Chained (Caged #2)(37)

The hot water washed over us, pummelling us with torrents of blistering heat and driving the clog that clung to her towards the drain.

I moved my gaze away from all the shit piling up against the plughole and started to strip Kloe out of the soaked clothing, throwing each item onto the bathroom floor.

She let me take the lead, her calm despair frightening me. Her eyes were wide but unseeing, her heartbeat steady against my hand when I washed away what was left of my father, and the rhythmic way her chest heaved had me shivering with shock.

“What did he tell you, Kloe?” I was almost too afraid to ask but I needed to know.

Her eyes narrowed. “Lots of things.”

“Okay. Are you going to share?” I tried to keep my voice calm, my mind focussed on her bathing as I directed the jet of water over her head and started to wash away the fragments of bone and intestines that clung to her curls.

She stared at the wall and sighed. Her gulp was loud as she tried to swallow her own vomit. The foam from the shampoo ran down her face and she closed her eyes. At least she was lucid enough to understand what was happening. I was scared she’d fractured the last remaining sane part of her mind and become so lost inside herself that she’d forever see the hideousness of whatever had just happened.

“I’m so sorry, Anderson.” Robbie spoke quietly from the bathroom door, watching us warily.

I shook my head. “This isn’t your fault.”

Turning my attention back to Kloe, I gently wiped at her, the stain of blood proving difficult to wash away.

“I thought he was dead. He’d always been dead,” Kloe said. “I always thought he was dead.”

I frowned, but stayed silent, willing her to go on.

“And all this time, all that time, so long ago, they were already planning how fate would ruin us.” She twisted her head and stared at me. “Did you know that, Anderson? That they knew each other. That’s how my mother met him, why they f*cked me and you.”

I froze, goose bumps burrowing under my skin and making my whole body feel oversensitive. “What?”

She chuckled and the sound was somewhat eerie, the misery reflected in the usual happy sound making my gut twist. “We were neighbours. For so long.”

I couldn’t form words to question her. I wanted her to speak quicker, to fill in the blank parts for me, yet shock rendered me stupid.

“We used to play together. We were best friends.”

“I don’t understand,” I finally managed, falling back against the tiled wall to support myself.

“It was my own mother that introduced Terry to the Dawson’s.”

My head shook. My heart was beating so rapidly that I felt dizzy and high. Snapping myself out of the revulsion that was overwhelming me, I grabbed Kloe’s shoulders and shook her. “Who is he, Kloe? Tell me!”

She blinked slowly and smiled. “He’s my father, Anderson. My dad has come back for me.”





HER SILENCE TOLD ME SO much more than she had.

She was keeping something from me but I let it ride for now.

“He said my parents and yours were best friends way before we were born.” She shivered even though I covered her with my arms and pulled her back against me. The bedroom was dark and we huddled under the quilt together, the cocoon of my embrace and the duvet providing her with the safety net she needed. “I think they were kind of connected to a cult,” she mumbled, her brow creasing. “But I’m not sure. I couldn’t make out some of the things he’d said.”

I grimaced, the picture of Terry’s mutilated body in my head explaining why he probably hadn’t managed to say much, but I didn’t share that thought with Kloe.

“Janice, your mother, owed a lot in drug debts, Terry said. They’d tried to pimp you out, Anderson, but Terry said no one in their circle much cared for little boys.”

Kloe gagged as blood heated the fury bubbling in the pit of my soul. The dirty bastard. The sick, twisted f*cks!

“And my wonderful mother heard on the grapevine of an odd couple that lived in a farmhouse in Deenslow.”

The rest of my story was history, as they say. “So I was sold for one thousand pounds so my mother could pay her drug debt?”

Kloe nodded and twisted in my arms. Sadness overwhelmed her and she reached up to cup my cheek. I could barely see her in the darkness but her love and her sorrow were so passionate they were practically visible. “I’m so sorry, Anderson.”

“Don’t be. At least now I have an explanation, as shit as it is.” I shook my head, placing my hand over hers. “So what happened to your father?”

“I don’t know. Terry just said he went away. He wasn’t much up for talking by that point.”

Once again I winced and nodded in understanding.

Kloe became lost in thought and I pinched her chin. “What else did he say?”

She tensed but shook her head. “That was it. He spat a lot of hatred and bullshit.”

“Bullshit?”

“Just… stuff.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened in there, Anderson. I… Something took over and I don’t…”

“It’s okay. I know.” And I did. Rage, necessity, determination, corruption, and the deep sense of survival that lived in all of us did a job sometimes we didn’t want to do.