“Don’t worry about it, Em,” Kyson finally replies, then promptly continues with, “Keep your mouth shut.”
“Emmy.” Bishop’s enraged voice assaults my body like a taser, electric with an aftershock of every nerve ending being zapped and locked into place.
The bitterness dripping from his words makes me immediately shutter in response as I slowly pivot to face him. And I’m met with his heated blues boring into me like I did something wrong—again.
“Willy Wonka, not the motherfucker from the chocolate factory, a real fucking guy...find him.”
Then he marches away, right to the petite blonde that’s standing in front of his truck, hugging herself against the cold or Bishop, I’m not sure.
Kyson never tells me who she is, and I’m afraid to know. An empty pitting in my stomach begins to form, and I force myself to shake it off.
I need to go home.
Now.
Eighteen Years Ago…
“God, baby girl, you feel so good. I wanna hear you scream my name when you come.”
“Please,” a female voice begs through a choked sob. “Let me go.”
Kyson and I freeze at the same time, the familiarity of that voice hurling into my gut like a punch. I replay it in my head, believing that I must be hearing shit.
That I want to be hearing shit.
An animalistic grunt sounds from the abandoned carpool parking lot nearby on the road that we’re walking on. A red pickup truck the only thing parked on it.
Kyson instinctively pulls his knife out of his back pocket, and I do the same.
We’ve just come back from running an errand for Kyson’s grandma. Nothing exciting unless you want to count mixing green tomatoes with the Granny Smith apples at the grocery store your idea of an eventful night.
Slowly, I place down the plastic bags in my hand and move into the small ditch for cover. Kyson follows as the truck begins to move side to side.
I know that truck.
I know the asshole that drives that truck.
Kyson jerks his head in the direction of it and pads towards the rusted piece of shit.
Of course, I follow as a female loudly squeals, prompting Kyson to rip open the door.
Reaching inside, I clutch onto the back of someone’s leather jacket and tear them out of the car, letting them fall to the stones and broken cement below.
Identity confirmed. It’s exactly who I thought it was.
“Why if it isn’t Mac Lancaster,” I coo, fisting my blade tighter in my palm. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for years.”
He peers up at me, deep-set eyes narrowed before flicking them to Kyson behind me. “And? The fuck do you think you’re going to do?”
A mirthless chuckle escapes my lips because I’ve been dreaming of this moment too many times. However, before I can open my mouth, Kyson speaks.
“Bish,” he calls out lowly, distress clogged in his words. When he doesn’t continue, I glimpse over my shoulder, finding my best friend still standing by the driver’s side door with it open.
He gestures to the interior, and I move, not asking what or why.
We work that way together, with complete trust and respect for the other. Something rare in our world.
Glancing inside, I almost throw up. The bile in my stomach begins to bubble like the inside of a volcano because there are still two more people on the front bench of Mac’s truck.
Camilla, my girl, and some dude with his raw dick in her ass.
She’s laid out with her back to his chest, set up perfectly to get a train ran on her in the middle of nowhere. We’re between town and the trailer park, but no one drives on this road too much, let alone walk it like Kyson and I just did.
And as much as I wish I hadn’t, I’m glad we did.
Because my girlfriend just got raped by the motherfucker I’ve been hunting and impatiently waiting to show up again.
Kyson silently appears at my side, his palm clenching the side of the door like he’s right there with me about to lose all the contents of the junk food we ate at the Green Stand Market.
“Cam,” I choke out, gripping the bed of the red pickup to hold back my gag reflex. “C’mon.”
She moves, and I close my eyes, not able to see someone’s cock sliding out of her or the look of pure embarrassment and horror of what she just went through.
A deep chuckle sounds behind me, purposely taunting because Mac knows who Camilla belongs to, and it sure as hell isn’t the trailer park.
“You about to fill in for her, Bishop?” Mac provokes as I move to the side to allow Camilla out of the truck. “I heard you’ve taken it up the ass a few times.”
“Kyson,” I ground out in warning because I’m about to lose my entire shit in approximately two seconds if he doesn’t stop me. And it’s going to end badly, bloody, and messy.
Like we’re hiding a body in the woods bad.
“Yep,” my best friend replies through a snarl, already aware of what I’m asking him to do.
“Kace.” My eyes shoot open to find Cam standing there, still pantless but with her light pink shirt on. Her dark blonde hair is matted to her face with sweat and pretty blue eyes rimmed in red from crying.
Placing my knife on the railing of the truck bed, I immediately pull down my sweatpants, removing my sneakers to get them off my feet.
Mac whistles. “Damn, Bishop, I’ve never fucked a dude before but…I mean, if you’re game.”
I hand my black pants to Cam, standing against the coolness of the night in my boxers. “Here, put these on. They're warm.”
Her fingers brush mine as she takes them, and I almost allow the buildup of tears in my own eyes to take over.
Something hits the inside of the truck, and I quickly reach out to cover Camilla’s ears, fully aware of what’s about to happen next.
A pained howl follows as I glance
