She was on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of white cotton panties. Legs spread wide, waiting for him with her eyes closed, fingers skimming over the crotch of her underwear, lips parted in a soft, eager moan. She wanted him. What he was going to do to her. She’d been waiting her whole life for it, just like him. He stood at the edge of the bed, between her open legs, taking off his shirt. His belt. His shoes. His pants.
And then he drew his knife, working the blade free from its handle with a whispering snick that stilled the hand between her thighs and pulled her eyes open.
That’s when she saw him. The real him.
She tried to twist away, but he was already there, on top of her, pressing himself into the space her fingers had made wet for him. He’d kiss her and she’d pull back, her lush auburn hair slung across her face. Her mouth open, her chest heaving against his, filling her lungs with air, readying to scream.
He lifted the knife and she went still as he pressed it against the curve of her breast. Deep, blue eyes, wide and stark with fear, her breath racing from her lungs in short, panicked bursts, each one pushing her breast against his blade.
He cut her—the edge of his blade whispering across her skin as he pushed himself inside her, the pain and blood of both, sharpening her fear into terror...
He was so engrossed in the scenario inside his head that he didn’t see her at first but suddenly she was there, not just in his fantasy but there—no more than 10 yards in front of him. He could see the silhouette of her through the filter of thin fabric that covered her window.
She locked her bedroom door and began to undress, slow hands reaching behind her to untie her apron. Tired fingers fumbling the buttons of her yellow dress open before letting it slip from her shoulders. Next she unhooked her bra…
The hand between his legs worked faster, his hips swinging forward, matching the uneven rhythm of his breath as it broke from his mouth in a single whispered word, over and over.
Mine. Mine. Mine...
Fantasy and reality began to blur and the image of her in his head and the one in front of him merged. Became one in a violent smear of blood and sex. He came, the hand on his cock tightening and jerking around the head of it, catching his semen in the folds of white cotton, while his hips bucked and his teeth clamped down, holding in the sound of his release.
When it over he put himself away. The light in her window went dark and he left,
the smell of them together—her sex mingled with his—still riding on his skin.
WAITING IN DARKNESS: Chapter 4
The trucker from table six was sitting in her living room.
He’d been there when she woke up, bringing the twins into the kitchen to feed them breakfast. She’d noticed him instantly, her gaze jerking away the moment it touched on him to focus on the buckle of her sister’s highchair rather than the fact that his attention snapped at her the moment she walked into the room.
Like he’d been waiting for her.
Riley looked up at her, her bright copper curls bouncing as she banged the flat of her chubby hand against her highchair tray. “Morning, baby,” she said quietly, offering the toddler a tight smile. She didn’t know the difference. As soon as she acknowledged her, Riley grinned.
With the weight of the trucker’s stare pressed tight against her back, she focused on the task at hand. She made breakfast, divided scrambled eggs onto plates, cutting toast into bite-size pieces. She’d used the last of both. She’d have to stop at the store on her way to work. Lucky for her boss let her keep groceries in the walk-in during her shift. Rationing milk into sippy cups, she stole a glance out the kitchen window. Her mother’s beat-up, old Camero was gone. It wasn’t even 8AM. Kelly never even opened her eyes before noon, let alone got dressed and—
“You’re fuckin’ that Indian kid.”
The voice behind her had gravel in it, rough and pitted by too many cigarettes. Her hands jerked, sloshing milk over the side of the cup while she tightened the lid. She hadn’t even heard him move. Someone that big shouldn’t be allowed to move so quietly.
He was close; she could smell the warm beer on his breath. Feel it against her neck. He leaned into her, planting a large, heavy hand on the scarred Formica counter, hemming her in. She took a sliding step in the opposite direction, not daring to turn until she was clear of him.
“What,” he drawled, turning to lean against the counter, beefy arms crossed over his barrel chest. “You don’t know how to talk unless you got a coffee pot in your hand?”
She’d been friendly to him the night before. Smiled and chatted while she re-filled his coffee. Brought him his food. Handed him a container of pie and apologized for closing early. What kind of pie had she given him? Remembering Jed’s outburst, what he’d said, stained her cheeks with shame.
She set Jason’s cup on his tray and turned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, forcing as much conviction as she could find into her tone to replace the cold spike of fear that’d shafted through her. He knew about her and Tommy. Suddenly, looking into the flat, mud-brown eyes of the man in front of her, his insistence that they keep their relationship a secret didn’t seem so ridiculous.
The nasty grin that worked its way across the trucker’s face told her he knew he’d scared her. That he’d meant to. That he liked it. “Yeah, you do.” He tilted his head to give her a smile that looked more like a sneer. “No swingin’ dick comes charging to the rescue like that without good reason,” he said, the laugh that followed sounding like a shovel hitting a pile of hot asphalt—black and sticky. “He’s been at you, good and proper… I’m just wondering if he knows you’re givin’ it up to that Carson kid too.”
“That’s a lie.” The words ripped out of her, their claws leaving holes in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
You taste like peaches.
It’d happened last month at school. Daydreaming as she often did in chem class, she’d doodled through the bell, not noticing that the room was rapidly emptying. The final bell jerked her out of her seat and she began shoving books and papers into her bag, giving a startled yelp when she heard her name being whispered in her ear. “You waitin’ on me, Melissa?”
Jed. She shot to her feet and turned, running into the solid wall of his chest and her hands went up, instinctively attempting to fend him off. “No, I just—”
He leaned into her, pinning her against one of the heavy lab tables, making escape impossible. “You aren’t afraid of me are you?” He brought a hand up, laying it on her collarbone, the heel of it pressed against the place where her heart was trying to bounce out of her chest.
She couldn’t speak, her tongue thick and useless, glued to the roof of her mouth. She shook her head and he laughed at her, taking her fear for something else.
“Just relax,” he said to her, lids heavy over warm hazel eyes. “If you don’t like, I’ll stop… promise.”
He kissed her and she let him—going still as she allowed the firm pressure of Jed’s lips on hers. He must’ve taken her lack of resistance as encouragement because the firm pressure of his mouth suddenly intensified, went heavy with the kind of desperation that turned her fear to something close to terror. He groaned, shoving his tongue into her mouth with so much force tears sprang instantly to her eyes. The hand at her hip clamped tight, holding her in place while he pushed himself into the space between her thighs, grinding his erection against her.
Breaking away, she turned her face to the side. “Jed, please…” she whispered, her eyes wheeling toward the closed classroom door. This was the last period of the day, no one was coming. No one knew she was in here. Not that anyone would care. She was Kelly Walker’s daughter. That made anything that happened here—anything he did to her—her fault. “Please stop.”
Instead of stepping back, her plea moved him closer. He buried his face in her exposed neck, inhaling deeply against her skin. “Remember the first time I kissed you,” he whispered, his words hot against her jaw, the h
and between them dipping lower to cup her breast, squeezing her so hard, tears sprang to her eyes. “Remember what I said?”
Panic, quick and razor sharp, struck deep. Stealing the air from her lungs. Anchoring her feet to the floor. She did remember. She remembered being sprawled in the dirt where he’d shoved her after she’d rejected him. It’d been her eleventh birthday. “You’re gonna my girl,
Melissa—mine,” he’d hissed at her, his fists clenched at his sides, handsome face contorted with anger.
Five years later, Jed still hadn’t given up. If anything, he’d become more determined. She planted her hands on his chest; prepared to push him as hard as she could when again, just like that day in the woods, his attention was drawn away from her. A janitor opened the door, pulling his cart behind him, stalling in the doorway, blinking stupidly at the scene he’d walked in on. Jed’s hands instantly dropped, his hips shifting away from hers so that she could breathe again. He looked down at her, leaning into her again, just for a moment. “You taste like peaches,” he whispered in her ear before walking away as if nothing had happened.
Now, a month later she could still hear him, feel the way his words wormed their way into her ear. He thought what’d happened had been consensual and why wouldn’t he? She’d let him kiss her. Had stood there and cried like a scared little girl while he put his hands on her. Anger curled in her belly, wrapped tight around the lump of shame that had been lodged there since it happened. Behind her, Riley let out a whimper, recalling her attention and she turned to see the little girl staring up at her, blue eyes filled with tears, food going cold on the tray in front of her.
“It’s okay, Ri,” she said, softening her voice. “Eat your breakfast. Everything’s okay.” The lie came out so smooth, for a moment she almost believed it.
“Yeah, kid—everything’s just peachy…” the trucker said, letting his words trail off for a moment. “Maybe she wants her milk.” Reaching behind his back, he produced a pink sippy cup and waggled it at her, daring her to take it.
Very much aware that the twins were watching her, she moved away from the table, forcing herself across the worn linoleum that covered the warped floorboards of the trailer. Stopping a few feet in front of him, Melissa reached out and took the cup from his outstretched hand, her eyes never wavering from his. Once free of the cup, Pete’s hand shot toward her wrist and snaked around it with lightning speed, pulling her close. He breathed beer fumes in her face as he stared down at her, leering over her. She froze, just like she had with Jed—the fear that iced her gut bringing on a wave of self-disgust. “Let go of me,” she said, her tone low and even, making promises she knew she could never keep.
The trucker laughed at her. “Or what? You gonna run tell your daddy?” He shook his head, the look he gave her making her feel naked despite the loose T-shirt and flannel pants she wore. “I got news for you, little girl—your daddy already knows you’re a whore. No need to run off and tell him,” he said, his fingers tightening painfully around her wrist.
She looked away, her eyes instantly finding the wooden baseball bat she kept propped against the wall behind the front door. She’d used it a few time to run off some of her mother’s dates who’d gotten a bit too rough or decided that sex with Kelly wasn’t worth the money they paid. Most of them had been locals—more afraid of the fact that her father was the chief of police than a teenage girl with a bat.
“How ‘bout that other one ? The kid with the high n’ tight, drinking coffee and reading in the back.” He shook a finger at her, head cocked, eyes mean. “You fuckin’ him too?”
Michael. He was talking about Michael. Her throat went dry. All she could do was shake her head in denial while she jerked helplessly against the hold he had on her.
“We’re gonna have fun, you and me.” He grinned at her, revealing the color of weak tea teeth stained. “Just you wait and see…” Laughter bubbled on his lips but he let her go. She stepped back, removing herself from his reach.
She opened her mouth, unsure of what was going to come out but then the front door banged open. Kelly teetered in on a pair of scuffed high heels, her legs banded to mid-thigh by an impossibly tight denim miniskirt. One hand gripped a paper-wrapped bottle of what Melissa would bet a week’s worth of tips was the cheapest brand of vodka she could find while the other had its fingers threaded through the plastic webbing of a six-pack. The moment she saw her, her mother’s eyes narrowed suspiciously while she bounced a look between the two of them.
“What’s goin’ on?” she said, the cigarette dangling from her lips bobbing with each word. Behind her Riley had stopped crying. Jason had gone quiet too—both of them staring at the woman who was technically their mother. She scared them with her screeching voice and her drunken stumble. She hadn’t touched them—not once—since she’d given birth to them. Melissa thought she might kill her if she tried.
“Nothing,” she said, turning away from the way the trucker ran a possessive hand over Kelly’s backside as she walked past him, his eyes never leaving her face.
Kelly set the paper-wrapped bottle and the bundle of cans on the counter, taking a drag before scissoring the cigarette from her mouth to blow out a stream of smoke. “Don’t look like nothin’.” She aimed a look at the trucker. “She’s an uppity little bitch,” she said, pressing her breasts against his arm as she leaned over him to retrieve a plastic tumbler from the cabinet he stood in front of. “Gets it from my mother.” She cooed it in his ear, shooting her a glare over his shoulder.
The trucker’s arm snaked around Kelly’s waist, fingers digging into her hip as he pulled her closer. “No worries, baby,” he said, shooting her another look. “We were just getting to know each other, is all.”
Kelly’s expression soured a bit but she managed a smile. “Don’t bother,” she said never taking her eyes off the trucker. “Girl wouldn’t know how to have fun if it ran up and bit her in the ass,” She thrust the cup in her direction with a smirk. “Make me a drink.” It was something Kelly made her do whenever she could. Her mother’s way of making her feel small and powerless because she knew how much she hated doing it. She could feel the trucker watching her. Waiting for her to show herself. To either stand up to her mother or do as she’d been told.
She hesitated a moment too long and the cup rocketed through the air, bouncing off Jason’s tray before hitting the floor in a noisy clatter. His eyes widened for a second before his face crumpled, his features dissolving in a squall of tears. They were a year and a half old. Too young to understand what was happening around them. Too small to be so scared all the time. From her seat next to her brother, Riley stared at Kelly with a look of wary caution that would ripen into hatred before too long.
She turned her back on the pair of them. A dangerous thing but she did it anyway to smooth a shaking hand over Jason’s cheek where the cup had struck him before hitting the floor. Her fingers brushed at the red welt the cup had left while she made cooing sounds, trying to quiet him. “It’s okay. You’re okay, I’m right here. You’re—”
“Shut that fuckin’ brat up and fix me my goddamned drink.” Kelly’s tone left no doubt that there would be consequences if she didn’t comply.
Hunkering down, Melissa reached for the cup while Jason squalled and Riley sat in the kind of detached silence that scared her more than the crying. She didn’t realize until she tried to pick the cup up off the floor that the hand she had stretched out in front of her was clenched in a fist.
She forced her fingers to relax enough to pick up the cup and stood, carrying it to the refrigerator. There, she filled it with ice before making her way over to the counter, Jason’s sobs tapering off into a roundabout of watery hiccups behind her.
Melissa pulled the bottle of rot-gut from its brown paper sleeve and cracked the cap, twisting it off as fast as she could. The trucker was watching her over Kelly’s shoulder—his hooded gaze on her face, an intrusion she could barely stomach.
Tipping the bottle over the cup
she poured nearly the entire contents over ice, the vodka’s fumes stinging her eyes. She recapped the bottle to preserve what little was left and pushed it back along the counter until it hit the wall. If one of the twins got a hold of it and spilled it, there’d be hell to pay.
She pressed the drink into Kelly’s waiting hand. “I gotta go,” she said as she moved. “Double shift at the diner.”
“Don’t leave them here,” Kelly called after her, the ice in her cup rattling as she lifted it to take a drink. “Pete and me have plans, ain’t that right, daddy?”
“That’s right, baby,” the trucker all but growled, taking the tumbler out of Kelly’s hand before he started to maul her.
Melissa’s stomach heaved. Sometimes the fact that they shared DNA was too much to consider. It was easier to pretend they were strangers. That this woman she lived with was not her mother. She took the twins out of their highchairs, hefting Jason onto her hip before offering her hand to Riley. Riley preferred to walk.
On her way to her room, she risked a last look into the kitchen. Pete had Kelly’s skirt rucked up around her hips, his blunt, heavy fingers buried in the white flesh of her bare ass. His mouth was open, tongue thrusting in and out of her mother’s gaping mouth—a crude preview of what was to come. She looked away, hurrying down the hall as fast as towing two toddlers would allow.
It wasn’t what they were doing that made her sick. It was the fact that when she’d looked back, while her mother was on her knees working the front of his pants open, Pete had been staring straight at her.
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The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2 Page 70
