The Truth About Unspeakable Things Emily Myers (love story books to read TXT) 📖

us to a parking lot. But then, two limos showed up, and a woman came out of one of them. She told us to call her Mistress and that she would take us to the club. But first, we had to give up our cellphones and purses and agree to be blindfolded,” Marissa recalls.

She shakes her head and curses herself, wishing she would have recognized the scam then. I want to tell her it’s okay and not to blame herself, but I know nothing I say will make this any easier.

“Anyway, I did it and at this point, I felt nervous, but not afraid. Nowhere in my mind did I think I’d be asked to . . . to take off my clothes and show myself in front of a camera,” she chokes. Tears fall from her eyes.

“Can I ask,” I begin, but stop myself.

“Why I didn’t leave?” she offers up, wiping her eyes.

“Yeah,” I say with a nod.

“I thought . . . I thought the worst was over, if I’m being honest,” she says. “I . . . I didn’t have my phone or wallet and I had no idea where we were. By the time I was asked to take off my clothes, I didn’t know how to leave. And once I’d made it through the most traumatizing experience of my life, I . . . I couldn’t imagine it getting any worse,” she tells me. “I thought it was just some stupid, sadistic initiation and that we’d be given our clothes and things once we made it into the club. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Marissa begins to cry, and I offer her a hug, which she declines. “No, I don’t want—”

“It’s okay. I get it,” I tell her.

She takes a deep breath.

“I just . . . I wish I would’ve realized. I wish Stacy or someone would’ve warned me,” she chokes.

My vision blurs as I think of all the women Beaux has assaulted because I didn’t speak up. I think of how my life could’ve been different if the women before me would’ve said something. I shake my head, dislodging the ill thoughts from my mind. It’s easy to get consumed in the avalanche of what-ifs, especially when your reality isn’t one you would’ve chosen for yourself. But, in matters like this, it’s best to stick to the facts. The fact is Stacy isn’t the reason Marissa found herself in last night’s predicament. Nor am I the reason Beaux has continued his assault against women in the months after our breakup.

“Now you’re warning them. You’re saving them,” I tell her. And with my words, I hope she takes a little comfort.

Chapter 21

Marissa told me she was going home to Florida until my article is published in The Hub exposing Beaux and the brotherhood. I didn’t tell her I didn’t blame her, because the last thing I wanted to do was add to her fear. But she was right to leave. I just wish Mason would’ve taken my advice and gotten Julian out too, but it’s been almost a week since he helped me escape from Club Gent and he and Julian are still living next door.

I shuffle through what passes as my closet, tossing things aside until I find my duffle bag. Tomorrow, I leave for Presley for Eva’s wedding weekend. It seems like yesterday she was telling me of her engagement. Here we are, two months later, and what I thought would be my greatest source of anxiety is actually my saving grace. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not thrilled to be going home, especially after what I’ve just learned about my father. But, under the given circumstances, I’ll take him as my adversary over Beaux. Besides, there’s one more thing I need for my article, and I have a feeling I’ll only find it in Presley.

Kat’s working this weekend, or I would’ve asked her to tag along. I suppose it’s for the best. She’ll stay with Demetri until I get back. I still haven’t told her what I’m doing. But with each passing day, it becomes paramount that I do. Just as I worry for Julian’s safety, I worry for hers. If Beaux caught even the slightest whiff that he might be exposed, there’s no telling what he’d do.

Knock, knock, knock.

I gasp and turn, twisting my neck into a painful knot. There’s someone at the door.

“I’m editing photos!” Kat yells from her room. “Can you see who’s at the door?”

“Yeah!” I yell back.

My palms sweat and heartbeat quickens. We’re not expecting anyone. Though, I imagine Beaux wouldn’t extend the courtesy of knocking. With that as my comfort, I grab a knife from the kitchen on the way to the front door and hold it behind my back. Grey watches me with suspicious eyes.

“Who . . . who is it?” I ask. I move toward the door slowly, half expecting the person on the other side to knock it down at any second.

“It’s Mason,” Mason says from the porch.

“What?” I ask aloud. “Why the hell is he here?” I mumble to myself.

Remembering Kat still doesn’t know about Julian and my breakup, I open the door, if only to get rid of him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I whisper.

“Uh . . . okay,” Mason says, raising his hands in surrender. “That’s not necessary.”

“What isn’t necessary?” I ask. “You can’t be here. My roommate might see you—or worse, Julian might,” I tell him, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Kat isn’t within earshot.

“Fine, but does that really warrant a stabbing?” He moves his eyes to my hip where the kitchen knife dangles.

“Oh,” I say, moving it behind my back. “I, uh, I didn’t know who it was and—”

“And you thought it might be your ex,” he says, cutting me off. “And by ex I don’t mean my brother.”

I’m taken aback.

“What? What are you talking about?” I ask, playing dumb.

“I think we should talk,” Mason says. He glances in the direction of Julian’s house, as do I. My heart aches at the thought of him just a few feet away and so completely cut out of my life.