Alamort

27. Bennett

Bennett

Family meeting. Now.

I t’s uncommon for me to respond to texts from the guys, yet alone send a group text. But what I walked in on warrants a meeting. Don’t get me wrong, I hate Priya for what she did in California, and I want her broken just as much as Crew and Saint. But rape? Even hers goes against everything we stand for. We torture and kill people like that for a living.

Oscar is lucky his uncle is on Crew’s payroll, otherwise he would’ve been dead long before this incident. He’s always been a pushy shit, pestering girls when he wants something. He’s never been on our radar because his activities never interfered with our agendas. My thumb absentmindedly rubs my lip. Oscar has over stepped and put his nose where it doesn’t belong. Near Priya Carter.

My mind goes back to when I heard her scream in the bathroom. I stood there, listening. I thought she’d handle it on her own. The sound of that sob was so gut-wrenching that I’ve only heard it once before. She sounded every bit of broken that I wanted her to be, but not at that expense.

The last time I heard something that horrifying was when my mom had brought some John home for work. She thought my brother and I were sleeping, but I wasn’t. I heard everything. Each piercing cry, muffled whimper, and desperate prayer echoed through the room. As a young child of 8 or 9, I lie motionless, tears silently streaming down my cheeks, unable to react. Promising my mother retribution for the pain he caused her. I didn’t know there were some things that could never be healed. Until I lived through it myself.

The side entrance to the barn is within arm’s length. It’s the entrance only the guys and I use. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean its location is unknown. Amber’s crazed voice reaches my ears before I’m able to hustle inside.

“Bennett!” My shoulders draw up to my ears, shielding the precious organs from hearing loss. I know what this is about.

Turning around on one foot to face her, I put on a cheery smile, “Amber!” She’s brought her eerie replica, Ember. Ember Callahan. Same shade of blonde, same makeup, their school outfits even styled and paired with the same black Louboutin heels. Good thing Ember doesn’t talk much, if at all.

“Don’t start with me, Bennett Demonio! What type of bullshit was that?” My eyes flinch against the screech. Is she a fucking banshee?

“What?” Playing dumb will only piss her off further. She gets in my face.

“I saw you kissing that freak, Bennett!” I smile in her face. Amber is a lot of things, beautiful, wealthy, jealous, and predictable. Shrugging off her observation only sets her blue eyes blazing with rage. She raises her hand to slap me. My reflexes are faster than that. After all the time we’ve spent together, she should know. Then again, most of that time is spent looking at the back of her head.

My grip tightens on her wrist. “I let your crazy ass get away with a lot, Amber. Telling the school I’m ‘yours’ when I let you know up front what this was. But if you ever attempt to put your hands on me again.” I pause, letting the threat soak in. Her lip wobbles, but there are no tears. She plays this game as well as I do.

“I did it for you.” She whispers.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I knew what I was doing, getting Priya to kiss me. I timed it perfectly so Amber would walk in. Stirring the pot. We didn’t see any reactions worth mentioning, so I push for more.

Amber remains quiet. Shaking her, I ask again. “Amber, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I thought that if Oscar scared her a little, she’d leave. Or at the very least, leave you alone.” My eyebrows draw down in a glare and my nose wrinkles.

“You got Oscar to try to rape her?” Pushing her back, I turn around and storm inside. I didn’t think Amber was that vile. I’m all for her games of making people’s lives hell if it isn’t mine.

“Took you long enough.” Crew says, standing at the kitchen counter, his arms crossed. His tie lies on the counter, wrinkled and forgotten. He had already unbuttoned the top of his shirt, letting the cool air hit his skin. Saint is sitting on the stool in front of a laptop. Because he doesn’t have at least three monitors in his room. What is one more that he can bring everywhere with him?

“Yeah, was dealing with some shit. Anyway, I found Oscar Bush attempting to rape our spoiled princess.”

Saint looks horrified, as expected. Crew, on the other hand, looks the opposite. He has no expression. That may be his usual look, but he’s never hidden his emotions from me. Glancing at Saint, I try to gauge his reaction to my brother’s lack of.

“Was she crying?” Saint says. What an odd question to ask.

“Um, yes. Understandably so. Considering when I walked in, his hands were in her skirt, and she looked like a DV victim.” Saint’s eyes change briefly before looking back at his laptop.

“And?” Crew replies jaded. “Did you let him do it?”

“Fuck no!”

He shakes his head. “Maybe you should have,” he says so quietly I almost miss it. I wish I did.

Most of the time, my brother and I don’t see eye to eye, but our morals have always been the same. Saint sits mutely, not a word or a sound. I know mainly, Crew and I lived the same life. Struggled in the same way, especially with mom. But this? This is a new low.

“We want her broken. This would’ve done it.”

Old resentment I have comes bubbling to the surface.

Oh, I see what he’s implying. He believes this would make up for Tyson’s death. That this would be the wash to make us even.

“Yeah? You think so, Crew?” I shove him against the counter, getting in his face. “Did I fucking deserve it when I was younger? When Charles would fucking stick things inside me while Marie videoed it and I begged them to stop? Did I deserve it when I said ‘no’ and he’d make me get on my knees for the hell of it? What about when he would whisper in my ear and tell me I ‘liked it’. That I ‘wanted it’? And when I refused, he put me in a fucking closet for days! All the times I cried for my brother to come fucking save me from that hellhole.” My voice is hoarse from screaming. Bringing up the incident where he couldn’t save me completely changed the course of the conversation. That has nothing to do with Priya.

“Fuck you, Crew,” I spit. “If this is how you’re going to play the game. I’m fucking out. Tyson is rolling in his grave right now, hearing those words from your mouth. He would be disgusted. I know I am.”

Walking back to the side entry door, I rip my keys off the rack to my Aston Martin. The one girl who doesn’t talk back and piss me off. The only way I’m going to come back and not murder Crew is if I go for a drive.