Played: Manhattan Ruthless - 12

Chapter

Eleven

“ F uck!” King’s warm breath dusts over my skin. “You feel so good, Mase.” He sinks his teeth into my shoulder blade. “You’re my perfect little fuck toy, aren’t you?”

My entire body thrums with pleasure. “Yeah.”

“Yeah you are.” His lips dust over my ear. “I’m really gonna miss you, baby.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Gonna miss you too.”

He gives me a final kiss on the back of my neck before falling onto the seat beside and zipping up his fly.

I tug up my jeans and sit beside him, still riding the high of my climax. He lifts his arm, and I go to snuggle against him, our usual post-fucking-in-my-Jeep position, but before I can …

“What the fuck is going on?” The voice is so full of rage and disgust that I flinch. But my reaction is nothing compared to King’s. His face turns whiter than snow, and he scrambles to get away from me.

We purposely use this spot because nobody ever comes out here. So who’s discovered us? How? And why the hell does he sound so mad about it?

“Shit,” King mutters, and what happens next happens so fast my head spins. King is pulled from the car by a very large balding man who appears to be foaming at the mouth. “I knew you were up to something. You dirty little bastard. You sick little piece of shit.” He punches King in the side of the face, and my boyfriend falls to the ground.

“Hey!” Vibrating with fury, I jump out of the car and confront the mountain of rage standing over King. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He turns his angry scowl on me, his face only illuminated by the interior light of my car. “You perverted little shit. I should snap your fucking neck.”

Instead of doing that, he turns his attention back to King and hauls him up by the scruff of his neck, shaking him like a rag doll. “Explain yourself, boy!”

“We weren’t doing anything, sir,” King protests.

He shakes King harder. “I can fucking smell him on you, you filthy piece of shit. Do not lie to your father. Now try again.”

This is his dad? Holy shit. I take a cautious step toward them.

“I was just messing with him,” King says, and I stop in my tracks. “He fucking disgusts me too.”

I freeze now, my eyes darting between King and his father—Kyngston Worthington III. He releases his grip on his son who shrugs out of his hold.

“Tell him how we feel about dirty little perverts like him,” his father demands.

King’s face changes into someone I don’t recognize. His eyes fix on mine. “You disgust me,” he says, his tone dripping with venom. But that can’t be for me. It has to be for his father—the man making him do this.

“King?” I plead. “You don’t have to listen to him. Come home with me. We can⁠—”

“You think I’d go anywhere with you? Didn’t you hear me when I told you that you fucking disgust me? Did you think any of this was real?”

I blink at him, confused, not to mention scared of his father and what he might be capable of.

“This was a joke to see exactly how far you’d go, so that I can tell everyone about what a pathetic, needy, sick little shit you really are. I hate you. You’re a fucking freak! You think any of this is real? I’m not gay. Never have been. Never will be.”

I stagger back a step. He doesn’t mean any of that, but it still causes a physical ache in my chest.

I can’t breathe.

His father sneers at me, then directs his attention back to his son. “Let’s go.”

King doesn’t look at me before he walks away, toward the dark SUV that we didn’t hear driving down the road. We were too wrapped up in each other to notice anyone else.

I watch them drive away, overwhelmed with anger and betrayal and fear. What the fuck just happened?

“What’s wrong, my sweet boy?” Mom’s soothing voice makes me want to cry, but I choke back a sob and stare at the TV, pretending to be engrossed in some stupid show about college kids.

“Nothing, Mom.”

She sits beside me and cups my face in her hands. “You have been crying, Mason. Now, please tell your mama what is wrong so I can fix it for you.”

I wish it were that easy. “It was just a guy, that’s all.”

“A guy what? What did he do?” Her voice goes up about seven octaves, and then she curses in Spanish.

I’m still trying to process what happened myself. I’ve called King half a dozen times. Left voicemails. Sent text messages. I haven’t heard anything from him in hours, and I’m starting to worry that something’s happened to him. I can’t face telling my mom about any of it, so I downplay it all. “It was nothing. I was kind of seeing some guy, and he broke it off.”

She makes a horrified face. “Broke it off? With my beautiful, kind, sweet boy?”

Usually I wince at her over-the-top compliments, but they’re more than welcome tonight. I nod.

Cue more Spanish cursing. “Do I need to take out a hit on anyone?” she asks quietly, crossing herself. “Or have his home infested with fire ants?” There’s a twinkle in her soft brown eyes, but I have no doubt she would do either of those things if I asked her to.

“No, Mom. It’s fine.”

“I remember my first broken heart.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “His name was Miguel Fernandez, and he broke up with me the day before Valentine’s. Bastardo!”

I smile in spite of how lousy I feel.

“How about some ice cream, huh? I hid a tub of mint chocolate chip beneath the vegetables.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.

I shake my head. “Nah, but thanks.”

“Aw.” She plants a kiss on my forehead. “This will not be your first broken heart, my sweet, sensitive boy.” Then she wraps me in a hug, enveloping me in the sweet scent of her flowery perfume. “And any boy who does not appreciate the wonder that is you, mijo, does not deserve another moment of your time. And he is definitely not worth the salt of your tears.”

If only that were true, Mom.

I barely slept at all, and as soon as I wake up, I check my phone. No word from King, and now I’m really worried. If I don’t speak to him today, I might consider asking my dad if we should call the cops.

I call him for what must be the fiftieth time, and to my utter relief, he picks up. He speaks before I have a chance to. “Will you stop fucking calling me! Stop texting. Stop everything. I told you⁠—”

“I don’t fucking believe you, King. We⁠—”

“There is no we, asshole. It was fake. Every cringeworthy, painful second of it. I don’t even fucking like you. Now leave me the fuck alone. Go beg some other dirty little fuck to let you suck his cock.”

White-hot pain lances through my chest. He can’t mean any of this. His father must be there, making him say this stuff. “King, please, just⁠—”

“Don’t call me again. Fucking freak!”

The line goes dead.

My heart breaks.

I don’t believe him. Can’t believe him. What King and I had means something, and I don’t care what he said, it must have been his father’s influence. Only yesterday afternoon we were making plans for the future. He leaves for school next week—Harvard, where Nathan and Drake are studying too. And next year I’ll be there as well, and we can stop sneaking around so much. Nathan and Drake are in an apartment off campus, and my mom and dad will let me do the same after my first year. Then King and I could have all the privacy we want. And after college …

I shake my head, refusing to cry again. Everything couldn’t have changed in the space of a few hours. It has to be his father making him say those things. He doesn’t have the best relationship with his parents, and he’s terrified to come out to them, a fact that bewilders me when my own parents, and my brothers, have been nothing but supportive. But having met his father last night, I can totally understand why.

Still, I’m not about to let his father ruin this for us. I’m not scared of him. Kyngston Worthington might be a big-shot investment banker, but my dad and brothers would eat him for breakfast. Obviously, King doesn’t feel strong enough to stand up to him, and I’m not going to lie in bed all day and leave him to face this alone.

With that thought in mind, I grab the keys to my Jeep and head to King’s house. I’ve never visited him there before, but I know where it is. When we first started dating, I drove past the place. The imposing mansion on the outskirts of the city looks about as inviting as a root canal.

The wrought iron gates are open when I pull up, and my tires crunch over the gravel driveway. This place is creepy as hell, and I have no idea what I’m walking into. But I glance around and note King’s blue Audi, the same car where we shared our first kiss, and it reminds me why I’m here.

I climb the few stone stairs leading to the door, my legs shaking with each step, and ring the doorbell. A lady with gray hair wearing a pale gray dress and cardigan opens it and inquires who I am.

I roll back my shoulders. “I’m here to see King.”

“One moment, please,” she says. Then she closes the door and disappears.

I shuffle my feet, absentmindedly kicking at the stone wall beside me. I almost pass out when a stone comes loose, but before I can put it back, the door opens again.

“You!” Kyngston Worthington III booms.

I glare at him. He doesn’t intimidate me—not much anyway. “I want to speak to King.”

He glares at me.

“Please, sir.”

His eyes narrow, and right as I’m sure he’s going to tell me to leave, he opens the door wider and invites me in. Hesitantly, I follow him inside. The air is thick with the overpowering scent of disinfectant, but what’s most stark is the lack of any noise. I’ve grown up with four brothers, and even when nobody else is home, it seems our house is never silent. This place is like a mausoleum.

“This way,” Kyngston orders, and I follow obediently, my anxiety spiking with each step I take.

“Where is King?” I ask, hating the slight tremor in my voice.

“Kyngston is out,” he replies coolly, opening a door and gesturing for me to walk inside. I peer into what looks like a study, and against my better judgment, I step over the threshold. I want to see King, and as uncomfortable as this is, I’m not going to get to unless I at least pretend to be polite and respectful to this guy. Not that he deserves it.

He closes the door behind him, and I shift uncomfortably. The faint smell of cigar smoke and brandy lingers in the air.

“Mason, is it?” he asks, his eyes narrowed on my face.

“Yes, sir.”

“And where are you from, Mason? You don’t go to Kyngston’s school, which is the most prestigious in New York. And you drive a seven-year-old Jeep, so I’m guessing your parents like to appear well-off but are not particularly rich, correct?”

Wrong, asshole. I don’t go to the same school as your son because I go to the same one my father attended, the same one as my brothers. And I drive a seven-year-old Jeep because it’s Elijah’s old limited-edition Wrangler. I loved it so much that he gave it to me when I passed my driving test, even though Mom and Dad offered to buy me a new one. But I don’t tell Kyngston that because he’s an arrogant douche-knuckle and I honestly don’t give a shit what he thinks about me.

“So where did you and my son meet?”

“At Nero’s pizzeria.”

He runs a hand down his double chin, scrutinizing me in a way that makes my skin crawl, and then he simply sneers.

“When will King be home?” I ask.

“Later. But you will not be here when he returns.” His tone drips with venom. “You will stay away from my son, and if I ever find out you have tried to make him stray from the path again, I will not show any mercy, Mason.” He spits my name from his mouth like it’s a dirty word. “You are an abomination, and Kyngston wants nothing more to do with you. Do I make myself clear?”

I tip my chin. “Maybe he should say that to my face.”

His lip curls. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson about what happens to filthy little sinners who should have been smothered at birth.” He steps around me and locks the door. And somehow, only now does it register how much bigger than me he is. Taller than my dad and built like a WWE wrestler, he radiates menace, and I recall how cruel he was last night to his own son. How roughly he hit him and pushed him to the ground, not caring that King hurt himself when he fell.

My cell is in my pocket. I should call my dad. Or Elijah.

But I’m frozen. My heart hammers in my chest and my mouth goes dry. I can’t speak. I want to say words. I want to punch him in the face, but I suspect that might provoke him further, and my instinct to survive kicks in. Right or wrong, it tells me to do whatever the hell he wants and then get the hell out of here.

When Kyngston unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, I still don’t move. He licks his lips. “On your knees.”

When I still don’t move, he rests a meaty palm on the top of my head and forces me to the floor. “I said, on your fucking knees.”

My knuckles are white. Head throbbing and eyes burning from holding back tears. Bile surges up the back of my throat, and I taste him. Swerving to the side of the road, I pull over and lean my head out the window just in time. Vomit spews from my insides, burning my esophagus.

I need to get home. Then everything will be okay. I’ll tell Mom and Dad what happened, and they won’t care that I let it happen and didn’t try to fight back. They’ll know I had no choice. And they’ll insist on calling the cops or send some of Dad’s security. Either way, Kyngston Worthington is going to regret ever laying a finger on me.

It takes forever to get home. My hands fumble with the key in the lock, and I take a deep breath. I’m here. I’m safe. Kyngston Worthington is going to get what’s coming to him as soon as I tell my family what he did.

I head for the kitchen, the place my mom will surely be. Tears burn behind my eyes. Seventeen years old, and I need a hug from my mom. But she’ll make everything feel better. I can almost smell the scent of her perfume and feel her soft lips on the top of my head.

“Mase?” Maddox’s pained cry stops me in my tracks. I spin on my heel and see tears streaming down his twelve-year-old face. My own pain is forgotten.

He runs straight into me, and I wrap my arms around him. “Mad? What is it, buddy?”

Then Nathan walks out of the den. What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to be at the Hamptons with Drake and their friends, enjoying their last week of summer before going back to college. Nathan comes closer, and it’s only now I see his eyes are filled with tears. My stomach drops through my knees. Nathan never cries. Ever. What the hell is going on?

My older brother wraps an arm around my shoulder and hugs me tight, while Maddox’s head is still buried against my chest. “I’m sorry, Mase. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day. I didn’t want you to hear like this.”

Hear what? What the hell is he going on about? Why does he think I’ve heard anything? And then I remember I must look like shit. I’ve been crying the entire drive home.

“Mom wanted to wait to tell us all together, but we were all freaking out, and Dad’s fucking crumbling—” His voice catches on a sob.

My legs tremble. Part of me doesn’t want to know whatever terrible news he’s about to tell me, because then I can go on living in my state of ignorance and believing that the worst thing to happen to me today is what Kyngston Worthington III just did. But the other part of me needs to know why Maddox and Nathan are acting like their worlds have fallen apart. “What’s happened, Nathan?”

He blinks at me. “Mom’s cancer is back. It’s spread too much for them to …” He sucks in a breath.

My knees buckle, but he holds me up and wraps both me and Maddox in his arms. “It’s okay,” Nathan whispers. “We’ll all be okay.”

I cling to him, my fingers trying to find a grip on the back of his T-shirt. Mom is sick. It took so much out of her to beat cancer last time. But we were all certain she’d done it for good.

“Hey.” Elijah’s soothing voice washes over me. “Are you guys okay?”

“Have you told him?” Drake asks.

Nobody answers. None of us speak. Elijah and Drake join our huddle, and they all just hold onto Maddox and me. Like they can protect us from the awful truth. Mad’s hot tears soak through my shirt. This is what families do, isn’t it? We protect each other. And right now, Mom is our priority. What happened to me was fucking awful, but telling them all about it will only bring more pain. We can deal with Kyngston Worthington III some other time. When Mom is better.

I scrub the tears from my cheeks and steel myself to go see Mom and Pop. They need all of us at our strongest, and that’s what I’ll be for them. Strong. Dependable. The easy kid who never gives them any trouble.