Ruthless Kings - Laura Lee Page 0,88
how innocent. She’d stay in bed for days at a time. Had severe nightmares—would wake up screaming or crying, completely terrified, but never remembered why. Carissa admitted to Ains that she felt like she was losing her mind, that she just wanted to make it stop.
“Rissa’s nightmares only got worse, so she started forcing herself to stay awake as much as possible because she didn’t want to endure another bad dream. Ainsley thinks Riss was actually dreaming about the rape, like maybe her subconscious mind was trying to jog her memory. After Carissa started hallucinating from lack of sleep, her doctor prescribed sleeping pills.
"Rissa convinced my sister to go home, swore she'd be fine after a good night's rest. She even agreed to make an appointment with the therapist her parents had been begging her to see. Ainsley would've never left if she thought Carissa was disingenuous. I don't know if Riss was a really great actress, or if she wound up changing her mind, but that same night, she swallowed over half the bottle of pills and never woke up."
“That poor girl.”
God, as traumatized as I’ve been since my attack, I can’t even imagine the horrors flashing through Carissa’s mind after something like that.
I release a heavy sigh. "I don't understand why Bentley feels responsible, though. What happened to Carissa was horrible, but he had no part in it.”
"Bent thinks if he never pushed her to go to the party, they would've never fought. Then, maybe he would've never got so wasted or hooked up with that girl. He thinks it was his fault Carissa was even at the party."
“Well, I guess my secret is out.”
Kingston and I both startled at the sound of Bentley's voice. Bentley steps out of the shadows from just beyond the boulders and walks toward us. The flame from his lighter illuminates his face as he lights the blunt sticking out of his mouth.
I jump off Kingston’s lap onto the sand. “Bentley, what are you doing out here?”
He takes a drag from the joint and exhales. “Needed some fresh air. Found a quiet little spot to hang. At least until you two showed up.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Kingston asks. “Why didn’t you let us know you were sitting there?”
Bent takes another hit. “Found the topic of conversation riveting. Wanted to see where you were going with it.”
It’s fairly dark, but I can still see Kingston’s frown. “Dude, if—”
Bentley holds a hand up. “It’s cool, man. It’s not like you said anything that wasn’t true. I promised Jazz I’d tell her one day—you just beat me to it.” He turns to me. “Your boy did leave one thing out. Rissa was a dancer—ballet, like Ainsley. It was everything to her. That’s what the tat on my chest is about.”
Fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so haunted before. My heart is breaking for this poor, lost soul. I don’t even think about it; I practically run into Bentley and throw my arms around him. He holds his arms out to the side at first, but then I see the joint fall to the sand right before he hugs me back.
“Bentley, I’m so, so sorry,” I mumble against his chest. “I understand why you feel guilty, but it’s not your fault. It’s just not. You can’t keep letting this haunt you.”
Bentley fists one of his hands in my hair and crushes me into him for just a moment, before letting go and stepping back.
He clears his throat. “I could really use a fucking drink, so I’m gonna head back to the party? You two coming?”
Kingston does that thing where he stares you down, trying to figure out what you’re thinking. Bentley stares right back, not cowering from the intense scrutiny in the least.
Kingston gives a single nod. “Let’s go.”
What? We’re going to let it drop just like that?
Kingston reaches for my hand, twining our fingers together, and doesn’t let go the entire way back to the house. When we get to the deck, Bentley heads inside straight for the bar.
“Should he really be drinking right now?”
I pull my shoes on as I watch Bentley place his order with the bartender. As soon as my feet are covered, we head back inside.
“We’re not leaving his side for the rest of the night,” Kingston assures me. “He’s obviously trying to numb himself. I’ll know when he’s reaching his limit. He’s close, but not quite there yet.”
Bentley approaches us, cup in hand, and takes a big