Page 8 of Unleashed

“I’ll take your silence as a yes, pretty boy. And don’t worry, his secret isn’t safe with me.”

“What makes you think that an ex-convict like yourself has any kind of power? My father will chew you up and spit you out for breakfast.”

Oh, how wrong he is. And I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I play my hand.

Now, that the pet has been fed, I think it’s time for a little story.

“You hear a lot of stories on the inside.” I take my seat on the chair, giving him space, a sense of comfort. Watching as his eyes dart to the door. I’d love to see him make a run for it. It’dbe entertaining as hell to see him get snatched up by one of my traps outside.

“There was one story,” I continue, “that kept getting repeated. Retold by different prisoners. Similar plot line, different characters.” Always the same shit ending. “It was a story about an innocent man being accused of a crime he didn’t commit. But even though there was no evidence proving his guilt, he’d been found guilty and given the maximum sentence. Each story may have had a different hero in it, but the villains were always the same. The same judge, and”—I lean forward—“the same prosecuting attorney. Who just so happened to have your last name.”

He actually looks like I’ve just told him a horror story, but it’s hard for me to believe he doesn’t know the truth about his dad. The two of them are practically bonded at the hip. They fucking text each other every day, and have dinner once a week. You can’t tell me his father has never shared his great wisdom with his son. He probably gave him weekly pep talks on how to be an asshole and screw people over to get ahead in this world. He certainly never taught him how not to be a bully.

“You’re listening to a bunch of convicted felons. Of course, they’re going to pass the blame and claim they’re innocent. My father would never bribe anyone. He’s the best attorney in the state for a reason. He doesn’t have to pay anyone off to win a case.”

I shake my head, wanting to wring his dishonest neck, but I’ll play his game— for now. If he wants to swear his allegiance to his father, so be it. But soon enough, the truth will prevail, and daddy dearest will get to see exactly what it’s like living behind bars. Only, it will be for a hell of a lot longer than five years. I can’t wait to hear how he does on the inside with all the innocent men he convicted. He may not even last five years. He may take his own life before that.

“Denial is a straight path to your demise,” I state, shaking my head. “Now, let’s play a game, shall we?”

His nostrils flare as the angry pulse at the side of his jaw starts to tick from how hard he’s grinding his teeth. He’s still holding steadfast to that arrogance, still letting the anger fuel him, but he doesn’t realize how weak it makes him.

“We’re going to play truth or pain,” I say, fighting back the urge to carve the line down his rigid face. “I’m going to ask you questions, and if you answer honestly, you’ll get to breathe freely. But if you refuse to answer or decide to lie, you’ll get to pick your point of pain.”

I contemplated torturing everything out of him, but if he’s writhing in pain, I’m not sure I’ll get the information I need. So, the game it is.

“We’ll start with an easy one. Why me?” I never understood what I did to deserve his wrath. There was a sea of people in my high school, and I was a worthy soldier. I kept my mouth shut. Did all of his work without argument. Never once ratted him out. So, why was I the chosen one?

“Because you were a scared little shit,” he snarls. “You were pathetic and made for an easy target. Plus, I didn’t like seeing your face.”

It all comes flooding back in. The look in his eyes every time he slammed his fist into me. The pure hatred that penetrated in every punch.

“Look who’s lurking in the dark shadows of the library. It’s the little faggot.”

I look up from my book, and the food in my stomach churns. Why can’t he just leave me alone?

“What ya reading, loser? How to Suck a Cock for Beginners?”

I close my book so he can see the cover, not that it matters.

He takes a seat on the table, knocking my book to the ground, and his buddies start laughing in the background.

“Mr. Baxter gave me back my report. He said it was missing two references. Gave me an A minus on it. That’s awfully close to a B, faggot, and that makes me very angry.” His foot wedges between my legs on the chair, and I fight the urge to shift back and cover my junk. “Now, you’re going to pay for this mistake, and if I ever get anything lower than a ninety-five again, I’m going to make it to where you don’t have a cock for some little twink to suck on.”

He shifts and then I’m keeled over in pain as my nuts get crunched in from the kick of his heavy shoe. The gleam in his eyes is unnerving. There’s something wrong with him.

He stands to leave, his buddies in tow, and I slump forward, hating the tears running down my cheeks. I’m so fucking weak.

I shove the memory away, feeling the rage slithering up my spine, but I keep it locked down. If I don’t, he’ll be dead before I get what I need from him.

“So, what was the deep-rooted pain that caused you to take your anger out on me?” I ask.

There had to be some reason for his rage. Kids that are happy, who live in a lap of luxury, and are worshipped by everyone in school don’t usually turn into bullies. Not unless there was something going on that no one saw on the surface. I always thought it had to do with his mother leaving at such a young age. That his abandonment issues became a systemic poison that grew over time and drove him to be a fucker in high school. But even if that was the case, it doesn’t excuse his behavior. My father walked out on us when I was young, andIdidn’t take it out on anyone.

“What was it?” I ask again, my question going unanswered. “Was it because you felt like you were stupid? Inadequate? Did your insecurities make you jealous of me?” Though, I neverpegged him for being stupid, and he’s clearly smart enough to run a company. “Or did your dad beat you?” I lean forward, cocking my head. “What would’ve caused all that pent-up anger?”

“Fuck you,” he snaps back, looking like he’d love nothing more than to gouge my eyes out. “The only motive I had was your ugly face.”

I stand from my chair, stepping forward as the rage runs up my spine, saturating my nerve endings, tightening every muscle in my body. I crouch down, my lungs working overtime as I peer into his blue eyes. “I don’t like your face either.” I put my knife up to his temple, ever so slowly tracing a path to his ear, leaving a little red line in its wake. A tease of my intentions.