Chapter Twenty Seven
Raleigh
“There’s no getting out of this. You’re mine. I own you.”
I feel like throwing up as Brady’s words register because there is no way that what he’s saying is true.
“This isn’t over,” Lincoln states as he turns towards me, turns me around, and ushers me forward and away from Brady and his group of friends.
“Good luck with that,” Brady shouts at our retreating backs.
“Just ignore him,” Lincoln urges, giving a slight squeeze to my shoulders as we shorten the distance between us and his truck. “My dad is a lawyer. Let me see if there is any way to fight this.”
Unable to wrap my head around everything, I nod my head, acknowledging what he’s saying but not able to give anything more than that at the moment.
When we get to his truck, Lincoln opens the driver's side door but when I move to climb up, he stops me, turning me back around until I’m facing him. His big hands come up to cup my face, his eyes taking me in, likely trying to gauge what I’m thinking, what I'm feeling.
“Are you okay?” he asks, the sound of his voice giving away the depth of his concern. I shake my head and shrug my shoulders in response, because how am I supposed to answer that? *Am I okay?* I honestly haven’t the slightest clue of how to even answer that question.
I can’t relate the man that Brady is describing to the father that I knew. There’s no way that my dad would do *that*, sell me off to settle a gambling debt? There’s no way.
Lincoln’s face takes on a pained look, and I watch as he looks away, biting his lower lip. His hold on my face slips, his hands falling to his sides as he shuffles his feet. “You don’t…” he starts, but then stops to clear his throat, his voice still coming out soft but stronger when he starts to speak again, “You don’t want *him* do you?”
“What?” I ask, startled by his question. I take a step back, only to bump into the truck, momentarily forgetting how close I was standing to it, as I shake my head confusion filling me at the fact that he would even ask me this.
“Do you want to be with Brady?” He asks without hesitation this time. “I saw the pictures, how you were with him. You seemed awfully comfortable with him—you fucking let him feed you,” he growls, his anger rising with every word spoken.
“Are you serious right now?” I snap, shoving at him to get past him but he doesn’t budge. And of freaking course, he doesn’t because he’s like a damn statue compared to me. Anger rising, I shove at him again and again until I’m no longer shoving, but instead hitting him as everything becomes too overwhelming and suddenly I’m crying.
“Shit,” he sighs, grabbing ahold of my wrists, trying to stop me from hitting him as he pulls me into him, my arms trapped between our bodies as he buries my face into his chest and he wraps his arms around me, one of his hands cradling the back of my head as his other runs up and down my back in soothing caresses.
Once I’ve settled enough, my anger over his accusation returns and I shove at him once more, trying to get some distance between us. Instead of forcing me to stay where I am, which I know without a doubt he could do, he lets me go, dropping his arms and taking a step back. I glare at him and shove past him, ignoring him as he hollers my name, calling after me as I increase the distance between us and close in on my car.
Part of me hopes that he will come after me, but the part that needs some time alone to think hopes that he doesn’t.
When I reach my car, opening my door, I can’t help but feel slightly disappointed that he *didn’t* come after me as I fall into the driver's seat. Grabbing the key from the cup holder, I start my car, glancing in the direction of where Lincoln’s truck was parked, finding that he’s leaning against the side of it, his arms crossed as he watches me, a look that I’m unable to decipher on his face.
As I pass by him, I’m unable to look away from him, my eyes still watching him from the rearview mirror as I pull from the lot and begin making my way home. By the time I pull into my driveway behind my brothers' vehicles, the tears are once again falling down my cheeks and my chest hurts from everything that’s happened.
Wiping my face with my hands, trying to hide the evidence of my tears, I grab my bag and climb out of my car and make my way toward the house.
I can hear my brothers in the kitchen when I get inside, likely finishing up with supper.
“Ray?” Rowan calls out my name as I quickly run up the stairs, hoping to escape them until I’ve been able to pull myself together some more and splash some cold water on my face and hopefully hide the evidence of my crying jag from them.
“Ray,” he calls again, now sounding closer than before, likely having stepped out of the kitchen.
“I’ll be ri-right down,” I call without looking back, hoping that he doesn’t hear the catch in my voice.
“Ray, stop!” He demands, making me stop mid-step, just before I hit the top of the stairs. “Turn around.” I shake my head, not wanting to face him when I know that my eyes are red and puffy from crying.
I hang my head, my shoulders dropping when I hear him climbing the stairs behind me. When he stops behind me, I feel his hands grasp ahold of my shoulders, turning me until we’re standing face to face, eye to eye.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his hand coming up to brush away a tear that I hadn’t realized had fallen. “What’s happened?”
More tears begin to fall at his show of affection and I crumble, falling into him and wrapping my arms around my big brother, burying my head into his chest as grief and confusion fill me.
“What’s wrong?” “What happened?” Ryler and Ryker echo Rowan’s questions from the bottom of the stairs. Rowan pulls away, slowly guiding me down the stairs. When we’re all four settled in the living room, Rowan, Ryler and I settled on the couch, one on each side. Ryker sitting on the coffee table in front of me, grasps ahold of my trembling hands and asks once more, “Ray, what happened?”
“Was dad into gambling?” I ask, my voice sounding broken even to my own ears.
“Gambling?” He asks, his face contorting in confusion. Then, shaking his head, he doesn’t remove his eyes from mine as he says, “Not that I know of. What’s going on?”
With a deep breath, I tell my brothers everything that Brady had said about our dad having a gambling problem and how Brady’s parents lent him the money to pay off his debts, but when he was unable to pay them back, he used me to pay off his debt to them.
“There’s no fucking way!” Ryker growls, followed by Ryler shouting, “That’s fucking bullshit!”
Rowan is silent, and when I turn to look at him, he seems to be thinking, his bottom lip caught between his thumb and forefinger and his brows drawn in, causing little creases to form between them. When he notices my attention is on him, he smooths his features and says, “We will get to the bottom of this. I promise.”
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