by Nikki Sex
He then told his father, who gave him a beating and accused him of attention seeking and lying.
This treatment didn’t dissuade Zach. It turns out, of all of his character traits, obstinacy appears to be the strongest. His pigheadedness particularly flourished throughout his teens when he began writing letters, complaining to one and all about his abuse.
This action resulted in him being kidnapped and assaulted at fourteen years old. During the incident, he was injected with heroin and framed for having a drug problem. Nobody believed his story of kidnap and assault.
After that, he spent time in juvenile detention for a theft he says he never committed. Then he began a long journey of smoking dope, getting high and escaping his pain. Other than addiction issues, which I can readily believe, the account he tells sounds very much like a figment of his imagination.
Danny and I quietly listen to Zach weave his tale. Danny's eyes meet my own occasionally, during the tougher parts to believe. However, something kept bothering me, resonating in the back of my mind…
Zach claims to have been set up and framed, seemingly by someone who wanted to discredit him and keep him quiet. This catches my attention. I can't help thinking about how I was set up and framed for Gates' murder.
Was it done to silence me or simply to pin a murder on me? Was Gates murdered to silence him? He knew too much. He'd seen all of the pictures. But who'd have done it? And why now? My father's dead, so who would be hurt by him being exposed at this point?
My focus returns to the present. I resign myself to mulling everything over later.
A muscle in Zach’s jaw twitches. “So y’all can understand why I’m kinda paranoid. They tell me I have anger issues.”
“Is that right?” I say, managing to keep an utterly straight face. I believe it. He looks murderous right now.
Tense and pissed off, Zach settles back in his chair. “As a kid, I was branded as a drug-fucked, thievin’ troublemaker. I was molested, then ignored, then punished for tryin' to be heard. Those bastards intentionally trashed my reputation so no one would believe me. At one point, I even began to doubt myself, to think I was crazy. I started wonderin' if maybe I'd imagined some of what happened.”
“That’s terrible,” Danny murmurs sympathetically, as he slowly shakes his head. “I thought I had it bad.”
“You know what?” Zach frowns, his eyes narrow and he sits forward as if confiding a secret. “I’ve heard stories from women who cut themselves, or use hard drugs and sleep with anyone and everyone. I’m talkin’ crazy ass girls. When I listened to them, every single one told me sick details of childhood sexual abuse, incest and rape.”
I say nothing, but I nod, encouraging him to continue.
He sprawls back in his chair, takes a long swig of beer. “My friends and I used to see these broken girls with their addictions, their unexplainable madness and hysteria and they’d say, ‘Damn, Zach! Bitches be crazy!’”
He sits forward suddenly, leaning toward us. “But, you know what? No matter how unbelievable the story, I always believed them. I’m strong. I’m tough as fuck, but I thought I was losing my mind. Women, they’re emotional. I don’t know if they are the ‘weaker sex’ but they are definitely the kinder, softer sex. That’s a good thing. Some men are selfish sons of bitches.”
I laugh—we all do, because that certainly is true.
Zach frowns. “The world would be shit without the kindness of women—except for my mother and sister, the disbelieving cunts that they are.”
I agree completely, but I say nothing. It’s one thing for him to criticize his family—but it would be stupid for me to do so.
“Do you think women sexually abuse children, or is it just men?” I ask.
“I’ve heard of it,” Danny says. “Sometimes women do it with male partners, kind of as a codependent thing, to please the pedophile guy. There are cases of women abusing children, though not as many as men. Incest is bad enough, but if your mother is the perpetrator it must be a real mind fuck. The kids involved would be doubly silenced.”
“You think so?”
“Sure. Women are supposed to be caregivers—no one believes they are capable of abuse, yet they apparently are.”
Zach’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know any female abusers, but there are plenty of male ones. I think most women just aren’t as ugly ass mean as men. Cock sucking abusers their use their kindness against them. Women are too damn nice, so they blame themselves. Or maybe because they aren’t physically strong enough to fight back, they break and they keep falling into abuse. Whatever.”
He takes a deep breath. “All I know is those sicko pedophile fuckheads know exactly how to blame the victim. They drive us crazy! It’s hard to stay sane when predators make us look bad on purpose. Then no one believes us because people don’t want to hear it, they don’t want to believe, or they don’t want to get involved. That’s how these sick SOB’s get away with their crimes.”
I stare at Zach, knowing he’s right. Because of abuse, people’s lives fall apart, and because their lives fall apart, they never make credible witnesses in a court of law.
Zach sure as fuck is heavy-duty tough and stubborn, but I know men break, too. Danny is kind and look what happened to him? I seemed tough, but inside I was broken. Until André. Until Renata.
Thank you, Lord, for both of them.
Zach still refuses to see his parents or talk to his older sister. He’s never quit having an ax to grind. His interest in computers began solely as a way to hack into an enemies’ files.
What does he mean by 'enemies'? My father's only one man. Is he saying my father kidnapped, beat and drugged him? Did my father frame and discredit him? It seems far-fetched.
“Not one fucker ever believed me,” he says with a sneer. “I never had a lick of proof, but I do now.”
I shake my head, trying to figure him out. Does he want to sue my family? What does he want to do with this evidence now that my father’s dead?
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Will the picture vindicate you to your parents? Maybe, once they see proof of your abuse, they’ll realize how they screwed you over and apologize?”
“I don’t give a fuck about my parents, or my sister,” he says. “Fuck ‘em. They'd rather believe lies than trust family. Those assholes don’t deserve me. No, I’m gonna get even. I just need to work out the details. With these pictures, I finally can.”
“You’ve got more than one picture?” Danny asks, surprise lighting his features.
Zach’s lips curve into a slow smile that seems both charming and malicious. “I got two,” he says, taking another long drink of beer from his bottle.
“But, I don’t understand,” I say. “My father’s dead—he was murdered. How can these pictures help you get revenge?”
“I never said they were pictures of your father,” Zach says, his eyes alight with what he knows is a big secret.
My jaw drops. Not my father? What the fuck? Who's in the pictures with him?
Zach’s brow arches. “The photos I’ve got are of men who went to our church. One’s Senator Whitfield, the other one’s a local district magistrate, Judge Gary Hooper.”
Senator Whitfield?! Judge Hooper? Wait, wasn’t he the judge who approved the search warrants on my home and business? Didn't he also issue the subpoena for my therapy records?
Jesus H. Christ! It’s all connected!
I’m floored by this information. I'd been struggling to come to terms with the fact I wasn't the only kid my father molested. But now I find my father was not the only abuser who preyed on kids around here.
Have we touched on an active pedophile ring? Not people unknown to the community at large, or creepy strangers. A group of powerful, admired, ‘upstanding’ citizens?
Whoa! The implications of this are huge.
My father kept pictures of other kids who were molested, but also of other predators? Why? I shake my head and know why. Father knew how to cover his bases. There would
have been blackmail material on that hard drive. Stuff he could use if he needed to.
A shrewd businessman, my father focused on living the high life and spending tons of money. Maybe he was paid for his photos, or worse…paid to procure?
Fuck.
If I know my father, money was an important angle. Molesters pay huge amounts for graphic photos. What would they pay to procure?
It appears we’ve stumbled onto a pedophile ring that panders to the rich and powerful. I've heard of things like this existing, but I never imagined how such a group would work. The men in Zach’s pictures are reputable people with influential connections.
I suddenly find myself believing all of Zach’s stories. There's nothing scarier than a group of wealthy, powerful predators, actively—in this moment—abusing children.
No wonder Edgar Gates had to die. These are exactly the kind of people who would kidnap, drug, frame and kill to protect their secrets. They must conceal their way of life.
My mind spins as I imagine the possible links. This changes everything. I never thought anything like this could happen in the real world. I thought this kind of thing was found only in fiction—in books, TV and movies.
“What?” Zach asks, amused and pleased by my reaction.
My eyes narrow. “You have a plan to get these guys?”
Zach nods. “Y’all gonna think I’m crazy as a June bug, but I swear to God, this is what I’ve been waitin’ for since I was a kid. This is my life’s work right here. My job is to fuck these guys up. To fuck them all up.” His hands fist with anger. “If I can do that…”
Zach shuts his eyes for a moment, savoring the concept. He takes in a long, deep breath. “If I can do that, all my sufferin' will amount to somethin'. I have to succeed. Otherwise, it was all for nothin'.”
I smile. “I want to help.”
“Me, too,” Danny says, and we all grin stupidly at each other.
“Listen, this is serious shit we're dealing with here. We have to be careful as hell,” I caution. “I’m talkin’ about being downright paranoid.” I arch a brow. “Kind of like the welcome you gave us when we first got here.”
Zach snorts, his grin is one of smug pleasure.
I tell them about Judge Hooper's hand in my warrants, the missing evidence from my father’s computer—thousands of images of child pornography. I explain about Edgar Gates' involvement, his murder and how I was framed for it. I explain why the charges didn't stick.
“That’s exactly the kinda thing these sly sons of bitches do.” Zach scowls.
A frown mars Danny’s handsome features. “God, if they find out what we’re up to, there’ll be hell to pay.”
I nod. “Exactly. That’s why we have to be careful. We need to watch our own and each other's backs. We’ll need to contact everyone on our list, find every photo, and get as many people involved as possible. There's safety in numbers. We have no idea how many are against us. I want to make sure nobody gets hurt, or worse, dies. But I do want justice. Maybe we can sue the bastards with a class-action suit.”
“Fuck that,” Zach snarls. “I don’t want their money.”
I study him curiously. “What do you want?”
His brows draw down in concentration. “I want them to lose everything. I want them discredited and their reputations destroyed, like mine was.”
Zach is a huge, scary guy. Right now he looks like a bomb about to go off. He stands up and begins to pace.
“I need them to go to jail,” he growls. “They have to lose their wives, their kids and their standin' in society. What goes 'round comes 'round. I want to help Lady Karma bite these assholes' balls off.”
Raising his hands, Zach gestures with urgent, desperate passion. No preacher could give a sermon with this much banked passion. His low voice becomes higher… louder. “I want them to lose their positions of power.” He stomps back and forth, enraged. “I want them vilified by the media.”
He stops pacing. “After that, when all hope is gone, when they’re crushed completely…” His eyes lock onto mine, just like the double barrels of his gun. His last shot is directed to me, “I want them to kill themselves.”
Danny and I say nothing.
Alrighty then. Pretty damn comprehensive.
My pulse pounds with a surge of excitement. I clear my throat. “I find myself in complete agreement with your mission, exactly as stated.”
Eyes wide, Danny smiles, nods his agreement. “Me, too.”
“A toast.” I raise my Coke and the others raise their beers. “We’ll find every person involved in this pedophile ring. Infiltrate, collect intelligence, complete objectives and decide on the best strategy to crush our targets. A cautious, silent approach. No hasty, unplanned moves. No risk… not until we’re ready to move. The important thing is to do it safely and do it right, agreed?”
With our plans discussed and decided, it’s time for us to leave.
Danny and I climb into my car and drive off. Danny wants to talk. I don’t. I grunt and give one-syllable answers until he gets the message.
I’ve had more than enough talking for one day. My head aches. I feel as though it’s about to explode. Emotionally, I’m on overload.
I drive well over the speed limit, desperate to return to one of the only people that make me feel sane. I need Renata. I struggle to control myself so each breath is even and doesn’t hitch.
I’m all torn up inside.
If I was watching this as an episode on TV, I’d think the plot was far-fetched. We’ve kicked over a rock, expecting a spider. Instead, we’ve found a nest of angry rattlesnakes. The more I discover, the less I know.
This pedophile ring we’ve become involved with is dangerous as hell, but clearly, I was already in trouble. If someone powerful killed Gates and tried to frame me for the murder, what will they do next?
Apparently, they're capable of anything.
My father’s murder is an active case that’s still hanging over my head. There’s no way I’ll let my brother go down for it. Did the same guy who killed Edgar Gates, also murder my father? Did he die because of his interest in children? Or because he was a threat to someone in this powerful pedophile organization?
Blackmail wouldn’t have been beyond him, especially during downturns in his business interests.
Today’s stupid jealousy over my abusive father is the toxic icing on this screwed up, poisonous cake. How could I be jealous of my father? How can I explain it to Renata? Will she think I’m past redemption?
I don’t know what to do with the sudden black despair and self-disgust that nearly chokes me.
Monster! Pervert!
A knot of emotion constricts my throat. I’m scarred. I’m damaged. There’s something wrong with me. Inner demons murmur in my mind, ‘Why would anyone love you?’
Fuck. I’m right back to hating myself.
Renata’s changed my life, but she’s too good for me.
Far too good for me.
My tension increases, the knuckles on my hands are white as I grip the wheel. It feels as though I’ve been dancing on a tight rope much too long without taking a fall. I have the perfect woman and I’m utterly terrified. I’ve been too lucky. I have too much. I’m worried fate is going to screw with me—not because destiny is malicious, but because I doubt I’m worthy of such happiness.
Do I deserve her? Or will I lose everything?
This irrational fear is overpowering.
I need to be inside of Renata. I need the mindless animal oblivion I can only find in her arms. Desperate and aching, I concentrate on getting home… to her.
Chapter 33.
“A friend of ours, when she trips over some surprisingly intense emotional response, says, philosophically, “Oh well—AFOG,” which stands, she says, for Another Fucking Opportunity for Growth.”
― Dossie Easton
~~~
Renata Koreman
Mitten’s curled up beside me, purring loudly, while I sit on the sofa in Brile
y’s room. The sweet baby boy is fast asleep, cradled in my arms. He’s been growing and changing so fast. He’s able to pull himself up now and he’s learning to crawl.
Briley’s so cute and he smells divine. I love holding him while he sleeps, his soft breathing mesmerizes me. I could stare at him for hours and never get bored. There’s nothing more relaxing than cuddling a sleeping baby.
Best tranquilizer ever!
Valium doesn’t even come close.
When Briley smiles, the whole world brightens. He’ll be allowed to return to his parents soon. I’ll be happy for him and for them. When I marry Grant, I'll be Briley’s Aunt Renata and he'll be my nephew. I'll remain in his life, a loving adult, with the honor of watching him grow up.
I look down at this peaceful child and compare him to my brother Timmy. I can do that now, with only a small pang of sadness. Wherever Timmy is, I like to think he’s loved.
I imagine breast-feeding our own child right here in this nursery. I’ve so much to look forward to.
The sound of the garage door opening startles me out of my blissful state. Grant’s home!
My stomach tightens, my pussy becomes wet with anticipation. God, how ridiculous. I’m instantly horny at simply the thought of him.
He loves and needs me, as much as I love and need him. Knowing that warms me head to toe.
I ordered some racy lingerie online, it arrived today. I was going to surprise him by modelling it tonight, but I’ve decided to surprise him in another way. Consequently, I’m wearing a short, sexy swing dress, without a bra… or underwear.
I grin. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he discovers what I’m wearing—or, in this case, not wearing.
At times and in some ways, he seems so conservative. A bit uptight, traditional and old fashioned. Then he'll reveal another side of himself in the moments when he isn’t. My thighs clench as I recall how happy he was fucking me with my dildo. That's so not conservative, in my book.