Kai

How the fuck did Teagan get herself mixed up with this dude?

Smith Kendrick, Greenwood’s local scumbag dealer. He isn’t pushing nickel bags of pot. He’s supplying half that town and surrounding areas with enough smack to put him away until he’s an old man.

And he’s pissed off the wrong motherfucker.

I couldn’t see the lights go out from the man who hurt Teagan inside the farmhouse, but I sure can bring pain into this asshole’s world. He’ll suffer for every person who’s ever hurt her.

I swig the nearly cold coffee from my thermos and then set it back in the cupholder just a little too hard, causing some of the dark liquid to spill out onto my hand. After three hours of stakeout on the corner outside his place, I haven’t seen a sign of him. I haven’t seen anyone, and I’m growing impatient. My shoes touch the pavement, and the strength in which I slam my car door shakes the vehicle as I take off toward his home.

The boom of my fist hitting his door rumbles in my ears, but my knock goes unanswered. My hand reaches out to try the knob, and the frame squeals as the door pushes open.

Inside, the smell of must and vacancy hits me. Trash and needles litter the floor, but everything else inside, furniture and signs of habitation, have been moved or stolen since the last time I was here. My fists ball tightly, and my temper rises. Smith Kendrick knew I’d come looking for him after his little drug delivery, and he left before I could get here.

“Get on your knees!”

The voice startles me but just barely, and then I’m heading in the direction the demand came from. As I get closer, I hear additional voices. There must be a group of men in the back bedroom where I found Teagan.

“Take my big cock, you druggie whore.”

Motherfucker. I don’t want to walk in on a bunch of dudes sticking their dicks in each other’s asses in exchange for drugs, but if that’s Smith in there, taking cock, then he has bigger worries than the fucking happening to his ass.

The grunts and vulgar words get louder as I creep closer.

A feminine whimper rings out and gives me an icy chill.

My feet move faster until I’m throwing open the door and pulling out my gun. My aim swivels the almost-empty space.

The sounds of sex continue to play.

Three men, standing around and yanking on their dicks, tower over a woman on the floor while a fourth man ruthlessly fucks her. Their hands have left angry red marks on her skin. She plays up a vixen act, begging for more. Her words may be saying she wants it, but I can see the subtle way her body language disagrees. Her eyes are closed tight, but discreet tears sneak out and land on the dirty cement floor. She moans, and it’s stoic and detached. Black makeup smears down her cheeks as she bites her lip with mock seduction, and her minimal clothes have been torn to rags.

Recognition pulses through me.

My body grows weak, and my shoulders cripple over. I brace my hands on my knees as my stomach retches, and then vomit spews from my mouth. The act burns my throat, and moisture runs from my eyes. A myriad of colors and chunks lands on the floor between my feet. Utter disgust and rage fill me with an immeasurable amount of loathing toward each man with his hands on her.

They will all die for this.

My girl. My beautiful love. It’s her.

Teagan.

The video keeps rolling as the scene becomes more graphic, and it becomes too much for me to stand. The clunky old-school television lifts above my head with ease as I hoist it from the floor, and the cord connecting the television to the wall snaps in two. The explicit noises end right before the device smashes into pieces.

Anguish in the form of profanity and uneven breaths are my only rebuttal to the fucking shit that will now haunt me through the rest of my life. As much as I wish I had never seen that, I want even more for it to have never happened to Teagan.

I’m going to kill every last one of them. I’ll find them and chop off their dicks and feed the tiny excuses of manhood to Smith before I slit every last one of their throats.

A piece of paper that must have been on top of the television floats down toward the floor, and I snatch it in midair.

If Smith is anywhere close, watching my reaction, he’d better hope I don’t lay my eyes on him because he’s just thrown me over the edge of rational thought processing. The only feasible reaction to what he’s just shown me is a slow and torturous death for him.

My fingers twitch with rage as I smooth the paper flat in my hand, and I read it.

Your girl fucks like the whore she is, but you already know that, don’t you?

A copy of this video is all geared up to hit the internet, to be splashed on any and every porn site. The world will see what a druggie slut she is.

I lost a lot of money and supply because of her little habit. I’d ask you to pay her debt, but I’m not an idiot. I’d be at the bottom of the ocean before I could count the last bill.

So, simple blackmail will work just fine. I get my money, and you’ll never see me again.

Iris paid for her stay in blow jobs and used-up pussy, but Teagan Hensley will get me a big payday because, now, I know exactly whom she’s connected to and what she’s worth to you.

You’ll drop off $500,000 on Friday next week at the included address if you don’t want the world to see that video.

Motherfucker.

Smith had no idea who she was when she was here, but he knew exactly who I was after I beat him to a pulp. One would think he would be smarter than to try to blackmail me. No, instead, he saw my sudden appearance and heavy fist as an opportunity.

The look in Teagan’s eyes as those men touched her is imprinted in my mind. Her desperation. The vacancy within her depths that told me she had completely given up. Teagan’s been smiling again and been less irritable. We’ve seen progress, and now, there’s this. I knew she’d been through a lot, and she hinted at the choices she’d made, but this is too much.

My fist connects with the drywall, and pieces of dust and plaster rain down to the floor. My knuckles bleed, and scratches mark up my forearm as I keep hitting the bedroom wall. The room, stale and reeking of vomit, closes in on me. Overwhelming revulsion narrows my vision. My muscles ache, and I can’t throw another punch. Blood drips to the floor from my right hand, and my ears ring as the silence of the empty space engulfs me.

I close my eyes and breathe, thinking about the girl who carries my heart.

My revenge fantasies are strong, but my urge to get home to my girl is even stronger.

Every instinct in my head is telling me not to pay a dime, but my heart knows, if I don’t find him by Friday, I’ll be giving in to whatever the fuck he wants. I don’t care what anyone else thinks about Teagan, but I don’t want her to ever have to watch that or, really, even know it exists. For me, selfishly, I don’t want men all over the world rubbing one out to what’s mine, especially when she’s vulnerable and strung out.

Whether Teagan and I are in a good place or not, that’s exactly what she is.

Mine. And she always will be.