s not flinching. Not even with me sitting on top of him and holding his wrists hostage. Maybe I should have entered the room in a mask or something scarier. Rattling Oliver wasn’t supposed to be difficult.

“It’s not nice to make fun of someone’s weight, asshole. I may be small, but you saw what I did to Brutus,” he says in a lower voice this time.

Well, he has me there.

"Fair point," I grit out unhappily, having to acknowledge his words. "But let's see what you're made of tonight." I narrow my eyes at him, taking in the delicate features of his face. This close to his face, I can count the damn freckles on his girly cheeks. "God, your face is so fucking delicate. How have you ever survived in this world?" I growl, reaching into my pocket and grabbing the zip tie with Oliver's name written all over it. "Now be a good fucking boy and stay still while I do this."

I’ll give it to him; he doesn’t move a muscle as I maneuver him to the side and tie his wrists behind his back. Tighter than they need to be, might I add. He doesn’t try to move them or wiggle his fingers when I take the pressure off his hands and stare down at him, trying to decide what to do with him next. Torture? Nah, then Hux and JJ would kill me. Taunting? Yeah, maybe a little. It’s hard to coax answers out of the guy when I can’t lay a finger on him. If I had my way, he’d be tied up in the basement of our house until he gave us answers.

“Was that necessary?” he asks in a monotone voice, watching as I admire my handiwork with a wicked grin and then turn him to his back again so he’s staring up at me.

“Oh, all of this is necessary, Davenport,” I grit out again, settling my weight on top of his body and pressing down and watching with delight as his lips part and a wheeze rattles through his chest. “Now, I have some questions that you’re going to answer.” I raise a brow, staring deep into his green eyes as rage boils through my veins.

Memories of him waltzing out of the trees the day I found the treehouse in shambles play in my mind on repeat. Over and over again. The remnants of Olivia’s trinkets. Her porcelain figurines smashed on the floor. Her curtains pulled down. Her pillows ripped to shreds, and the fluff everywhere. My vision turns red, focusing on all the rage and pain festering under the surface. He was the only one around. The only one who could have broken all of Olivia’s trinkets.

So, now he’ll pay until he fesses up.

“Yeah? And what are those?” he asks through another slight wheeze as I take some pressure off his chest and let oxygen pour in through his nose. I’m not an absolute monster. I wouldn’t purposely strangle the guy. “How much pressure can you put on me to make me stop breathing?” he asks in a choked tone, glaring at me. He wiggles under me until I slightly let up, but my fingers curl around his throat, forcing his chin to rise, and I gently squeeze. “I don’t think your daddy would be too happy if you murdered someone.” His delicate face tightens with every word he says, and distress flashes through his eyes.

Yet, he doesn’t fight back. How odd. I was secretly hoping he’d come out swinging and we’d fight it out.

“Not my fucking dad,” I rage out, shaking my head. “But, yeah. That’s what we’re going to play. How much oxygen can Oliver not get before he passes out?” I squeeze a little harder, making his face turn red. “Now, were you the little shitbag who destroyed my treehouse?” I slowly let up, letting him suck in a few breaths for good measure.

I don’t want to kill the guy. I want a confession falling from his desperate lips as he begs for his life.

As Oliver sucks in oxygen, the redness seeps from his face and slowly collects around my handprints forming on his throat. I can’t help the smirk that pulls at my lips at the sight of it. It’s beautiful. Finally, my revenge against this asshole is coming true. Ahh, the night is young, too. As I inspect the beautiful red on his flesh, something else catches my eye. Something that I haven’t noticed before. I tilt my head. A sickening swirl erupts in my stomach at the sight of it. A raised scar right across his throat.

“This is what happens to traitors!” Franco’s voice echoes through the basement where two men are on their knees and he’s situated behind them with a sharp knife raised in the air. “Watch now, boys. This is how we take out the trash in our territory.”

I gulp when he runs the blade across the man’s throat and throws him forward until he’s gargling and slowly dying.

“No. I didn’t destroy the treehouse. I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he states quickly, coughing a few times, and bringing me back to the present.

Fuck. The last thing I need to do is get lost in the memories of Franco and his bullshit punishments toward people.

His tone doesn’t change. He doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” I hiss, putting pressure on his throat again. “I detect lies. You lie to me, and you’ll fucking die here, Davenport. No one will fucking miss you.” That’s a lie. It seems Davenport has made all kinds of new friends on campus. Including Simon across the hall. Whatever. I can threaten all I want. “So, did you destroy my treehouse?”

“No,” he gasps out again, glaring at me. “I didn’t destroy your treehouse.”

It feels like there are unsaid words left on the tip of his tongue when he wiggles his small body under mine, but continues to hold my gaze. So, I stay where I’m at, glaring back at him with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t blink. I don’t blink. No one fucking moves a muscle. He simply stays there with my hands wrapped around his throat, cutting off his oxygen, and remains completely still.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” I grit out, loosening my grip around his throat and staring at him. “Fight me. Tell me the fucking truth!” I roar, sucking in several breaths to calm myself down. Deep down, I know Oliver ruined Olivia’s things. I wasn’t there to protect her when she took her final breath, but I’ll protect everything about her now. “What gave you the right to go into my treehouse and take all her things and fucking destroy them?” Emotions clog my voice, but I shake them away. I don’t have time to show what I’m feeling. Especially to Oliver Davenport.