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SEVENTEEN
Cash
I peel off my soaked wife beater and toss it on the ground. The wet smacking of the drenched clothing resounds around the room as I push open the doors leading inside the school, leaving the pool house and whatever fucked up monsters reside within it behind.
I’m fucking done with this shit.
It’s easy to pretend I’m not scared when I have so much anger surging through me. Anger at the worthless Royce trudging along behind me, wanting to mooch off Ben and me. Anger at the fucking audacity of Fire Crotch back there insinuating that I wasn’t worth considering in a fight.
Too wet and exhausted...
Fuck him.
Fuck everyone.
I’m sick of being underrated and not given proper consideration. I clench my fists, teeth gnashing together as I march down a brightly lit hallway, keeping my eyes peeled for red tags. I know I’m acting irrationally but can’t shake the rage—the hurt—from seeing my dad’s name on that list.
He’s fucking betting on me to die.
How?
Why?
Is this the real reason he was so excited to see my acceptance letter? Has my so-called ‘father’ been planning this all along? The answer is too painful to admit and my heart squeezes thinking of how the fuck my Mum could have married such a traitorous bastard like Brian. How did she not see through his lies—his bullshit? Was she so blinded by her desire to love and be loved that she refused to see the monster lurking inside him… or didn’t she fucking care? Maybe she accepted him and his demons, hoping upon hope as so many women do that she could change him.
But they don’t understand—no amount of love or sex can suffocate the monsters breathing life inside men like him. In fact, the affection, the constant fucking... it enhances the greed, the anger, the desire to inflict harm. It makes us feel powerful, invincible, knowing we can treat you like fucking garbage yet you’ll still keep coming back.
They always come back.
A hand wraps around my upper arm, and I yank myself free as Ben strides next to me. “Dude, slow down.”
I scoff at how ridiculous he sounds. “Slow down? You do know this is a timed game, right? Two hours to find everything we can and then we’re done. And right now, all we have is a locked black box with God knows what inside and a third wheel trying to steal what belongs to us.”
Discreetly, I gesture back at Royce and roll my eyes. He’s a real fucking douchebag, and in my life outside of Bitterwood, I’d be embarrassed to be seen with him. We turn a corner, our footsteps sounding loud in my ears. Another hallway greets us with white, tile floor stretching for what has to be fifty yards. Yellow stucco walls lit with offensive, fluorescent lights blaze down from the ten foot ceilings. This part of Bitterwood must be the servants’ quarters or some shit. It’s nothing like the rest of the fancy school. Somewhere close, I hear a door slam followed by a harrowing scream.
“He can be an asset to us for the time being,” Ben whispers, ignoring the shriek. I shake my head, unwilling to allow that thought to take hold because once you care about someone—once you let them in—it’s fucking over. Here at Bitterwood, caring for someone else is a weakness. Just ask the tip of my fucking dick still recovering from Vaughn’s bullshit punishment.
“He’s just a backup plan, a sacrifice we might have to make, and nothing more.”
Ben inclines his head once, a fierceness blazing in his eyes and he grins in a way that has my adrenaline pumping. I know that look, it’s one I see on my own face more often than not. I clap him on the back, grinning. “Now there’s the Bentley Lennox I know. Your pussy of a doppelgänger has been hanging around far too long. It’s time to get shit done.”
I thrust the locked, black box into Ben’s hands then try to open the first door I come across. When it doesn’t open immediately, I abandon it and try the next, Ben doing the same on the other side.
“Hey, Royce!” I call. “Why don’t you make yourself fucking useful and run up ahead and try some of the doors instead of watching us do all the work.”
He doesn’t respond, but the little fucktard does what I ask. We try every goddammed door and none of them budge an inch.
“Fuck!” I shout in frustration, punching my hand into the face of a fat, smiling man in an oil painting staring down at me from the wall at the end of the hallway. And wouldn’t you know, my hand not only barrels through the painting but the entire fucking wall.
A faux wall...
Using my hands and feet, I kick and punch my way through, emerging into a hidden staircase. Excited, I practically run up them, Ben and Royce following close behind, and find myself staring at a blank wall. I push and the wall swings outward and I emerge into a new place that could be part of an art museum. Tall wooden panels stretch upwards, displaying artworks in ornate frames line this hallway. Chandeliers twinkling brightly illuminate the space, light bulbs bouncing off their crystals.
Muffled sounds reach my ears as I glide my fingers down the panels, pressing on each one as I move. A moan reaches my ears and I pause, finding a panel slightly detached from the wall—a secret door. Breathing shallowly, I peek inside. Standing in the middle of a vast office space is none other than my most hated professor—my torturer—Professor Vaughn.
And kneeling before him with her blonde head bobbing up and down is the object of my darkest desires, my little lass, Remington.
Just then Royce shrieks from the hallway, “I found something!” and Vaughn flicks his gaze up to mine. We lock eyes for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching.
