Red Zone Read online

  Peace seeped into my brain like the blood oozing from my skin.

  With my second swipe of the blade, I found the control that I’d thought I’d lost. Warmth and security settled into my soul. All my worries and the shame of losing everything I’d worked for my entire life vanished and was replaced with a sense of power. For once, I was in charge—not my parents, not the psychiatrists, not the school, not even some Dom. Just me.

  The music, which had been loud enough to make my head hurt only seconds before, drifted away until it was nothing more than a whisper that danced erotically inside my mind. The endorphins flowed freely, causing both a physical high and a sweet calmness to overtake the misery. For this short span of time, I was in control and the pleasure belonged to me. I hurt myself, and I pleased myself and no one else, and it made me feel fucking powerful. Nearly lost in my web of pleasure, it was a struggle to even remember the current troubles that consumed my soul when I was anywhere except right fucking here.

  Pure pleasure, better than even the best sex I’d ever had in my life, overtook me as the slide of the blade sliced through my skin with the same ease of a butter knife cutting through softened butter. Three songs, three breaths, three cuts. My own special web I made to bring me relief and power.

  I felt a hand close tightly around my wrist and my cocoon of happiness exploded. Because my body had been teetering on the edge of what I refer to as my own personal nirvana, my response to the intrusion was sluggish. Actually, I wasn’t able to react at all before the attacker ripped my precious blade from my fingers and then tore the ear buds out of my ears.

  When my eyes finally fluttered open, I found myself looking up into the face of one of the men who helped destroy my life. Memphis Fucking Sawyer! The furious scowl on his face would have intimidated most people, but the best I could manage was to sputter out a soft chuckle. How fucking ironic! My deepest, darkest secret—one of them anyway—and the one thing left in my life that belonged only to me—had just been exposed to my nemesis. That made him the only person on earth who knew both my deepest, darkest secrets. He could destroy me so easily.

  I shouldn’t have been laughing but there wasn’t enough energy in me to do much else. Why was it he always found me in the most humiliating positions possible? As a last-ditch effort to salvage a sprinkle of dignity, as if any existed, I reached up and tried to bat his hand away.

  Memphis responded in a thundering voice, “What the fuck, Kingston? Are you seriously trying to kill yourself? Over fucking college football?”

  Following that outburst, he reached into the tub, yanked me up, and tossed me over his shoulder like I’d seen him do with his gym bag…yeah, the same amount of effort. Mortification burned through my soul but since my body still felt as limp as a noodle, I could do nothing more than silently vow that I’d see him dead for this.

  As we passed through the bathroom door, even hanging upside down and my eyes struggling to stay open, I noticed that the wooden door was splintered in places, indicating that Memphis had kicked the damn bathroom door down to violate my private space. Fucking bastard—one more reason to hate him.

  As if I needed any more.

  A part of me wondered if he wouldn’t stalk straight over to the balcony doors, walk outside, and toss me over the railing of our eighth-floor suite, but when he gently laid me on my own bed, I realized there was no reason for him to kill me. I wasn’t a threat to him. I’d already lost the battle and the war for the coveted quarterback position. He was first string now and I was second. He probably viewed me as nothing more than a nuisance. A pathetic one, since he thought I was trying to kill myself. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I didn’t have the fucking courage for that.

  Suddenly panic gripped my heart when I realized he’d laid me on my pristine white sheets. Blood would be everywhere and there’d be no way to hide what I’d done. When he turned to walk away, I tried to find the strength to slide off the bed before too much blood stained my sheets but my movement caused him to whirl back around to face me.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he roared as he stalked back to the bed and shoved me back down.

  “I’m gonna get blood on the bed.”

  A scowl marred his features. “Seriously? You’re worried about getting blood on the sheets?” He shook his head in what I guess was amazement or confusion. “I’d say that should be the least of your worries right now, Bentley. I just walked in on you trying to kill yourself and you’re worried about stains on the sheets?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at me, daring me to argue with him.

  “I wasn’t trying to kill myself, asshole,” I answered weakly. “I was just taking the edge off my day. No biggie.”

  It was a biggie, actually, and I knew it. I just hoped I could convince him to keep his huge mouth shut about it. One word to his father, His Royal Fucking Majesty, and I’d be off the team and my scholarship would be revoked. The last thing I needed was to ask my parents, who were already deeply disappointed in me, for the money to finish college. I’d do anything to keep from having to face them again. I didn’t want to see on their faces that they knew all along how I’d turn out.

  “No biggie?” he mocked. “Kindly explain that bullshit to me, if you don’t mind.” When I started to open my mouth, he held out his hand in a stop gesture and said, “You know what? Never mind. Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear whatever pathetic excuse or lie you’re about to try and sell me.” His hand ran through his inky black hair and then he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was the exact replica of what he’d done the last time he found me in a compromising situation.

  “I’m going to go back into the bathroom and get a wet washcloth and try to find some bandages for your…your…wound or whatever the fuck that is. You are to lie on that damn bed and not fucking move. Do you understand me, Kingston? I’m not playing. This shit is serious. Even worse than the last time I got you out of that mess you got yourself into.”

  With the endorphins disappearing from my system, I felt energy, and the shame, begin to return. “No, Memphis, you don’t get to boss me around like you do everybody else. And as for the ‘last time you found me in a mess,’ you can just stop throwing that shit up to me!” As far as I’m concerned, you can go fuck yourself. And get out of my bedroom and leave me the hell alone!” My eyes narrowed at him. “Now.”

  He returned the few steps he’d taken and towered over me. “Kingston, shut your smart mouth and keep your ass in the goddamn bed until I get back or you’ll find yourself tied to it. Understand me?” When I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought about his bullying tactics, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and he added, “I’m not playing. You know I will do it. Don’t push me if you aren’t capable of handling me pushing back.”

  Something on his face told me he would…and I knew he could do it. Having reached my humiliation level for the day, I decided to choose my battles, and this wasn’t going to be one of them. I was too weak from the adrenalin drop and too fucking tired. Obviously there came a time in life when shit kicked you in the balls a bit too hard to bounce back from it without a significant recovery time, and I’d hit that point.

  And, most of all, when the endorphins wore off, the shame always kicked in. This situation wasn’t anything different, but it was even worse since my nemesis and my replacement was there to witness it.

  “Fuck off, Memphis,” I grumbled as I pulled my legs back onto the bed and rested my head on the pillow, facing away from him. Sure, it might look like something an angry kid would do, but I didn’t really give a fuck about trying to impress Memphis Sawyer. If anything, I’d like to make him hurt at least half as much as he’d hurt me—him and his manipulative father.

  “Good choice, Kingston,” Memphis countered as he returned to his task of finding bandages. “Oh…and try to cover up your junk, will you? This shit is fucked up enough without having to add your dick and balls into the mix.” He looked me up and down and s
hook his head. “Not that I haven’t seen them before.”

  Remembering, for the first time, that I was completely naked—again— in front of Memphis Sawyer, I snatched the end of the blanket and pulled it up to the middle of my chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could I have not realized I was naked? It wasn’t as if I was overly modest, but I didn’t make it a habit of flaunting my package. I had been so out of it when he’d first carried me in the room, and afterward…hell, I had no excuse. I must truly be out of my mind.

  The sound of his soft chuckle mocking me, pissed me off even more, and I hadn’t thought that was possible. Who the fuck did he think he was? Barging into my suite—kicking in doors and invading my privacy? As far as I was concerned, his royal status didn’t extend off the football field, so he needed to apologize.

  Better yet…maybe I should just kill him? That would be loads of fun. As I listened to him rummage around in my bathroom, through my personal items, I pictured the many different ways I could make him suffer before finally snuffing his life out. Ripped apart by wild dogs? Eaten by rats? Squashed with huge boulders? Crushed by a train. Shredded with a sharp knife? Frozen solid? All of those fantasies would bring me great joy.

  Joy…something I hadn’t had the privilege of feeling for a long time.

  Maybe I should hate him instead of myself? It made more sense. All my current problems stemmed from him or a member of his family, so it would be easy to shift the hate from one person to the other. No, no, it wouldn’t. I hated myself more. I hated my weaknesses. I hated that he’d had to rescue me a second time. I hated that the praise of others meant so damn much to me that it tore me up inside when I didn’t have it anymore. I hated how the entire time I’d been home during semester break my parents couldn’t even look at me. At the moment, I hated about every damn thing about myself.

  Memphis returned from the bathroom with an arm load of medical supplies. Lunatic. They were just small scratches—though, admittedly, these had bled a hell of a lot. Usually I was more careful, because anything deeper would alert people to what I was doing. I looked down at myself and winced. I’d gotten a little deep on those cuts. Maybe a simple band aid wouldn’t have been enough.

  When he dropped his treasure on the side of the bed, I still rolled my eyes mockingly. “It’s a few fucking scratches, Memphis. I hardly think it calls for the entire first aid kit. I lifted the sheet and glanced down. I forced myself not to grimace from the bright red bloodstains on my sheets. They’d have to be destroyed before anyone had a chance to see the damage I’d done. “They’ve already mostly stopped bleeding. Like I told you, it’s no big deal.”

  He picked up a washcloth and answered, “Sure, I believe everything you say because you’re obviously thinking clearly right now. Cutting, Kingston? Seriously? I thought I had plumbed the depths of your bullshit, but apparently not!” As he talked, he gently pulled back the sheet enough to reveal the wounds on my stomach and began swabbing away the dried blood. It amazed me that someone like Memphis, so big, brawny, and arrogant, could demonstrate any type of gentleness or empathy. At the moment, it only made me hate him more.

  I also felt my entire body go into full-blown panic because somehow, in the few minutes, he’d been scrounging around in my bathroom, he’d figured out that I was a cutter. A part of me wished he still thought it had been a suicide attempt. Somehow that idea didn’t feel quite so…like I was incapable of coping with everything. It wasn’t weak to just end it all. Was it? I knew I had been getting out of control and I had promised myself just this one more time. My way of coping was a demonstration of my deficiency and it needed to stop. I just had to find a way to do it.

  He’d pissed me off with his ‘cutting, Kingston?’ remark and the disgusted tone of his voice—as if he had any room to judge me. I knew things about him too that I could tell if I were so inclined. I’d never done the first damn thing to him, but he’d waltzed into my world and knocked it so off-kilter that it would never be stable again, so it wasn’t like I owed him anything. Since stability was something my mind desperately craved, Memphis Sawyer had earned a big fat fuck you from me. As if the fucker had any right to judge me ever.

  “Don’t mock what you don’t understand, asshole,” I answered as I yanked the warm cloth from his hand and finished cleaning the so-called wounds. Shit! There were only a couple of slits and one small hesitation mark. OCD nibbled at my brain, begging me to finish that third cut. It wouldn’t be right. I wasn’t finished yet. He needed to get out of my suite, so I could do the whole ritual.

  Wait a minute, what was he doing in my suite anyway? A horrible thought occurred to me and I groaned out loud. Oh hell, he was my new roommate. It would figure that my bad luck would only get worse.

  He crossed his arms over his muscular chest and stared at the fresh cuts. “Help me understand, then. I’m all ears. Tell me how taking a razor blade to yourself could be a solution to anything.” He handed me the bandages. “Finish it.”

  I couldn’t finish it…it wasn’t finished! My hands hesitated, frozen in some emotion that I couldn’t begin to explain. Three songs. Three breaths. Three cuts. There was structure to my actions. I wasn’t fucking finished!

  I paused as my mind searched desperately to find a solution. An answer he would consider. Stalling for time. I looked up at him, I decided on distraction. “Help me understand why the hell you’re in my suite. Why don’t we start with that instead of what I do to my body on my time?”

  A sinister grin spread across his face and, once again, I found myself forced to acknowledge how utterly gorgeous he was. His long, thick eyelashes were fucking insane, not to mention those broad shoulders. Perfect—just another reason to hate Memphis. I could also add incredibly good looking to the list of qualities I hated about him.

  It was a fucking long list.

  “I’m here because my father has formally declared before the palace that we are to be roommates this year. All hail the King!” He reached down and jerked the bandages out of my hand and started covering up the marks. “So, I’ve answered your question; now answer mine. Help me understand the cutting, Kingston.”

  “It’s none of your damn business, Memphis,” I snapped. “None. You may have waltzed in and taken over every other portion of my life, but you don’t get to own me. Sorry, it doesn’t work that way.”

  I watched as something darkened in his blue eyes. It wasn’t anger, but it wasn’t something I could identify either. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Chills raked up and down my spine, and I couldn’t decide if they were from Memphis’ indescribable expression or from the fact that he was doctoring my wounds before I’d finished the cuts. I decided to blame it on the latter.

  “Put some clothes on, Kingston. After that, you will try to help me understand what the hell you were doing, or I’ll go straight to the AD and tell him about what I saw. I haven’t read all the fine print on our scholarships, but I feel confident self-harming is probably frowned upon.” He shrugged. “I mean, it may not matter to you. Maybe you don’t need the scholarship to remain in school? Maybe you don’t care if the entire school hears about what you’ve been doing behind closed doors? Maybe you don’t give two shits about the fact that you just scared me to death? I don’t know you well enough to determine what gives you the drive and determination to lead your college football team to two National Championships while carrying more hours than anybody else on the team, maintaining a solid 4.0 GPA, and doing community service in your spare time.” He shrugged again. “I would have thought it would have been a strong backbone and dedication to what you believed in, but maybe it’s been self-harm and being a pain slut the entire time.” He turned and walked toward the bedroom door. “You decide. If you want to stay on this team and maintain your scholarship status, you’ve got three minutes to get into this living room and convince me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Oh yeah?” I called after him. “Well, I know things about you too! I could tell people what I know!”

&nb
sp; He never even turned around. I lay back down unmoving on the bed, wanting more than anything to tell him exactly where to shove his ultimatum, but knowing that really wasn’t an option. Sure, I knew stuff about him, but his shit wasn’t nearly as humiliating as mine. He’d come off as macho and tough, while I’d look like some pathetic loser. Pain slut? He didn’t know the half of it.

  The scholarship threat was thin because my folks, while not exactly loaded, still had enough money to send me to school to finish my degree. However, it seemed that he somehow knew that I’d rather drop out of school altogether than go to my parents and tell them that I’d failed…yet again.

  He’d brought up a few of the things that I did to try and maintain my ‘perfect boy’ image, and then threatened to reveal things about me that would forever overshadow the good I’d tried to do, leaving people to only whisper about the crazy…because I knew I was crazy. And I had to wonder if he’d stop with just blowing my cover about the cutting—or if he’d tell what he knew about the other things I had done to get my pain fix. It was hard to understand and almost impossible to convince anyone that I did those things to let out some of the stress and the pain. That I knew exactly what I was doing and I was always in control.

  My parents had never understood about the cutting, for example, even though the doctors had carefully explained it to them. I could still see the look on my father’s face when they’d told him. He hadn’t even looked all that surprised—like he’d known all along I was going to disappoint him. He just hadn’t known exactly how or when that shoe would fall.

  “Tick-tock, Kingston!” Memphis yelled from the living room.

  He had me. I didn’t have any choice but to do what he demanded of me because I couldn’t…no, I wouldn’t…survive another hit to my persona. I was too weak. My insecurity too great. If my parents found out, it might just kill me.