Almost Gothic [Suncoast Socitey] (Siren Publishing Sensations)

by Tymber Dalton

  “Thank you, Mister…”

  “McElroy,” he said. “Borden McElroy.”

  “Maybe your wife or kids know them?”

  He let out a harsh-sounding laugh. “Single, and no kids. I’m alone.”

  “I know a guy named Rusty. Any relation?”

  “Yeah, that’s my older nephew, and—”

  The bastons—not the padded practice ones but the real, hard, ones—were in her hands almost before she realized it. The first shot, she took out his right knee from behind, then striking at the left and bringing him down.

  “This is for Rusty and Corey, you son of a bitch,” she growled before leaping on top of him. She dropped the bastons and rabbit-punched him in the kidneys, catching him in the nuts with her foot as he rolled onto his side in agony.

  “What—”

  She kicked him in the stomach, driving the breath from him in a gasping wheeze. “Shut up and maybe I won’t fucking kill you, asshole. Motherfucking child rapist.” Two punches to the sternum, another to his ear.

  Eliza systematically destroyed him, avoiding his face and lower arms, taking out her fury on him with sticks and fists until she stood over him and stared down at him.

  “The small intestines are over twenty feet long, on average. You so much as fucking think about calling the cops, and I’ll come back one night while you’re sleeping and disembowel you and decorate your front bushes with them. You forget you have a goddamned sister-in-law or nephews. They are officially dead to you now. Rusty will tell Samantha you called and cancelled and said you can’t take Corey fishing or go to his graduation because you’re moving from the area for work. Understand? If you so much as think about Samantha again after this, or try to contact Rusty or Corey, I will pay you another visit. You’re also going to change your number so she can’t call you. We clear?”

  He moaned, writhing in agony.

  “I fucking said, are we clear?”

  He finally nodded.

  “I suggest you move sooner rather than later. The longer it takes you, the more I’m gonna want to pay you another visit. Besides, you call the cops about this? Well, Rusty and Corey will tell the cops about the shit you put Rusty through. I’m sure there were other victims, too. Then, what I started, some eager convicts in prison will gladly finish for me. They hate fucking child rapists, asshole.”

  She took one hard, final strike against the side of his left knee with one of the bastons, the satisfying crack of bone vibrating all the way up her arm as he passed out from the pain.

  She walked down to the bathroom and flicked on the light with one of her bastons.

  She’d managed not to draw blood—another reason she’d avoided his face and head—and didn’t see any on her or her sticks, or the latex gloves she wore over her hands.

  Still, she ran a piece of toilet paper over both sticks, which came up clean. She flushed the tissue and slid the sticks into their pouch, turning the light off with her finger now that she knew the gloves didn’t have blood on them.

  Walking out to the living room, she glared at him and wondered about maybe setting up a fire. She could drag him onto the couch. He fell asleep with something on the stove and oopsies, but she knew that wouldn’t fly. Not after she’d beaten the crap out of him. That would draw more law enforcement attention.

  Maybe if I have to come back I can do that.

  She locked the doorknob and pulled it shut behind her.

  The run back to her car felt twice as long as the trip there. She snagged the keys from their hiding spot and pulled away from the curb seconds later, stripping off the gloves and cutting through a fast-food restaurant’s parking lot to drop them in a trash bin.

  Rusty was sound asleep when she returned home, grocery bags in hand. Gatorade, crackers, ginger ale, a few other tummy soothers. She hadn’t needed them, but she wanted an excuse in case it ever came out her car was seen around the neighborhood. The grocery store hadn’t been far from Borden McElroy’s house, and it’d still been open that late in the evening when the Publix they usually used closer to home was already closed.

  Maybe careless, but better than nothing.

  She dumped her clothes, her cloth sneakers, and the carry pouch for the bastons into the washer with a bunch of towels and started the wash cycle. Then she took a long, hot shower and hoped she hadn’t just ruined her life.

  Worth it.

  She had brought the bastons into the shower with her and thoroughly washed them, just in case.

  By the time she had the clothes in the dryer and the bastons dried off, her left hand hurt and she realized she must have struck bone with one of her knuckles. She hadn’t noticed it at the time, too caught up in her rage.

  She wrapped an ice pack and a dishtowel around it and walked into her room.

  Rusty lay where she’d left him.

  “I always got your back, big guy,” she whispered as she snuggled in close to him. “Don’t worry.”

  * * * *

  Early the next morning, Rusty still looked like death warmed over, and her left hand was swollen and black and blue.

  That annoyed her. She was usually far more careful than that. She winced and sucked in a hiss of pain as she tried to flex it.

  At least I have a good excuse.

  If asked, she’d tell her parents it was a bad hit during combat practice, no harm, no foul. Wasn’t like she didn’t always have bruises on her somewhere, between SCA, LARPing, and her martial arts classes.

  It was also a great alibi if the cops contacted her.

  In the cold light of dawn, she knew she’d let her anger get the better of her.

  Except…when she thought how close she’d come to losing Rusty…

  Worth it.

  She’d do it again, in a heartbeat.

  Rusty let out a soft groan as he tried to move. “Fuck,” he muttered. “What the hell?”

  “You hit the spiked punch and it hit back hard, barbarian.”

  “I guess so.” He slowly cracked his eyes open. “How’d I get here?”

  “I drove us home. My parents are gone until tonight, remember?”

  She imagined he was replaying the night in his head, and she spotted the exact moment he reached the part where he remembered he’d confessed everything to her.

  “Eliza—”

  “Shh. Don’t worry about it. Your uncle is out of the picture.”

  “I wish.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him.

  He frowned and slowly pushed himself until he was sitting up. “What happened?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Eliza—”

  “Do. Not. Ask. Tell your mom he called and cancelled. Turns out he has to move because of work. That’s all you need to know.”

  He saw her hand and reached for it, lightly brushed his fingers over the bruised swelling before his green gaze bored into hers. “I promise I’ll never ask you again, but I need to know. This is serious. If he…presses charges or something.”

  “He won’t.” She wasn’t confident, but she needed him to think she was.

  Rusty didn’t release her hand. “Please.”

  “On the way home from the party, we stopped at the grocery store so I could run in and get stuff for your stomach. You waited in the car. Then I was here with you all night.”

  He let out a sigh and cocked his head at her, meaning he would wait her out.

  Against her better judgement, she finally admitted she’d paid Borden a visit.

  But she refused to tell him what she’d done.

  His fingers lightly played over the bruises, in a way that made her hand feel better, not worse. “We were here all night after the grocery run,” he said.

  She slipped her other hand into his hair, her fingers sinking into it. “That’s right. Stupid me, I did this during practice yesterday with you and the guys. We noticed it later, while at the party. We fell asleep watching TV.”

  He folded her into his arms and kissed her. Not like he was mauling her, or
trying to get her interested in sexy time.

  A knight and his Lady.

  He tucked his head against her shoulder, his face pressed against her neck. “I love you, Ma’am,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

  “That’s my job, to chase the nightmares away, right? To keep watch so my sweet Knight can sleep well. I promise.”

  She felt his tears but didn’t say anything, knowing how pulled apart he was right now. “Yeah.”

  Stroking the back of his head, she held him, letting him silently cry against her.

  Now she wished she had killed the fucker.

  When he finally pulled himself together, Rusty sat back and sniffled. “You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”

  “I’ll never tell anyone. Unless you tell me to.”

  He held her left hand again, that sweet, gentle touch of his. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the bruises. His voice dropped into his character’s voice, but this was Rusty, from his heart, despite the British accent.

  “My life, my love, my oath, M’lady.”

  Maybe it was the only way he knew how to tell her.

  A pleasant shiver rippled through her. Suddenly, she could imagine them together, twenty, forty, sixty years from now, just like this.

  And she was good with that.

  Really good.

  She waited until he looked up again, his gaze meeting hers.

  She met him there, in the field of combat, with her character’s voice. The fun shadows. The gothic hall their needs played within. “Forever mine, valiant knight? Heart and soul and body to me, forever? Your troth?”

  “Forever,” he whispered across her swollen knuckles, kissing her hand again as his gaze never left hers. “For as long as M’lady wishes me to be in her service.”

  “Then forever it shall be. Your pledge is gladly accepted.” She turned her hand in his and forced herself not to wince. Then she brought his hand to her lips, lightly biting the fleshy side of his hand under his pinky finger before kissing it. “Sealed with blood and honor.”

  Her whole body felt alive in a way she’d never known before.

  His gaze bored into hers, intense.

  Earnest. “Sealed with blood and honor, M’lady.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Now

  “He was indigent,” Ed told Eliza. “No assets.”

  She sat in his office that Wednesday afternoon and stared at the small cardboard box sitting on his desk. “What about his personal possessions?”

  “Unless you want a used toothbrush, a pair of slippers, and a hospital gown, there weren’t any. I made a judgment call. You’re welcome.”

  “What happened to his stuff before he got there?”

  He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. They couldn’t tell me much before his arrival there. He’d been in another facility before, but they weren’t a lock-down facility with an Alzheimer’s ward. Before he arrived, he was still ambulatory for a couple of months. I did run a search on state unclaimed funds and his name doesn’t come up. Basically, that’s it.” He pointed to the box which held the urn, a plastic one like the one Cali had purchased for Lydia.

  The cheapest one.

  “Anything needing signatures?” she asked.

  “Nope. I handled it all for you with the power of attorney.”

  “How much?”

  He handed her the statement and she pulled her checkbook from her purse.

  “Is Rusty okay?” Ed asked.

  “Yeah. He’ll be better once I finish dealing with this.”

  “I’m guessing he didn’t like his uncle?”

  “Ha! That’s an understatement.” She wrote out the check and ripped it from the checkbook to hand to him.

  “I’m guessing he doesn’t want to talk about any of this?”

  “He has his reasons.”

  “Not a problem, just making sure.”

  After returning the checkbook to her purse, she leaned forward, lifted the urn from the box, and shook it. “Now to figure out what to do about it.”

  “Flush them?”

  “I’m going to let Rusty have input. That’s probably too mundane for what this asshole deserves. And floating around in the ocean’s also too good for him.”

  “Sounds like he was a charming fellow.”

  “Sarcasm won’t get you into my pants, Ed.” She smiled. “But it’ll come close.”

  He chuckled. “I love you guys, you know that, right?”

  “That’s just because Kaden put up with us and our fun flavor of crazy.” She thumped the urn, a dull plastic sound. “Hope the barbarian comes up with something spectacular,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I hope he finds closure.”

  “That makes two of us, believe me.”

  She left the urn in the cargo area of her SUV. She didn’t even want the sonofabitch in her house.

  Period.

  Maybe it was a little irrational, because he was now reduced to a baggy full of ashes, but she wouldn’t disrespect Rusty’s trauma by bringing it inside.

  She also wouldn’t bother him by telling him she had them yet. That could wait until he was home. He’d had a good weekend and several good days. Tomorrow they’d be heading to Tampa to help Cali, Sean, and Max, after helping them load at their place.

  The guy was dead.

  He damn sure could fucking wait.

  And she needed to get them packed.

  * * * *

  Rusty left work a little early and brought dinner home, Chinese takeout. After dinner, he cleaned up the kitchen while Eliza stretched out on the couch. By the time he was finished, he realized she’d dozed off.

  He stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at where she lay curled on her side on the couch, still seeing the beautiful girl he couldn’t believe had fallen for him.

  Had fought for him.

  Had probably come closer than anyone suspected of nearly killing for him.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that he knew she needed the sleep because of the weekend they had ahead of them, he would have walked over, dropped to the floor next to her, and rested his head next to hers.

  You saved me, Ma’am.

  He never knew if she understood how literally he meant those words to her. Somehow, Fate had brought Eliza into his life, saving it.

  Saving him.

  He never gave a shit what people thought about his relationship with and to her, either. He didn’t care if people scoffed at him behind his back, or didn’t understand why he gave over to her in all ways.

  They didn’t know him, not really.

  Only three people truly knew what he’d endured, and one of them, she’d almost killed, and he was dead anyway.

  Maybe he and Corey should have had a talk, but between losing their mom and trying to get by, those conversations fell to the wayside because Borden had been out of their lives and no longer a threat. Rusty suspected the whole situation might have fueled his brother’s unhealthy relationship with food, but they didn’t speak about that, either.

  Some demons should never be raised, even if the process was meant to kill them.

  Especially when they still wielded enough power to kill you in the process.

  This was one of them.

  Guess that answers my question.

  He pulled on a pair of shorts to take Boo out for a walk, taking his phone with him so he could call Kailey. They’d shielded her from the kinky stuff growing up, but she knew in no uncertain terms that her mom ruled their house.

  That Rusty was happiest like that.

  Kailey couldn’t talk long, because she was getting ready to teach a trap lesson. He gave her a heads-up they would be out of town for the weekend so she wouldn’t worry if they didn’t respond to a call or text right away. Then he got Boo inside, started a load of laundry, and then contemplated the packed bags in their living room.

  They would take Eliza’s SUV, but he wanted to be up and moving in the morning without having to deal with packing
their own stuff. They’d promised Cali they’d be there by nine, and they had to load Boo up to take to Rebecca’s for the weekend.

  I’d better get her car ready.

  She usually had a gym bag in the back, or implements, or sneakers, or…something.

  He wasn’t expecting to see the box with the plastic canister sitting there when he opened the back hatch.

  Dark, icy slime crawled up his guts and shriveled his balls despite the eighty-degree heat outside. He fought the urge to slam the hatch closed and run.

  He’s dead. He’s powerless.

  The last time he’d had to endure his uncle’s attention had been an overnight shift his mom had to work to get overtime while covering for a friend, and the neighbors next door weren’t going to be home.

  They’d had to stay at his uncle’s house. Rusty had just turned thirteen and he’d desperately hoped that night his uncle might not show up in the middle of the night, waking him to take him to his bedroom.

  Knowing if he didn’t go Borden would simply go after Corey.

  And the lock on Borden’s guest room door didn’t work.

  The ever-present implied threats from the man that it’d be a shame if their mom lost custody of them.

  The smell of the cigarette smoke on his breath. He always smoked one right before, and still, to that day, Rusty had a hard time not gagging if he got an accidental whiff of smoke.

  It was four months later the next time their mom needed to work overnight, and Rusty finally convinced her he was old enough to babysit Corey. That they didn’t need their uncle.

  Maybe she was just so tired she missed the desperation in his voice, how close he’d come to crying as he begged her to let him do it.

  From that point on, Rusty had been able to dodge his uncle, both of them had. The older they got, the more their mom worked nights when she could, the pay better. Rusty would turn the ringers off on the phone in the daytime, and delete messages from Borden without telling her.

  If he called at night, Rusty got him off the phone as soon as possible.

  They were always “busy.”

  Rusty also saved up money, taking his lunch instead of buying it, and changed the locks on their house himself, swapping his mom’s house key while she was asleep.