Preston’s knife moves away from my skin, and violent shudders wrack my body. His clumsy hand grips my dress, pulling it tight as the blade tears through it.
“Did you think I was going to fuck you with the blade of my knife?” Preston whispers in my ear.
And then he laughs.
Another involuntary sob rips through me, wrenching my shoulders when my whole body convulses with terror. Preston makes quick work of the rest of my dress, stripping it from me until I’m standing there in a bra and panties, strung up like a sacrifice.
Strangled, uncontrollable sobs grip me as he makes quick work of my bra, then slides the blade of his knife down the back of my underwear, letting me feel the blunt edge of the blade against my crack before he cuts away the fabric. He yanks it free of me, leaving me completely bare.
Leaning forward, the heat of his body like a threat against my shivering skin, he chuckles. “I could fuck you right now,” he whispers, his fingers landing on my hip. His touch is nothing like Devlin’s bruising passion. Preston’s touch is light, almost a caress.
“No,” I whisper through trembling lips, my body going rigid at the promise in his fingers. It’s the only word I can even think. The fight is drained from me, leaving me in a cold paralysis of dread.
“Yes,” he says, his voice lilting as his mouth brushes my ear. “I could. Don’t you see, Crystal? You don’t get a choice. You never had a choice in any of this. You’re just a pawn to us, the same way you’re a pawn to your own family. There’s no way to escape the game except to be taken out of play.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, feeling the numbness in my arms from being pulled over my head so long. “Then just do it,” I whisper. “Take me out.”
“There you go again,” Preston says, his voice taunting. “You don’t get to decide that. Because we’re the players, and you’re the pawn. And we’ll keep playing you, using you, to get to your family. And when you’re not worth anything to us anymore, because we’ve used you up so well that you’re worthless to your own family, then we’ll stop. Butwe’llbe the ones to tell you when you can leave the game. The sooner you realize that you have no say in any of it, the easier it will be on all of us.”
“Fine,” I say. “I have no say in it. Do what you want to me. Just please, untie me, Preston. My shoulders hurt. I can’t feel my hands.”
“A little pain never hurt anyone,” he says, dragging his nose down from my ear to the hollow above my collarbone. His fingers tighten just a fraction, and his hips rock forward, skimming across my bare ass for just a second, just long enough for me to feel that he’s hard.
I gasp, and he releases me, stepping away and surveying me. I have never wanted to hide more than I do when he steps back to look me over. A smirk curls his lips, and his heated gaze moves back to mine. “Damn,” he says. “I can see why Devlin’s been keeping you to himself.”
Tears brim in my eyes, running down my face with the blood, dripping onto my chin and neck and chest. I plead with him again, but he only shakes his head and takes another step back. “This is called taking one for the team,” he says. “Think about it while I’m gone. But don’t worry. I’ll be back with the rest of them. Even when I’m injured and can’t play, I take care of my boys. I don’t want to miss it when they find the delicious little treat I left for them.”
He laughs and walks out, ignoring when I call and then scream after him to come back. I’m alone. I’m naked in the boys’ locker room. I’m tied to the showerhead by what looks like a basketball net. I twist and pull, trying to free myself. My shoulders cramp, and my body shakes with sobs, but I can’t break the chords no matter what I do. At last, I do what Preston wanted, what all of them have wanted since the moment I walked through the doors of Willow Heights for the first time. I sag against the cold tile wall, and I give up.
twenty-seven
Devlin
Game day practice is a joke. Ten minutes of scrimmaging just to get us together and get our heads in the game, and we all take a knee and listen to Coach trying to rile us up. This time, things are tense out there. Preston joins the huddle, though he can’t play, and everyone sobers up. Coach seems intent on bending over and letting the Dolces fuck him in the ass, so now I’m supposed to throw the ball to those assholes.
Not fucking happening. Football means a lot to me, but not more than family, and not as much as it means to Preston. They fucked up his arm, and I’ll die before I throw a single pass into Dolce hands.
Except hers.
“Dolces, stick around for a minute,” our offensive coach calls, motioning them over as the rest of us start toward the back door of the locker room, which opens out to the field.
“I got a surprise for y’all,” Preston says, slapping hands and asses as he jogs ahead of us and pulls open the door. We all stream in, and I head for the showers. I’m not interested in whatever cheerleader Preston’s coerced into blowing half the team. Five or six guys are in front of me, gathered up around one of the shower stalls. They’re nudging each other and snickering. I start to push past them, but Colt’s hand falls on my shoulder and squeezes, hard.
“You’re going to want to see this one, man.”
I don’t, but something in his voice gets my attention. I turn toward the blue, tiled shower stall for the first time, and that’s when I see her.
She’s huddled up against the wall, her eyes huge and her hair tangled, looking like a wounded animal. Her wrists are bound together, her arms not quite straight but pulled up above her head. And she’s fucking naked.
It should be hot to see your girl all tied up and waiting, not a stitch of clothes on her, but there’s nothing sexy about this. Her makeup is smeared, her hair is stringy and tangled, and blood is caked around her nostrils and trailing down her chin, droplets streaking the front of her torso. A huge purple bruise is swelling in the center of her forehead. She looks like a dog’s so beaten it’s crawled up under a porch to die.
“Who the fuck did this?” I ask, wheeling around toward the team, searching for Preston.
The guys fall silent, their eyes moving back and forth between me and my cousins. They know better than to step in and make a move before we say so.
“I did,” Preston says. The shithead’s smiling, calm as can be.
“This is my dog,” I say, my hands balling into fists. I’m about to fucking lose it, and I don’t even care.