Pieces of Rhys

by L. D. Davis

  "I'm going to freak out because you're telling me not to freak out!"

  "Calm down," he said soothingly.

  "You calm down!"

  Ignoring my ridiculous command, he said "When you were in the shower yesterday Ignacio showed me something out in the garden. Some of your plants had been trampled and destroyed."

  "A deer?" I asked hopefully.

  He gave me a quick "Don't be an idiot" glance before continuing. "There were footprints all through that area and more under windows. There were more today."

  "Ohhh," I groaned and put my head between my knees. "I'm going to barf."

  "It may not mean anything," he reached out and rubbed my back.

  "You tell my brother? Is that what you were talking about?"

  "Some of it, yes. I told your dad, too."

  "Is that truck still behind us?" I peeked up at his face.

  "No," he said, but seemed more worried than before. "We're almost home."

  "How did we go from you asking my dad for my hand in marriage to being stalked by a pyschopath?"

  "What makes you think I asked your dad that? That wouldn't even make sense - I haven't even kissed you in more than half a year."

  "You're confident that I'll want you as much as you want me," I said.

  "Confident?" He snorted. "Not at all. I'm terrified you're finished with me."

  "Don't be ridiculous," I snapped. "You know that I can't resist you, so stop playing dumb. That's why my dad was showing you off like the trophy son-in-law today."

  "Your grandmother thinks we'll have pretty babies."

  "She'll call them fat and give them a complex."

  "Much like you do to my cat."

  "Our cat, fiance. Do you think he's still out there? What if you weren't here? I'd be alone!"

  "Ignacio wouldn't have left you alone."

  "I guess not. He is in love with me."

  "I told you. Look, we're almost to your house. Do you feel better?"

  "No! My nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away and it's dark and rainy and there's so many places for a psychopath to hide!"

  "So you accept my proposal?" Rhys asked.

  "What proposal! You proposed to my dad, not me."

  "Will you marry me?"

  "Such an odd proposal," I complained. "Our relationship hasn't exactly been normal - or functional."

  "Will you marry me or not?" He pressed.

  I wanted to answer, but I was distracted by the headlights that were racing out of a meadow to our left. It all happened so quickly, but as the vehicle hurtled towards us, I tried to come up with rational reasons why lights would be coming from a normally empty piece of land: a midnight mower, midnight farming, aliens, cows causing a ruckus.

  We were hit so hard on the driver's side, the car began to roll. It flipped over and over and over. If this had been an amusement park ride, it may have been fun. But it was real life, so unfun. My whole body ached like nothing I ever experienced before. I felt like I had just flipped over four times in a sedan.

  I was struggling to stay concious as I tried to focus my eyes on my companion. When my eyes finally did focus, I wished I was really blind. Rhys's head and face was a bloody mess. I didn't know if he was dead or alive.

  I fumbled with my seatbelt for what seemed like forever before it released me. Just as I reached for Rhys, strong arms were around my waist, violently pulling me through the shattered window and out into the rain.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  After being forceably removed from the broken vehicle, I blacked out, mostly because my kidnapper had cold cocked me.

  When I started to reach conciousness again, I felt motion, like I was riding in a car or a truck. After some struggling, I was able to open my eyes and focus a few minutes after that.

  "Gary, you asshole," I said hoarsely and tasting blood on my lips. "What are you doing?"

  "You didn't tell me you were leaving," he said in a quietly menacing voice.

  "Newsflash: I didn't have to tell you anything. We're divorced."

  A sickening evil smile appeared on his face. "You think that completely absolves you? I will always own you, Lindsey."

  "I'm not a car, or a piece of property, Gary."

  "You're mine, nonetheless," he said. "It took me some time to find you. You didn't change your license over, your mail was being forwarded to your parents, and you weren't using your credit cards."

  "Man. I thought I was a stalker. You've got me beat."

  "Know how I found you?"

  "How?" I asked as if I were in suspense.

  "I found a newspaper article in the paper, with a picture of you, your itty bitty farm, and your Italian slave boy."

  Every Friday, since my store opened, I delivered produce to the women's shelter a few towns over. One or two Fridays a month, I also helped the women start and maintain their own gardens, for therapeutic reasons, but also because raising their own food helped offset the costs of feeding families within the shelter. A few other farmer's markets were already doing something similar. I guess I got recognized because I had so very little in comparison to most, but was willing to give anyway.

  "Okay, so you tracked me down through a newspaper article. Impressive, but I wasn't exactly in hiding. A half brained monkey could have found me. So, now you have me. Now what? If you think I'm going to make this easy for you, you're even crazier than I thought."

  "First thing's first," he said and in a flash his fist connected with my mouth. "Stop talking to me like I'm some kind of idiot!"

  "But you are some kind of idiot!" I yelled and spat blood onto the floor. "You almost killed me! You may have killed Rhys and you're kidnapping me - and everyone will know it's you. I'd say you're an idiot!"

  He didn't respond, but his face was hard with fury.

  "What do you want from me?" I asked after a minute or so.

  "For once I want you to want me as much as I want you!"

  I stared at him, surprised by his words.

  "How could I want you?" I whispered. "You don't know how to love. You beat me almost every day for years. How could I want you?"

  "You make me hurt you," he said through gritted teeth.

  "I don't love you, Gary," I said vehemently. "Take me home!"

  "I'll make you love me again."

  "I'd rather die."

  "You don't mean that."

  "I love someone else. I'm marrying someone else. I don't love you, I'll never love you, and I'm not sure I've ever loved you. I really would rather die than to love you, or be anywhere near you. I hate you, Gary."

  I thought maybe he was ignoring me. He turned the truck off of the main road and down the lane of an abondoned property. The dirt road was about a mile long and lead to literally nowhere. The house that used to be there was leveled years before I arrived. The property was overgrown with grass, bushes, and weeds. He stopped when the road ended.

  He turned the truck off and got out, pulling me along with him. I tried to fight him, because I knew when I got out, I would not be getting back in. But Gary, as you know, plays dirty. He brandished a wickedly sharp kitchen knife - my kitchen knife from my kitchen - and didn't hesitate to stab me in the side.

  I screamed bloody murder. There was no pain for me to compare this to. He held the knife there, looking intimately at my face. While the knife was still buried inside of me, he kissed me gently on the lips. When he pulled the knife out I screamed again.

  He dragged me from the truck, back into the dark, rainy night and half carried me deeper into the property. After we walked for a few minutes, he threw me to the ground. Instinct made me try to crawl away, but he stabbed me again, in almost the same place. I fell face first into the mud, writhering in agony. He rolled me onto my back and pinned my arms down.

  "Are you sure you'd rather die, Lindsey?" He asked, touching my face.

  I already felt like I was dying, and I was scared as hell, but I tried a different tactic.

  "No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll go with
you."

  "You don't mean that," he said, poking the knife at my chest.

  "Please!" I screamed, terrified. "I'll do whatever you want me to!"

  He looked at me for a long moment as rain beat down on us.

  "Okay."

  He yanked me to my feet and I cried out in pain, but managed to walk back to the truck. He opened the driver's door to push me inside. I turned so that I was sliding in backward, butt first, cringing at the pain.

  When I had some leverage by holding onto the steering wheel and the seat, I gathered all of the strength I had and kicked Gary in the balls. The pain of that movement almost made me pass out, but I couldn't stop. While he was grabbing at his balls, I lifted myself higher into the truck, screaming at the pain, and kicked him in the face, breaking his nose. He stumbled backward and I scrambled inside and slammed and locked the door. I then reached across and locked the other door.

  Dumbass left the keys in the ignition. Sobbing hysterically from pain and terror, I started the truck and threw it in reverse. Gary clung to the truck as I turned it around, bleeding, shouting, and trying to beat in the window. When I was facing the right way, I floored the truck and Gary fell off. I didn't know if I ran him over or not, but I hoped I did.

  As I raced towards the road, I could only think of Rhys. What if he died and I never gave him his answer? I didn't even get a chance to kiss him again.

  I sped up, and when I flew onto the main road, I hit a police car.

  Oops.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I think every person I knew was squeezed into my house: my parents, my brother and his family, Grandma, Kit, Nicole and Adrian (yes, that happened) Phil, and a very pregnant Freduriel, Jake and preggo Veronica, Anne, Rita, Ignacio, Rhys, and Fat Joe.

  My dad was right. I found a way to fill the house. I just had to get stalked by my crazy ex-husband, crashed into, kidnapped, stabbed, and then crash into a cop who happened to be looking for me anyway. The police officer had minor injuries and didn't give me a ticket for reckless driving.

  Ignacio had been out looking for me when he happened upon my accident with the cop. Before anymore police could arrive, he took off down the dirt lane to find Gary. He found Gary, and then Gary was really sorry to be found. The police didn't question how Gary ended up with his numerous injuries.

  Rhys was amazingly lucky. The impact alone could have killed him, but he only had a mild concussion, some extremely bruised ribs, and other minor injuries.

  When Gary stabbed me, he had just missed vital organs, but I still had to have surgery to repair the damage. I had a painful bruise across my chest and lap from the seatbelt, and some other bruising and scrapes and cuts, but I was okay.

  My house was buzzing with activity for almost two weeks after the incident before it started to die down. Everyone flew back home, except for Anne and Rhys. Ignacio was always there, because he had to take care of the mini farm while I was out of commission, but he and Rhys were able to tolerate one another. After another week, my mom and grandma swept Anne away to Hawaii. Ignacio stayed to himself in the yard, giving Rhys and I some much needed private time.

  "I asked you a question a few weeks ago," he said one afternoon as we lounged in my bed. "You didn't really answer."

  "I'm sorry. I got hit by a truck."

  "So did I."

  "I got kidnapped by a psycho moron."

  "Which gave you plenty of time to think."

  "I got stabbed and then ran into a cop."

  "Which should have made you rethink your life."

  "Don't you live on the east coast? Shouldn't you be on your way?" I asked him.

  "I live where ever you live," he answered.

  "What are you going to do for work? Male prostitution?"

  "Your brother helped me get an administrative position at his hospital."

  "Did he now?"

  "Yep. Any more questions?"

  "Yes. Where's my ring?"

  "In my pocket."

  I looked at him suspiciously.

  "Liar," I said. "You know it's not a ring I'll find in your pocket."

  He laughed. "No, seriously. It's in my pocket."

  I sighed and reached into his pocket.

  Oh!

  I pulled out a platinum band with a huge princess cut rock. I stared dumbly at it until Rhys took it from me.

  "Will you marry me?" He asked.

  "Yes, of course," I whispered, unable to give a snarky remark.

  He slid the ring onto my finger and gave me a toe curling, nipple hardening, panty wetting kiss.

  Afterward, he grinned and stole my line.

  "Booyah."

  The End

  Also by L.D. Davis

  Accidentally On Purpose

  Chapter One

  I was already plastered when Kyle walked into the bar. He was the last person I expected to see in this small bar, less than a mile from my home. He was the last person I wanted to see. I couldn’t even be an alcoholic in peace.

  Kyle was my boss, and a dick. There was no kind way of saying it, or at least in my plastered mind, there was no other way to say it.

  He looked around, as if he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to be in this hole in a wall. I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d turn and leave, and he almost did. Then he saw me. He hesitated for a moment, but then walked over.

  Oh shit, I thought. God, give me the strength not to break a barstool over his stupid head.

  “Emmy,” he said, sitting himself down in the stool next to me.

  “Kyle.” I surreptitiously took in his dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes while he called the barmaid over. I once thought he was cute, until he opened his mouth.

  “I’ll have whatever she’s having.” He told the bartender.

  “I’m having double shots of Hennessey.”

  “Okay. Great,” He shrugged.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, almost in an accusatory tone.

  “What are you doing here?” He looked at me.

  “I live here.”

  He smirked. “Here in this bar?”

  “I mean I live nearby. Less than a mile.”

  He nodded, stared at the drink the bartender put before him. “I was passing through.” He said quietly.

  “Passing through where? Where were you coming from?”

  “You ask a lot of questions. In fact, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk at once.”

  “Maybe you’re just not listening to my eyes and my facial expressions, because I talk a lot with those.”

  “Really,” He was amused.

  “Yeah. You should pay attention.”

  “What do you say with your eyes and facial expressions?”

  “Depends on what you said to me with that hole you call a mouth.” Another shot was put before me and I took it like a trooper. “Are you going to drink that or are you going to make love to it?”

  He gave me a full blown smile now. I had never seen anything like it on his face before and was a little taken aback.

  “You’re drunk,” he stated the obvious.

  “Yeah, and my intoxication makes you only a little less of a dick.”

  He looked at me, and I looked at him. I had no mute button tonight. He had pushed me to the edge earlier in the day, barking more orders at me than I could keep up with, and then barking some more when I didn’t complete them in a “timely manner” and then barked some more, just to hear himself be a man yelling at a woman.

  “I guess I can’t argue with you. I can’t deny it.” His smile faded and for a moment he looked sad and I felt bad, but only for a moment. He swallowed his Hennessey and his expression had changed.

  “I guess you’re not a drinker,” I said, watching his face contort from the burn.

  “Not much. Bartender, can you keep them coming? For both of us.”

  “You better eat some nuts or something, or you’re going to puke, for sure.”

  Two hours later, I was mopping puke off of my je
ans in the parking lot. At least it wasn’t chunky, and I said as much.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kyle slurred. He was looking a little on the purple side.

  “You can’t hold your liquor!” I slurred back. I threw the bar mop in a nearby trash can. I seriously doubted that Lilly, the perturbed bartender wanted the towel back. “I told you to eat some nuts!”

  “Then I’d just be throwing up nuts.”

  “That sounds funny.”

  “It sounds funny when you say nuts, too.” He dug his keys out of his pocket.

  “You can’t drive, Kyle. You’ll kill someone, maybe yourself.” I was pretty drunk, but he was way worse off than me.

  “You hate me anyway. Would it matter if I died in a fiery crash?”

  “I don’t hate you…much. But you can’t drive. I may be drunk, but I know you can’t drive.”

  “Well, how did you get here?”

  “I walked. Just come to my house for a little while until you are sober enough to drive.”

  He thought about it for a moment, and then agreed.

  Walking, I found, can be almost as dangerous as driving intoxicated. Twice Kyle stepped into the street without looking, almost getting hit by angry drivers (in New Jersey, all drivers are angry). He fell in my driveway, and when I tried to help him up, I fell down with him. I wanted to be angry, but I found myself rolling on the gravel, laughing with him, at nothing in particular. It took us a long time to get up and make it the rest of the way to the house.

  We stumbled through the foyer, down a hall, and into the family room. I didn’t turn on the light, because I was too intoxicated to think of something as brilliant as that, and both of us tripped over the coffee table and ran into the couch before collapsing onto it, giggling like little school girls.

  His head rested on my shoulder. His hair smelled edible, like strawberries. In sober times, I would have never allowed any physical contact from a tool like Kyle.

  “You’re such a tool,” I said more to myself, than to him, but he heard me anyway.

  “I know,” he sighed deeply. “But I’ve been okay tonight, though, right?” I could feel his eyes looking up at me, searching for approval.