She racked her brain for words that would appeal to Wesley’s special brand of snobbery. With bub-bleheaded viciousness, she denigrated her apartment and its furnishings, spouted bigotry that lambasted James and her cherished friends, talked of designer fashions until she feared he would demand to see her wardrobe—which would be nothing short of disastrous. Regularly interspersing the sundry slander, she bemoaned the dearth of social nightlife in Seattle for all the world as if it were the only subject her little brain could retain for more than five minutes running. She lied with a fluency that astonished her, and for nearly fifteen minutes, she kept him at bay.
Wesley lounged on the couch, smiling slightly as he listened to her.
She never afterward could pin down where she had gone wrong. Perhaps she’d simply been whistling in the dark from start to finish. Wesley was so twisted it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he’d merely been stringing her along for his own perverted amusement, simply to see how far she would go.
Eventually, he interrupted her monologue. “You know, don’t you,” he inquired with a charming smile, “that you have to be punished.”
Aunie’s conversation dried up. Wesley patted the cushion next to him. “Come here.”
She edged away. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Remember the last time you defied me?” he said gently. “I didn’t let you get away with it then and I won’t allow it now.”
“Times change, Wesley.” Emotions gone numb, she turned her back to him and headed for an area where she’d have room to maneuver.
He caught up with her, of course; she didn’t for a moment expect otherwise. Mind clicking furiously through remembered instructions, demonstrations, and those hated practical applications of theory James had forced on her, her only thought was to give a good accounting of herself before she went down. She was going to hang on long enough for help to arrive for Greta-Leigh, and she was going to deal some pain of her own. Of that, she was determined.
Damn his eyes for arriving just when she was beginning to believe she could attain a little happiness of her own.
He grabbed her from behind, roughly grasping her arms. She’d thought she was beyond fear or anger, beyond feelings of any sort, but adrenaline surged through her veins. In her ear, James’s voice whispered with blunt gruffness.
Your natural instinct is to pull away, it said. Dammit, are you listening to me? If he grabs you from behind don’t try to lunge forward out of his hold, Magnolia. Step back into it.
She did as she’d been taught. Stepping back she snapped her arms wide and broke his hold. Whirling, she chopped at his Adam’s apple with stiffened fingers. His legs collapsed beneath him, and while he clutched his throat and gasped for breath, she danced away, looking around her for anything that could be used as a weapon. God, if only the baby were close enough to grab, they could be out of here.
She was going for the nearest lamp when he tackled her. She tried to kick her feet free, but he clung, tripping her up, and they crashed to the floor. Aunie had the farthest to fall and she was momentarily stunned as she slammed onto her back on the planked hardwood, the wind knocked out of her. Wesley scrambled up to kneel astride her and slapped her hard across the face. At the apex of his swing, he immediately reversed his arm and backhanded her with vicious strength, snapping her head to the side.
As she struggled to catch a breath, her chin slowly swiveled back to face him and she stared up at him through watering eyes. Her only satisfaction was in the knowledge that at least he was no longer smiling with that insufferable smugness. Arrogance was ingrained in him up to his well-groomed eyebrows, however. He hadn’t even bothered to secure her hands.
She reached down to where he knelt over her, grabbed at his crotch, and squeezed with all her might. Wesley roared with outraged pain, rained blows about her head until her grasp loosened, and then he toppled to his side. He kicked her in the hip as he fell over.
One of the blows had most likely broken her nose and the blood flowing over her mouth and gurgling in her throat almost succeeded in throwing her into a blind panic. It revived terrifying memories of that other night when pain and choking humiliation were dark companions, resurrected a degrading sensation of helpless submissiveness. Aunie’s reasoning abilities began to cloud and she whimpered. She might have been lost entirely if from the corner of her eye she hadn’t seen Wesley, still curled in a ball with his hands protectively cupping his genitals, smile with satisfaction at the sound of her distress.
No, dammit! She swiped ineffectually at her mouth, spit out all the blood she could clear from her throat, and pushed to her knees. She dragged herself to the end table and fumbled for the lamp. He wasn’t going to win that easily. Damned if he was. Her hands closed around the ceramic base and she jerked, ripping the plug from the socket. Sobbing for breath, she sat back on her heels for a second, hugging the lamp to her breast.
Pain radiated along her nerve endings and she was slower than Wesley to regain her feet. His hand twisted in her hair just as she was straightening and he swung her around. When he suddenly let go, she stumbled dizzily, crashing against the fireplace. The lamp slid from her grasp, breaking harmlessly upon the floor.
Wading through the mess, Wesley grasped her by her shirtfront. He waved a broken shard of lamp in her face and then lowered it from view. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she gasped as she felt her blouse slice apart.
“Beg me not to hurt you,” he demanded. A lust for power burned in his eyes as he caressed her from throat to breast with the broken ceramic.
Aunie tried to make herself smaller. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t …” She cried out at the sharp sting of the two shallow cuts he slashed on her upper chest. There was a sensation of wetness as tiny beads of blood welled up within the lacerations.
“Whoops,” he murmured. “Guess you weren’t quick enough.” He smiled at her and raised the brittle fragment so she could see it once again. He made several passes with it in front of her face. Aunie’s eyes followed its hypnotic, weaving progress back and forth.
“You’re not so pretty now, are you?” he crooned. “Not so fucking high and mighty.” He casually nicked her face with the jagged ceramic tip once, twice, and she clawed his wrists frantically.
The pain of her digging nails made him tighten his hold on the improvised weapon and it cut into his palm. Snarling, he dropped it. “You goddamn bitch!” He stepped back and kneed her in the stomach, slapping at her head, neck, and shoulders with both hands. Aunie doubled over, retching.
Her ears were ringing, and at first she didn’t comprehend what made Wesley go so still. Then she heard it, too. Their battle had awakened Greta-Leigh.
“What the—?” Wesley twisted his hand in Aunie’s hair once again and jerked her to him. Herding her along in front of him, his grasp arching her neck to an awkward angle, he marched them down the tiny hall to her bedroom. He kicked open the door and shoved her roughly. Aunie stumbled into the room.
She stared numbly as he walked over to the bed. He ripped the phone on the nightstand out of the wall. “Well, well, well,” he said pleasantly, staring down at the wailing infant. “Aunie’s had herself a pickaninny. Why is it I’m not surprised?”
“She’s not mine,” Aunie replied weakly. Oh, God, she prayed. Please, please watch over her. He’s so crazy and she’s only a little baby; don’t let him hurt her. Summoning strength, she said in a more energetic voice. “I’m watching her for the woman downstairs. She’s been ill, and she had to go to the doctor.”
Wesley looked unconvinced. He picked up a pillow and gazed down at the infant consideringly. Aunie felt panic claw at her throat. “Look at her, Wesley!” she cried in desperation. “She’s not even a week old. Do Ah look as though I just gave birth? Have you noticed any baby things in this apartment?”
She didn’t fully breathe again until he let the pillow drop to the bed. “Shut her up,” he snapped.
Aunie picked up Greta-Leigh and cradled
her in her arms. She sat on the side of the bed and talked soothingly to the child. When the frantic cries began to subside, Aunie searched for and found her pacifier. She slipped it into the baby’s mouth.
“Let’s go,” Wesley said peremptorily. Aunie started to set Greta-Leigh back in her nest on her bed, but he stopped her, saying, “No. Bring the brat along.”
His hand clamped painfully on the back of Aunie’s neck and he shoved her along ahead of him. In the dining room, he scraped out a chair and pushed her onto the seat. Turning sideways so he could keep an eye on her, he yanked up the wooden miniblinds. Aunie blinked against the sudden strong glare.
Wesley looked out into the quiet neighborhood for a moment. Then he opened a window and whirled back to Aunie. Before she could divine his intentions, he had grabbed the baby from her arms and was dangling her out the window, only his hands on her waist supporting her. Aunie screamed.
Wesley glared at her over his shoulder. “You’ve got a choice, you faithless slut,” he said between his teeth. “You can continue to defy me … in which case, I’ll fucking kill this little black bastard.”
Aunie’s eyes never left Greta-Leigh, who was beginning to scream in rage. Sickness filled her throat as she watched the pacifier tumble from the baby’s mouth and drop from sight. “Don’t hurt her, Wesley.”
“Beg, you bitch.”
“Please!”
“You through fighting?”
“Yes.” Her head bowed, the weight of it suddenly unbearable, abruptly much too heavy for her slender neck to support. “You can do whatever you want to me; I’ll do anything you say. Just don’t hurt the baby.”
“All right. That’s more like it.” He brought his hands back inside the window and passed Greta-Leigh carelessly to his ex-wife. “Put her on the couch. And don’t even think of tryin’ to get cute with me, bitch.”
Aunie cuddled the baby to her breast. For the first time since Wesley’s entrance, tears filled her eyes and spilled over. “I’m so sorry, sweetie pie,” she whispered into the baby’s hair. “So sorry.” It sickened her to see this innocent child smeared with her blood. Carefully, she laid her on the couch and propped a pillow next to her to prevent her from falling off.
“Now, get back here.”
Aunie wiped her mouth once again, and then wiped the blood from her hands against the seat of her jeans. With a start of surprise, she felt the wooden handle of the paring knife in her back pocket. She had forgotten about it. Wesley grabbed her and dragged her over to the window before she could formulate a plan that would incorporate it. He studied her misshappen face in the strong light.
“You look like shit,” he said. He rummaged through her purse with one hand and pulled out a lipstick. Holding her by a handful of hair, he slashed the red gloss over her mouth and one cheek. Tossing it aside, he shoved her into the kitchen.
“Make me that tea,” he snapped. He stood in the doorway and surveyed the room. “Make one move for those knives,” he warned her, “and I’ll snap the brat’s neck before you clear the blade from the holder. Push ‘em back.” She complied. “Further.” She shoved the wooden holder to the far corner of the counter. “Good. Now, get your butt back over here and make me a cup of tea.”
Aunie turned the burner back up under the pan of simmering water. She opened an overhead cupboard and pulled down a small box of Earl Grey tea bags. Selecting one, she set it down and opened another cupboard for a china cup and saucer. Her field of vision was rapidly narrowing as her eyes swelled shut. “Do you want lemon?”
“No.”
“Cookies?” She was stalling for time.
“Why not?” He surveyed her with arrogant satisfaction. “We’ll have a fucking tea party. For one. You, of course, are not invited, except to serve.” When her carefully schooled face failed to register any reaction, he looked away angrily. His mind searched furiously for a new way to torment her. “This place is a dump.”
Aunie grabbed the handle of the pan and tossed the scalding water in his face. Wesley screamed, clawing at his eyes. He sank to his knees, but even blinded, he managed to obstruct her exit from the narrow kitchen. One of his arms hooked around her calf, preventing her escape, and he tugged hard, throwing her off balance. She toppled over, landing half on top of him.
One of his hands fumbled along her body until it attached to her throat. Muttering promises of a long, tortuous death, he squeezed. Whimpering, Aunie fumbled the paring knife from her back pocket and slashed blindly at his arm. She shuddered as she felt the warmth of his blood join her own, but at least his grip loosened. She stumbled to her feet and ran for her life. Snatching Greta-Leigh from the couch, she raced out the door.
His obscene, screamed threats reverberated in her ears as she slammed it shut behind her.
CHAPTER 19
“Pregnant!” Lola muttered for the fifteenth time as she stared moodily out the car window. James grinned, and noticing, she scowled at him. “You think that’s amusin’? I tried for four years to have a baby. Four years, mon! So I give up, we adopt Greta-Leigh, and what happens? In less than eight months I’m gonna have two childrens under a year old. Wait ‘til Otis hears about this—the mon’s gonna have a heart attack!”
James brought the Jeep to a stop at a red light and reached for the tiny jeweler’s box on the dashboard. He snapped it open and stared with satisfaction at the slender gold wedding band nestled within. He ran his thumb over its narrow row of five diamonds. He had purchased it while waiting for Lola to emerge from her appointment. There was a risk Aunie couldn’t ignore.
He forced his attention back to Lola. “It never occurred to you it was morning sickness making you toss your cookies the past coupla days, I take it.”
“No, you fool mon, it didn’t! I was sick in the middle of the afternoon. Mornin’s I felt great.” Lola turned her head to glare at him, obviously in no mood for humor. “The light’s turned green, James,” she informed him and put her hand out peremptorily. “Here. Let me see that.”
“Mercy, mercy me!” she said in admiration a moment later. “And me widout my shades!”
“Y’ don’t think it’s too gaudy, do you?” he queried her anxiously. Restrained taste was not, after all, something they taught in the Terrace.
“No, mon, I think it’s beautiful. As dainty and elegant as Aunie herself. She’s goin’ to love it, James.”
He hoped she was right.
They lucked into a parking space only a few houses down from the apartment building. James came around the hood of the Jeep and assisted Lola from the car. “Looks like Bobby’s here,” he commented, nodding toward the Harley parked on the pathway. He was smiling at her continued grumbling as he ushered her into the building, knowing that once she felt better she would probably be thrilled with the doctor’s report. But the strident beeping of the alarm that greeted their ears the moment she opened her front door wiped every trace of amusement from his face.
“Oh, Jesus,” he whispered. He pushed Lola toward the phone. “Call 911!”
He took the stairs two at a time, bellowing Aunie’s name as he hit the second floor hallway.
“Jimmy?” Bob stumbled out of the apartment, his color pasty. “Jesus, I’m glad you’re here. It looks like there was a massacre in there …”
James shoved past him into the apartment. He halted abruptly in the entrance to the living room, reeling back against his brother’s solid bulk as he came up behind him.
The room was torn apart, the lighter pieces of furniture overturned, lamps and small knicknacks scattered and broken. One of the dining area windows stood wide open, and on several surfaces throughout the apartment were drying smears and coagulating pools of blood. Its strong metallic scent mingled with an aroma of something scorched. “Where is she?” When Bob didn’t immediately answer, he turned on him, gripping his shirtfront. “Where the fuck is she!”
“I don’t know, Jimmy. I just got here a few minutes ago, myself.” Bob grasped his brother’s shoulders. “There’s
somethin’ you’d better see.” He guided him further into the room.
The man’s body was sprawled out on the dining area floor, one leg stretched into the kitchen doorway. A track of blood indicated he’d dragged himself from that room. The scorched smell was stronger there, and James stepped over the prostrate form. He turned off a burner that glowed red and then turned back to squat next to the man. Nudging him over onto his back, he reached for a pulse.
Bobby hunkered down across from him. “Is he dead?”
“I can’t feel a heartbeat.”
“Jesus, look at his face,” Bob said, staring at the red and blistered skin. “Do you have any idea who it is?”
“Cunningham, I think,” James said, glancing up at his brother. “Aunie’s ex. Bobby, have you checked the bedroom?”
“Yeah. No one’s there.”
“Oh shit, man, where is she?”
“Jimmy …” Bob hesitated, looking over at the opened window. “I, uh, haven’t looked out there.”
Lola arrived just then. She stopped in the doorway, took one look at the destruction to Aunie’s apartment, smelled the blood, saw the body the two men squatted next to, and fled to the bathroom where she was sick. James stood. He had to force himself to walk over to the window. Bracing himself, he looked out, and his knees sagged in relief when there was nothing to see. Head hanging, he had to clutch the windowsill to keep himself upright as he gulped air deep into his lungs.
Gradually, he pulled himself together. If ever there were a moment when it was crucial to remain levelheaded and utilize his intelligence, it was now. He met Lola outside the bathroom and ushered her from the apartment, Bob trailing behind them.
“Where are they, James?” Lola begged to know. “Where’s Aunie and my baby?”
“I don’t know, Lola. But we’ll find them.” He drew another deep breath and shoveled his hand through his hair. “Did you call 911?”
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