Played: Manhattan Ruthless - 56

Chapter

Fifty-Five

K ing is going through his emails on his laptop, chewing on his lip and looking adorable. Thanks to Elijah’s glowing recommendation, alongside the fact that my boyfriend is incredibly good at his job, he’s been inundated with work and is able to cherry-pick the cases he wants to take on. While he’s still recovering, he’s agreed to focus on the less dangerous ones. No hunting down murderers for a while at least.

I zip up my hoodie and his head snaps up. “Where are you headed?”

I’ve been preparing myself for this conversation, but I’m still anxious about having it with him. And I have no idea why. I’m certain he won’t have an issue with it. Maybe because I still don’t identify as a “survivor of sexual abuse,” or maybe because I should have told him before now. I drop onto the sofa beside him. “I’m going to my support group.”

He blinks. “Support group?”

I nod. “It’s for male victims of abuse—or survivors, I’m told is the appropriate term. I’ve been going for a couple of months. This will be my fourth one.”

“And does it help?”

“Yeah. It does actually. And the guys I’ve met there are great. They listen and don’t judge, and they made me realize …”

King places a reassuring hand on my thigh, and I find the courage to finish that sentence. “That there was nothing I could have done to stop it from happening.”

“I’m glad it’s helped, baby.”

“So you don’t mind me leaving you alone? I’ll only be gone a few hours, and I really could use some of their help right now. Finding out about Cassidy is bringing up all these feelings of guilt and stuff.” I screw my eyes closed, hoping that me needing them doesn’t make King feel like I don’t need him.

“Of course. Do whatever you need to.”

“They just get it in a way that other people don’t and⁠—”

“Mase!” He takes my face in his hands. “I understand. I can tell you one million times that you have nothing to feel guilty about, but I get that talking about it with people who’ve been through something similar must offer an entirely different perspective. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

“That goes both ways, King. I’m here for whatever you need too.” I don’t mention that I think he’d benefit from some therapy to deal with all the trauma from his childhood and what happened a few days ago. He needs time to process everything, and for now, he prefers to do that by keeping himself busy.

“I know.” He kisses me softly. “Right now, you are all I need. I promise. Go to your meeting, and I’ll be here waiting for you to come back and tell me how it went.”

“I love you so fucking much, mi rey.”

“Love you too, baby boy.”

King was right. Speaking with people who’ve been through a similar experience offers me a different perspective. After I shared the immense feelings of guilt that have been dredged up after discovering my abuser went on to hurt other people, many of them share comparable stories of their own.

“Abusers very rarely have just one victim,” Peter tells me solemnly. The others in the group voice their agreement.

“Ain’t nobody responsible for what he did but him,” Chris, the guy who runs the group adds—a statement that is met with more fervent agreement.

By the time I leave the meeting, I feel much lighter. The same way I always do. I can see why Maddox still attends his support groups after seven years of sobriety.

But there’s still one thing I need to take care of. I dial Nathan, and he answers after a few rings. “Hey, Mase.”

“Nathan, I need a favor.”

“Anything.”

I brace myself and ask. “Can you get me into a jail?”

“A specific jail, or will any of them do?”

“Wherever King’s father is being held. I want to see him. Can you make it happen?”

He answers me without pause. “I’ll have to pull some strings, but consider it done.”

That he doesn’t tell me what a bad idea it is or try to talk me out of it is one of the many reasons he’s such a good brother. “Thanks, bro.”

“I’ll let you know where and when. And if you need me to come with you⁠—”

“Thanks, but this is something I have to do on my own,” I say, ready to take this next step toward healing the boy I was and the man I am.

Two days after my call to Nathan, I find myself in the detention center visiting room in the Bronx. Kyngston Worthington III hobbles in on crutches and is escorted to the chair across from me. He glares at me through the thick glass, and we both pick up our respective phones. “I was told I was seeing my son,” he says with a snarl, revealing two missing front teeth. A gift from Conor Ryan.

“Nope. King won’t come anywhere near you ever again, you piece of shit. Neither will I after today.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I guess I just wanted to see you.” I smile at him through the glass.

His scowl deepens. “You think I want to see you? You disgusting⁠—”

“Little pervert.” I finish for him. “Yeah, you’ve used that line before. You should really get yourself some new material.”

He glances at the guard, who shakes his head. Kyngston bares his teeth like a cornered animal. I know Nathan arranged it so he was forced to take this meeting, and he’ll remain here until I say he can leave. “Say your piece so I can go back to my cell,” he demands.

I stare at him, his sparse hair peppered with gray, deep lines around his eyes and creasing his forehead. He’ll likely die in a place much like this, which is no less than he deserves. He has a fresh bruise on his neck, peeking out from beneath his jumpsuit. Too fresh to be a gift from Conor Ryan, yet surprisingly, it gives me no pleasure at all to think of how he got it. “I have no desire to spend any more time in your company than is absolutely necessary. But I couldn’t go the rest of my life without looking you in the eye and telling you that what you did didn’t break me. You raped me.”

His jaw tics.

“And I could spend hours arguing the irony of your narrative about me and your son being disgusting perverts , but I know I’d be wasting my time and energy. Your level of cognitive dissonance is astounding. You do know what that is, don’t you?” I can’t resist goading him a little.

His lip curls, but he doesn’t speak.

“I did consider coming back to your house that night. I imagined how good it would feel to beat you to death with my bare hands. To take out every bit of rage and shame you made me feel on your smug face, but your son needed me, so …” I shrug.

“Or you’re a coward,” he spits.

I simply smile, refusing to take his bait. “And then after you landed in here, I thought about how easy it would be to pay someone to do to you what you did to me, and what you did to Cassidy. And then I realized I’d be an idiot to waste my money on something that will happen naturally. You do know what happens to people like you in places like these, right?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, and I suspect he’s already experienced a taste of what life has in store for him. “But really, I’m here because I wanted to see you one last time. Remind myself what a pathetic waste of oxygen you are and tell you that your son and I are really fucking happy together. We are going to live an incredible life. And if you have any kind of love in your black heart for him, then you should take some comfort in the fact that he will never go another day of his life not knowing how loved he is. He’ll have everything he ever wanted. I’ll take care of him, Kyngston. I really will.”

His eye twitches, and he mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch, but I have no doubt it was some kind of homophobic slur. I truly don’t give a shit.

Having said what I came here to say, I wink at him and hang up the phone. I leave the room without a single backward glance and finally close the door on that part of my life.

King is in the kitchen when I get home, and from the incredible aroma of spices, I’d guess he’s making us curry for dinner. My stomach growls loudly.

He looks up and smiles, and I swear my knees go weak.

“Hey, baby. How was work?” he asks, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Any problems for me to come take care of for you?”

I give him a brief kiss. “Are you telling me you miss working at Jamestech?”

“Actually, I think I just miss those late afternoon updates I used to give you.” He flashes me a wicked grin.

I slip my arms around his waist and tug him close. “Well, you can give me any update you want right here.”

He growls. “Yeah, I can.”

“I went to see your father today,” I blurt out before I get too distracted by that look in his eyes.

He blinks rapidly. “What? Why?”

I swallow my nerves. I probably should have told him beforehand, but he would have worried or tried to convince me not to go. “I had to look him in the face. He stole so fucking much from me, and I had to …” I suck in a breath.

He rests his forehead against mine and palms the back of my neck, his grip possessive and calming. “I know, baby. How’d it go? Did it help?”

“Well, he was as pleasant as always.”

He snorts. “Surely you didn’t expect him to grow a conscience.”

“No. And I didn’t go there to try and make him understand anything, or even to gloat. I wanted him to see that he didn’t beat me.”

He dusts his lips over mine. “He could never beat you, Mase. It was brave to go see him.”

“I also told him that I love you and that we are really happy. And I told him not to worry because I’ll always take care of you.”

His eyes narrow, filled with emotion. “You told him that?”

I nod, my fingers gripping his T-shirt. “It’s true, mi rey. Always.”

He kisses me softly. “What did I do to deserve you, baby?”

I pull him in for a kiss, taking what’s mine. He’s always been mine, and he always will be.