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I collapsed to my knees, holding the seat in my hands while my body convulsed, my back arching like it was trying to exorcise a demon. Sweat built at the edge of my hairline, and I gripped the toilet seat, my fingers aching while I held onto it for dear life. The small bathroom felt like it was transforming into some kind of clown house, the floor feeling uneven while the walls seemed like they were stretching taller, looming over me while they bent and curved.
I knew what this was.
I’d been here before.
In this exact fucking bathroom, nonetheless.
It was a few minutes before I finally got control of my body and could actually breathe again. I knew he was still there, waiting at the door to drag me back out into his hell again.
“I’ve got a concussion. I need to go to the hospital,” I mumbled, just fighting to keep my eyes open. “Please. I could have a hea—”
“No.” He stomped into the bathroom, tucking his hands under my arms and heaving my body to its feet. “You’re going to record a little video, then I’ll take you somewhere you can rest.”
I let him practically carry me out into the shop’s waiting room. I’d help decorate it, so it was cozy and comfortable and people always commented on how they felt like they were at home waiting for their car rather than in some cold shop like they’d been in before. He dropped me onto the sofa, physically pushing my shoulders back and grabbing my chin, shaking it a little until I opened my eyes fully. Then he took a couple of steps back, his phone in his hand, and pointed directly at me.
“You’re gonna tell the world that my brother didn’t deserve to die,” he ordered, his phone beeping as he hit the record button. “Tell them. Tell them how he was a good man. Fix all the lies you’ve spread.”
I shook my head, though for a second, it felt like it might fall off. “Emmett, he hurt me—”
“He loved you. He cherished you.”
“He beat me,” I spat, my voice catching on the sudden build of tears. “You saw—”
“You’re a liar!” He scrambled to hit some buttons before slamming the phone down on the coffee table between us.
I groaned as the sound vibrated around me like some kind of echo chamber. It felt like it was attacking me, my brain throbbing. “Why do you keep saying I’m lying? You’ve seen the bruises. You’ve seen me lay here onthissofa, exhausted, battered, and done with fucking life.”
He thrust his fingers through his hair and leaped to his feet, beginning to pace the room. “The whole town thinks he’s this monster now,” he rambled, his focus on the floor in front of him as he crossed the room then turned and crossed back again. “People canceled their appointments for work this week. We’ve had prank calls. We’ve had death threats. We’ve been working in this town, helping people for more than ten years with this shop, and suddenly, that’s it. I need you to clear his name.”
We were going around in circles.
He couldn’t see it.
He couldn’t see how this brother he grew up with, his best fucking friend, could be anything but a hero. It’s why he ignored the injuries I had when Brian and I were going out. And why he never questioned why I never talked about any friends or ever getting a damn job. He didn’t want to recognize the abuse then, and he still didn’t want to know about it now. So maybe continuing to argue with him wasn’t the way out of this situation.
“If I record the video, you’ll let me go?” I croaked, licking my dry lips, suddenly desperate for some water.
His eyes lit up, and he nodded. Suddenly, his demeanor changed—his shoulders slumped, his face softened. “Cassie, I know you guys had a relationship that wasn’t the best. But that doesn’t make him a bad man and mean me and my family should suffer for all these crazy accusations. Please. You do the video, and I’ll take you out of here and leave you somewhere safe where your friends can find you.”
Did I really have a choice?
I knew if I didn’t make the video, Emmett’s anger would for sure get the better of him eventually, and I couldn’t run, I couldn’t escape, not in the state I was in.
Neither were good options.
Neither were sure to keep me alive.
I could hear Drake in the back of my mind telling me to fight.
Reminding me how strong I was, how I could do this.
But every minute that passed, my body felt weaker, my eyes even fluttering at times, wanting to fall closed. I could barely move, barely speak, so this fight, it had to be different. It had to be more strategic.
Only one of the options I had gave me more time.
And that was what I needed.
Drake would be in Boston.
