Torment Her (Rebels At Sterling Prep #5) - Caitlyn Dare Page 0,4
on the ceiling as words start to tumble from my mouth. I have no idea if he wants to know what I've got to say, but now I've started, I can’t stop.
"She's been my best friend for... well, forever. We met in pre-K, and until I moved here, well..." I trail off, not really needing to say the words. "She's got a boyfriend. Warren.” Warren Kraven. His name is like ash on my tongue. “He was our friend too. They got together a few months before we moved here. I thought she was safe."
"You're saying he did this?"
Dragging my head from the cushion, I stare into my father's eyes. "Yes."
"And you know that for a fact?"
"Well... no, but—"
"You can't start accusing him—going after him—without any evidence, Son."
"Who said I was going to..." His brow lifts in accusation, and I trail off. "I won't let him get away with this."
"I'm not suggesting we do. But you need to know for sure first."
"She said it was a random attack. She's lying."
"What makes you think that?"
"That fact that I know her better than I know myself."
James nods, accepting my words. "No man should ever hit a woman. You get me the evidence, and it'll get sorted."
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering who the fuck our father really is. We were under the impression he was just a businessman, but as time goes on, he only seems to get a shit ton more complex.
"What do you want to do now?"
"Now?"
"Well, I'm assuming you don't want to send her back?"
"Fucking right I don't."
"Does she have any family?"
"Just an aunt, but she's clearly doing a shit job of looking after her."
"Okay, so should I call social services or..."
"No, she stays here."
James leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled. "Here?"
"I mean, yeah... no... I don't know. But she's not going into the system, and she's not going back there. That's all I know."
"When is she eighteen?"
"Next month."
He nods.
"Why? What are you thinking?"
"Leave it with me.” A faint smile traces his lips. “I have some favors to pull."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"It means exactly what I said. Leave it with me."
"So now what?"
He shrugs. "You said you know her better than anyone, so I guess only you know the answer."
He pushes from the couch, pulls his cell from his pocket, and has it to his ear before walking from the room, leaving me surrounded by his walnut office furniture and fancy fucking books.
Needing to get out of the room, I follow his lead, but not before a bottle of amber liquid catches my attention on one of his shelves.
"Fuck it," I mutter, swiping it from its place. If it's hidden up here then it's got to be the good stuff.
As I hit the bottom of the stairs, I glance to my right. It would be so easy to march back up there and demand she talk to me, but I know it's not going to get me anywhere. I wasn't lying when I said I know her, and one thing I know is that she's a stubborn ass.
With the bottle in my hand, I make my way out the front door before dropping down onto one of the stone steps.
I twist the top and lift the glass to my lips. The first shot burns, but I instantly know that this isn't cheap stuff. It's so fucking smooth.
Pulling the bottle back, I look at the label. It's Macallan, but other than knowing it's expensive shit, I don't know much more about it. We didn't often find bottles of the good stuff lying around in the Heights.
I have no idea how long I sit there watching the sun go down, sinking into the ocean on the horizon, but my ass is numb and my head is spinning.
I was hoping that the whisky might have helped to remove the images my imagination have been conjuring up since I pulled Kenny into my arms when Jay first dropped her off. The thought of him touching her, hurting her...
My teeth grind and my grip on the bottle tightens with my need to go and find the motherfucker and teach him a lesson of my own.
But James is right. I need to know for sure it was him.
I assume that no one knows I'm here, so when the front door opens and Hadley steps out as if she's expecting to see me, I wonder just how good my hiding spot was.