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I glance over at my alarm clock, three in the morning. I haven’t slept a wink all night. It took hours for Peyton to calm down and when she did, she was too exhausted to sleep.
I look over at her, her body is curled around one of her pillows. Her eyes are swollen and even in her sleep her breath hitches from her sobs. Jack and I are agreed on him staying the night. He’s in her bed, his arm strewn across his eyes, his soft snores echoing in the otherwise silent room.
I truly don’t know what to do when it comes to him. He’s so back and forth in his treatment of me. Tonight, was the first time he’d snapped at me in weeks, and I don’t know what to make of it. I know he was on edge because of Peyton, but that doesn’t excuse his bullshit.
He still doesn’t trust me. Not truly. And he has every reason to not trust me, but his fears of me hurting his sister are ridiculous. Peyton has become the best friend I have ever had, but I’m truly worried what will become of me when I renegade from Clarke and how we can stay close. Not to mention these confusing feelings I have for the other guys.
With that gut-wrenching thought, I lift my laptop on to the bed and start going through more files. The first hour of this proves as fruitless as yesterday, nothing but documents from donors, charity events, some basic tax information.
There is so much information to go through. It’s been a week and I feel like I’ve barely made a dent in it. I’m about to call it a night, or a day since I can see the beginnings of the sun starting to peer through the window but decide to click one last file. The folder is labelled “Project Atone”. Screwing up my face, I can’t imagine what that could even mean, but when I click on the folder I am presented with thousands or videos.
The files all have the same picture cover and I presume they must be surveillance footage. I pull my headphones out click the first one in the hopes that if I can find out the location of these cameras, maybe I’ll be able to redirect the feed to Clarke and that will be enough for him.
I was wrong. I was so very wrong. These are not security cameras.
The first video is of a girl around my age being forced into leather bra and panties. She has a platter shoved into her hands and is forced to walk through a crowd of men. The camera feeds switch between the multiple cameras in whatever place this is, keeping tabs on her the entire time.
Men grope at her, pulling at the little that covers her and trying to tear at it. When one man pulled a little too hard the strap holding together her bra, it snaps and she’s scrambling to hold it together. I can’t hear what follows but I see at the platter of drinks falls to the ground and shatters. She sits on her haunches, trying to curl up into herself, like she knows what’s about to come as one of the men sitting down with men gathered around him, gets up.
I watch in horror as he removes his belt, staring at her like she’s less than nothing. The sound cuts back in as the first whip hits her thigh. Her scream enters me, curling up in my chest and sits there like a ball of lead. The next hit lands on her chest, her stomach, my face. He doesn’t stop, until he’s sweating, and I stare at the scream looking desperately to see even the smallest movement of her chest to know if she survived. Maybe it would have been better if she didn’t.
The next video is much the same, women is servitude, punished with whips, fists, or anything in reach. I watch the next and the next, noting that all the victims are women and that there is no line they will not cross. They treat these girls like they deserve this, that by allowing this and learning they are one step closer to finding themselves. I don’t understand what they mean.
I don’t think it can get any worse. Again, I was wrong. The next video shows a tall shirtless man. The only man I’ve seen. The view of him on camera shows his chest and stomach riddled with scars, and I can only imagine his back is worse. He stands with his hands suspended in the air by chains, but his back is straight, and his head held high. His dark brown hair flops in front of his eyes, but even before he looks directly into the camera, I know who it is.
My breath catches in my chest painfully, my lungs screaming in protest while a metallic taste fills my mouth. I want to look away, but I can’t. I watch the screen, frozen in place as a clip of heels on cement echoes through the headphones and an older woman with silver blonde hair and eyes so brown they look black waltzes into the room.
The evil in my life has worn many faces, but they are all recognizable by the cold and calculating dead eyes they wear. The sneer she levels Jack has my back straightening and I watch in horror as she begins circling him like a predator would her prey, flicking her tongue over her bottom lip as she runs her fingers over his shoulders and back.
The only sign that Jack is affected by her behavior is the clenching of his fists in the chains. He doesn’t shove her off, doesn’t argue or scream obscenities. She leans in close to his ear, whispering something that the audio of the camera cannot hear. Bile crawls up my throat as he visibly shudders and pulls away from her, causing her to laugh manically. I watch as she grips his face again in her hands and pull it to look at her as she continues to hiss words at him.
And I watch as he draws all of his strength to the surface and pushes everything that makes himhimdown. It’s awe inspiring to see, and I can barely see through the tears that cloud my vision.
Four burly men stalk into the room, carrying an array of weapons, circling him as he eyes them all warily, but with resignation. After a tense moment, the attack is in full force.
Tears well in my eyes as I see his back torn open with the lashes of the whip, I lose my breath as I see a baseball bat come slamming into his ribcage. Even through the headphones, the crack of shattering ribs makes my stomach churn. A whimper escapes my lips as I see him beaten, strangled, burned, as he moves his body slightly to reduce the damage. And my heart bleeds for him as I see him take every last punishment dealt to him without screaming or crying, his silent strength a testament to who he is.
As the video is coming to an end, my laptop crashes down, the screen slamming closed.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Jack hisses at me, low and dangerous. He knows. I know that he knows what I’ve just seen, and now he’s looking at me. Taking stock of the tears streaming from my eyes, the full body trembles that I can’t control. I barely suppress the urge to throw my arms around his neck and hold him close to me, to tell him sweet things and try remove this pain. But I don’t, I can see the burning anger in his eyes.
When I don’t answer, he grips my laptop and throws it against the wall. I see it shatter in the corner of my eye, but I don’t take my eyes away from the beautiful savage in front of me.
With shaky hands, I lift to cradle his face in my palms. His eyes widen in shock, as I lean my forehead against his, our breath mixing as I stare into his beautiful icy blue eyes. He grips my wrists in his hands, his hands flexing as he tries to control the pressure in his touch. He doesn’t want to hurt me, but I know he feels expose and volatile.
I don’t pull away or make a sound as he snarls in my face. Before I can think better of it, I push forward and press my mouth to his. I can feel his shock as he stays frozen, but then he’s kissing me back, moving his mouth in time with mine. His kiss is brutal, all demanding lips and sharp slashes of his tongue against my own.
He pushes back against my hands until I’m laying flat on the bed with him hovering over me before he lays himself flush against my body. I can feel his hardness the moment he touches me, and a gasp escapes my lips. He uses this opportunity to dive further into my mouth, consuming my soul with his fiery rage, and I succumb to his desperate need for control in a moment that feels so out of his control.
My arms loop around him, landing in his soft hair and tugging him closer to me, as I suck his lower lip into my mouth and the groan, he lets out is obscene. We are a mess of clashing tongues and groping hands.
He stumbles back away from me, dragging his hand through his hair as he stares daggers my way. If looks could kill, I would be a dead woman.
“Get the fuck out!” He bellows at me, but I don’t move. My chest still heaving and still feeling the ghost of his body pressed against mine.
“Fucking leave, Briar! Now!”
He stomps around to the closet, pulling all my stuff off coat hangers and out of drawers and throwing them on to my bed. I watch him for a little while, pain radiating through my chest, and I watch him throw me literally out of his life.
