Trapped (Bullied Book 4) (Bullied Series) Vera Hollins (best large ereader txt) 📖

I was crazy. I was so crazy for coming here, but that didn’t stop me from going deeper into the spacious room, my eyes darting around to take in as much of it as possible.

Thanks to the faint light coming from the back garden through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could discern his king-size bed that stood across from them and a 75-inch TV mounted above a TV stand that was positioned diagonally from his bed. The stand contained a PlayStation, a cable box, and a couple of other gadgets. A few of his shirts had been thrown over his made bed, and a few pairs of his Air Jordans lay messily on the floor next to it.

There wasn’t a lot of furniture or personal things, which denoted an emptiness that added to the mystery that was Blake. If you took away the basketball lying next to his built-in closet, the two framed photos of Infected Mushroom album artwork on the wall—he listens to psytrance?—and the video game discs stacked on the floor close to his PS4, you would get a room out of those home & lifestyle magazines that looked like no one actually lived there.

I glanced at the door, fearing someone could come inside at any moment. I stood in place, listening carefully for any sound, ready to hide if needed, but I couldn’t hear anything except the furious pounding of my heart. Like a stab, a cramp hit my lower stomach, and I had to press my hand against it and breathe deeply so I could endure it.

Okay. Only a few more seconds, and then I’d be out.

I moved across the black and white striped carpet to his desk next to the bathroom door. My eyes studied the dark screen of the laptop before they caught sight of a manila folder with some photos sticking out of it. They sent a tremor of discomfort through me, and I frowned as I took out my phone and turned on the flashlight.

I cast another glance at the door. My brain told me to stop snooping around and come to my senses, but my hand didn’t listen, directing the light at the photos. They were all pictures of some run-down houses and guys taken from a distance and in the dark; their low quality made it difficult for me to make much of the faces or the buildings. A note lying next to them said in big handwritten letters: Never forget. My pulse quickened. Never forget what?

“What are you doing with these, Blake?” I whispered.

I noticed one photo peeking out from under the manila folder, and I reached for it, freezing when I saw what it was. It showed young Blake hugging a beautiful girl with short, curly black hair and dark brown eyes somewhere outdoors. She was thin and tall, and her megawatt smile matched Blake’s as they looked at the camera. I felt a sudden rush of longing because I’d never seen Blake smile like that before.

He looked so…carefree and happy. He was nothing like the cold and reserved guy I’d known from day one at East Willow High. His eyes shone with joy, and it was clear that they were madly in love. It just beamed out of the picture.

On the bottom, written in black marker:

Emma & Blake forever

A dull ache curled through my chest, a yearning and sadness for young Blake bringing tears to my eyes. What had happened to them? Where was she?

Deciding to leave before I ran out of luck, I returned the photo to where it was, but I bumped the mouse next to it with my hand in the process, and the screen of the laptop lit up. In the dead center was an open folder containing a video with a grainy thumbnail and the title Blake Jones and Emma Hoover, day 11. Upon closer inspection, I could make out a boy tied up to a chair in it… No, not any boy. It was Blake.

I clamped my hand over my mouth as a shiver ran down my spine. What the heck?

My instinct told me to step away and forget I’d seen this. Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t my business. I had no right to look at it. It would be utterly wrong, and I would just ensnare myself more deeply into his web of secrets and darkness.

But something terrible had happened to Blake, and even with guilt and fear churning in me, I couldn’t just ignore it. I took one quick look over my shoulder at the door and moved my trembling finger over the mouse, hoping the video would be over soon and I would be out of here before anyone came in.

The first few seconds showed a grayish, filthy surface I recognized as a floor only after the camera moved upward. This person was in an extremely small basement with dirty and damp gray brick walls that gave me chills.

The camera focused on young Blake in the chair, and I could barely recognize him through the many gashes that marred his face. The room was semi-dark, but the hanging light bulb provided enough light for me to distinguish each bruise and cut. My stomach curled.

“Are you recording?” a guy in the background said; the sound was just loud enough for me to hear it.

“Yeah,” the one holding the camera replied.

Blake looked exhausted and malnourished, his tortured gaze fixed on the floor as the guy holding the camera circled around him. He was motionless, in his own world.

The guy recording grabbed Blake’s chin and forced him to look at him. His dull eyes had lost all their light.

“Smile for the camera,” the guy said. Blake didn’t move a muscle, remaining silent. “That’s not good. You don’t want your parents to see you like this when they get this video, do you?” I let out a gasp of disgust just as he grabbed his chin. “You keep ignoring me, and it’s starting to get on