Reforming Kent: A Stand-Alone Angsty Bad Boy Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 10)

by Siobhan Davis

  “I trust you,” I tell them because I do. I know Kent’s brother would not let me do this if there was a serious risk to my life.

  “Kent will string me up by my balls when he finds out about this,” he adds, eyeballing me.

  “He’ll forgive you when he discovers Clay and those other animals who hurt him are behind bars.”

  Keven nods as a tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair approaches. He offers me his hand, and I shake it. “Presley. It’s good to meet you. I’m SSA West. I’m leading the operation today. Do you have any questions for us?”

  I shake my head. “I know what I need to do.”

  We head out a few minutes later, and Keven drops me off at my car—the one Kent bought me. It’s been at his apartment, and I haven’t gone back for it. We are no longer together, and I’m no longer deserving of the gift, but Clay asked to meet in a run-down warehouse on the outskirts of Roxbury, and getting an Uber to the location would only raise suspicions, so I’m driving my car one final time.

  Keven arranged for the car to be driven to this parking garage, about five miles from the meeting destination, so there is no risk of being seen. He hands me a large brown envelope. “There’s the cash, and you’ve got the pepper spray, right?”

  “One in each side of my sneakers,” I confirm. They are only tiny vials, and I doubt they will be of much use, but I took them to appease Keven.

  “I hate that you are going in there defenseless.” He drags a hand through his hair.

  “I might not have a weapon, but I’m not completely defenseless. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Ironically, it was Clay who insisted I take self-defense classes when I was seventeen. He didn’t want me going out into the big bad world without the ability to defend myself.”

  “Presley.” Keven grips my shoulders almost painfully. “I need you to promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks. When things turn bad, get away from him and let us handle it. I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to you.”

  “It’s not on you, Keven. This is my choice. That bastard played me for years. He hurt Tillie’s father, and he hurt the man I love. He needs to pay, and I need to be the one to set things in motion.” My voice cracks as I let emotion best me. “Don’t you get it? I won’t be able to sleep at night if I don’t try to put this right. Clay has hurt so many people, and it ends now.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, he nods. He pulls me into a hug over the console, holding me tight. “You are so strong. It’s no wonder you’re the only woman to ever capture and hold my brother’s attention. I can see why he’s so in love with you.” He eases back, staring into my eyes. “Kent needs you. Remember that, and stay safe.”

  He climbs out of the car, and I give him one final nod before I reverse out of the parking spot and hightail it out of there.

  ***

  I get out of the car with my breath lodged in my throat and butterflies running crazy in the pit of my stomach. It’s ten p.m., and it’s dark out. There are no streetlights in this part of town and only scant illumination from the crescent moon in the sky. My hands are clammy, as I clutch the brown paper envelope in one hand, and walk across the debris-strewn ground toward the entrance to the dilapidated warehouse. My eyes adjust to the dusky night sky, and my vision becomes clearer. Part of the corrugated iron roof is missing, and most of the windows are cracked or boarded up. The door creaks as I open it, and blood rushes to my head as adrenaline courses through my veins.

  My sneakers crunch over something hard on the floor as I step inside. It’s pitch-black and creepy as fuck. My heart is racing a hundred miles an hour, and I’m having a hard time containing my fear. “Hello?” I call out, hating how my voice quakes. “Clay?” I add, purposely shouting louder and with more confidence than I feel. I step forward, my feet crunching over the uneven ground, clasping the envelope to my chest. I purposely didn’t bring my cell, as I’ve no doubt Clay would just take it off me, so I have no flashlight.

  All the tiny hairs prick at the back of my neck and bile pools at the base of my throat when I sense a presence behind me. I move to spin around, but a hand juts out, wrapping around the front of my throat. “Hello, baby sister,” Clay hisses, his warm breath fanning across my ear, making me shiver. “Did you come alone like I said?”

  “Yes,” I croak, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.

  “It’s clear,” another voice says from the far right. A light shines in my face at the front, and I shield my eyes from the sudden brightness. Clay moves his body up close behind me, and I fight a full body shudder, repulsed at having him so near.

  But I have a role to play, and it’s too important to mess up, so I shove my repulsion aside, concentrating on doing what I need to do.

  Pushing me forward with his hand tight around my neck, Clay thrusts me into the arms of a much older man with a long straggly dark beard. I recognize his face from the mugshots the FBI showed me. He’s one of the guys who raped Kent, and it takes everything in me not to lunge at him and gouge that sneering smile off his mouth.

  The asshole manhandles me into a chair, tying my hands to either side of the wooden slats while Clay grabs the envelope. He dumps the contents on a small dirty table on the left, grinning at the bundles of cash. Two other assholes sit on crates in front of me while a fourth man counts the money with Clay. They are all holding flashlights, shining them over every part of my body, making my skin crawl. Ignoring the panic racing through my veins, I jut my chin up, keeping my gaze focused straight ahead. I can’t examine my surroundings because it’s too dark, and I pray the FBI is in place and that their technology is working.

  I clear my throat. “Why are you treating me like this?” I ask, angling my head in Clay’s direction. “I came here to help you. I’m not your enemy,” I lie.

  Clay lifts his head from counting the money, narrowing his eyes. “That’s to be determined, li’l heartbreaker.” His eyes lift to the man with the long grubby beard. “Pat her down.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” He guffaws, and dread washes over me. I swallow my distaste, schooling my expression into a neutral line, as he comes around in front of me and starts checking my body, his disgusting hands lingering too long in places they shouldn’t. His hands dive into the pockets of my jeans, and I almost puke as his fingers dig into my pussy through the denim. The assholes on the crates laugh, their eyes firing up as they devour me with hungry gazes. Ice creeps up my spine because it’s clear they don’t trust me. If their behavior didn’t give it away, the guns poking out of the pockets of their jeans do.

  “She’s clean,” Beardy says, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief he didn’t find the microphone.

  “Put that in my bike,” Clay says, shoving the envelope at the man standing beside him.

  He nods, walking off behind me, and I’m guessing they have their bikes somewhere in here.

  “Ten K won’t last long, but it’s a start,” Clay says.

  “It’s all I can spare,” I lie. “But I’ll try to get you more.”

  Clay kneels in front of me, gripping my chin. “Why are you here, li’l heartbreaker? What’s your agenda?” His face has healed well in the three weeks since Kent beat him up, but he has a couple of new scars on his face, just under his left eye, and from the way he’s holding his upper torso, I can tell he’s still in pain. Kent broke a few of his ribs, and they will take longer to heal. At least I know where to kick him if I get the chance.

  I prepare to put on the show of a lifetime. My lower lip wobbles, and tears fill my eyes. “I’m sorry for what Kent did to you. I’m sorry I didn’t go to you straightaway, but he tricked me. Told me lies and had me confused. I’m going to make it right now. I’ll help you get overseas. You just tell me what you need done, and I’ll make it happen, but you have to hurry, Clay. The FBI is asking all kinds of questions, and they have Anna and Gerald, and they are making up all kinds of horrible lies.”

  “What kind of lies?” Clay asks, straightening up and hovering over me like a dark
menace.

  “They are saying you raped boys. That you were involved with the Cateses in abusing all the boys they took in.”

  An evil glint flickers in his eyes, and his mouth curves up at the corner. “I did love you, you know,” he says, running his fingers across the top of my head. “Even if you are a dumb bitch.” He laughs, and the sound raises goose bumps on my arms. “You are so fucking naive. The things we did in that house and you never knew.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Presley

  A chorus of chuckles rings out as the assholes laugh at my expense.

  “It’s true?” I croak, keeping up the ruse even though it’s most likely futile. It seems he came here already knowing I’ve washed my hands of him. Clay has always worn arrogance like it’s something to be proud of. I’m betting he asked me to meet, knowing I was no longer playing for the same team, because he wants the opportunity to gloat. To break me apart for betraying him.

  Grabbing my hair, he yanks my head back, stretching my neck at an awkward angle. “Let’s quit the pretense, Pres. Even you’re not that dumb.” Forcing my knees apart, he steps between them, lowering his face to mine. “Do you want to know the real reason Chris and I stopped speaking?” He doesn’t wait for my reply. “It was at Gerald and Anna’s. A couple of weeks after you lost your beautiful little baby.” His mocking tone has the desired effect. I want to yell at him and kick out with my legs, but they didn’t tie my feet and I figure I’ll need the use of them if I’m to get out of here alive, so I swallow my pain and focus on the big picture, ignoring his attempts to bait me.

  “We’d just finished fucking your precious Chris six ways from Sunday.” He smiles as a single tear rolls down my face. “He was supposed to have left after we showed him a good time, but he decided to be a hero. He chose to sneak back in, to try to find some evidence to use against us.” He scoffs. “Fucking dumbass.”

  I guess that explains why Chris went back to that house. Tillie’s death must have forced him to confront all the shit that had been done to him, and he decided to do something about it. Poor Chris. I hate he went through all that abuse and couldn’t tell me about it.

  Clay tilts his head to the side, easing his hold on my hair, running the tip of his finger down my face.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” I hiss, done playing games.

  He shoves his knee between my groin, yanking my head back again. “Shut up, bitch, and you only talk when I say you can talk.” His features even out, and he smiles at me like a bona fide psychopath. “Chris discovered us watching our home movies. We filmed all the boys over the years, and I always recorded my extracurricular activities to show Mom and Dad. They were always so proud of me.” His creepy smile freaks me the fuck out, and I’m only now seeing the real Clayton Cooper.

  “Kent’s video was Anna’s favorite,” he goes on, and all the blood drains from my face. “She loved watching him bleed as I destroyed his ass.” His crotch is in my face, and the bulge tenting his jeans makes me sick.

  “Bet she loved watching him come all over your hand more,” one of the assholes behind Clay says, and they all laugh. Rage thunders through me, and I wish I could get at his gun so I could riddle them full of bullets.

  “That was my favorite part,” another asshole says.

  “Hearing him cry and scream was my favorite part,” Beardy says, and I squeeze my eyes shut, silently telling myself to hold it together. They are giving us what we need. The FBI is listening in, and they will intervene soon.

  “He fucking loved it,” Clay says, thrusting his disgusting groin in my face. “He fucking loved my dick in his ass, just like Chris did.” He leans down, putting his face all up in mine. “Most of those times Chris crawled into your bed in the middle of the night, it was after I’d taken his ass over and over again. All those times he curled around you, tried to lose himself in you, it was because he couldn’t forget me. I was a part of him, and he fucking loved it. You were the consolation prize, Pres. Never anything more.”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” I hiss, losing the tenuous hold on my emotions. “He hated you. I didn’t understand it before, but it’s crystal clear now.”

  He slaps me across the face, and my head whips back. My cheek stings, but I grit my teeth, making no sound.

  “Want to know how we kept him in line?” he continues as if he hasn’t just slapped me. “After we beat the crap out of him for daring to try and blackmail us, I told Chris if he ever went to the cops or told another living soul what he knew that I would kill you. Why else do you think I hung around you? It wasn’t because I enjoy your boring company or that I wanted you because you don’t have the right equipment, baby.” He rakes a derogatory gaze down over my body.

  That’s why Chris kept coming around. He was checking up on me. Making sure I was okay. That Clay hadn’t done anything to hurt me. Chris was trying to protect me, in his own messed-up way. Pain slams into my gut, almost winding me.

  “But I’m gonna make an exception tonight.” He grabs my chin, digging his nails into my flesh, breaking skin. “Because you’re going to pay for betraying me with that cunt Kennedy.” His eyes flash manically. “I fucking protected you, Presley! Things could’ve been so much worse for you growing up, but I kept you safe, and this is how you repay me?” He yells the end part, slapping me hard across the face. “Give it to me,” he hisses, and one of the assholes hands him a cell phone. He thrusts it in my face. “You left me bleeding on the fucking floor while you went running off into the night after that fucking cunt!” he roars, playing the video from the night of the bar attack for me.

  “My only regret is not killing you myself that night,” I say, my tone cold and calm. “And in every situation, I would pick Kent over you.”

  He rams his fist into my face, and blood spurts from my nose. Stars explode behind my eyes as pain rattles through my skull.

  “I don’t enjoy fucking women, but I’m gonna fuck you, li’l heartbreaker. I’m gonna fuck every hole. We all are. We’re gonna make you bleed worse than we made Kennedy bleed that night in the alley. We’ll record it, of course, and make sure Kennedy gets a copy so he knows there is nothing of his we won’t destroy if he doesn’t cooperate. We’ll keep you as insurance until he plays ball. Then we’ll dump your dead ass at his door as a reminder to keep his silence or more people he loves will die.”

  “But first,” he adds, scrolling his finger over the keypad on his phone while one of the assholes fumbles with the button on my jeans. “Here’s a little video to get you in the mood.” He steps aside to give his buddy space to remove my jeans, shoving the cell at me again, grinning wickedly as horror washes over me.

  The image has changed, and I cry out as I see a teenage Kent being slammed into a wall. “No!” I scream, squeezing my eyes closed. I can’t watch this. The video continues, and the sounds of Kent’s struggle fill my ears, as he tries to fight the group of men off. Tears roll down my face, and I’m officially done. I have reached my breaking point. The FBI has enough, and I’m betting they are on their way. “Phoenix!” I shout out the code word as I lift my legs, kicking the guy crouched in front of me in the head before using my body weight to push my chair back. I slam to the ground, still tied to the chair, legs up in the air as bullets rain through the window and shouting echoes around me.

  A loud crash from behind confirms the cavalry has arrived.

  “You fucking whore!” Clay shouts as a swarm of FBI agents rushes into the room.

  My eyes widen as he stands over me, gun pointed at my face. “Do it, Clay. I’ve made my peace with it. You’ve lost, and that’s all that counts.” His finger curls around the trigger, and I silently beg Kent to forgive me as my last moments are consumed with thoughts of him. I pray he heals and moves forward with his life.

  A shot rings out, and I scream.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Kent

  “Are you nervous?” Dr. O’Dwyer—my personal therapist—asks as I wait in the meeting room for my family to ar
rive.

  I wet my dry lips and nod.

  “It will be okay, Kent,” Nancy says, fixing me with a reassuring smile. “I will stop the session if it upsets you too much. Your family is visiting for a few days, and we don’t need to cover everything at once.”

  She told me to call her by her first name, if I liked, and it’s helped me to see her as more than just my doctor. I thought it would be difficult talking to a stranger about the stuff that happened to me, and there are times where it’s a struggle, but mostly it’s been easier than I expected. I’ve locked this shit up inside me for a long time, and now the walls have come crashing down, I’ve no desire to rebuild them. Although it’s painful, I need to get the words out.

  It’s been over three weeks since I arrived at this private rehab facility in the mountains of Arizona, an hour outside Phoenix. My parents chose this place because it treats addiction and PTSD and they hire top experts in their field to provide a truly holistic approach to treatment. They offer a wide range of alternative therapies too, and they have a pool, basketball court, large gym, and a running track on the grounds of the twenty-acre site. It’s peaceful here. We’re completely shut off from the outside world and I didn’t realize how much I needed that.

  I’m halfway into my forty-five-day program, and it’s family week, which means the first group meeting with my family is due to commence in minutes. My foot taps off the beige carpeted floor of the small room as I anxiously wait for them to arrive, thinking of everything that’s happened since I got here.

  The first two weeks of my stay were largely focused on detoxification, and this is the first time in years I am completely sober and clean.

  Not gonna lie; it’s been hell on Earth.

  Sleepless nights have become the norm, and on nights when I do manage to grab a few hours of sleep, I usually wake either screaming from a nightmare or drenched in sweat as all the crap leaves my body. That first week, I spent half of it worshiping the porcelain gods as I repeatedly emptied my stomach. And let’s not mention the headaches or the intense involuntary body tremors I have no control over.