Fighting Back (Mercy's Angels)

by Kirsty Dallas

  * * *

  I don’t know what it was that dragged me from my blissful oblivion. Perhaps a noise, or maybe something as simple as raw human instinct screaming at me that something wasn’t right. As my heavy, sleep laden body slowly roused to wakefulness, I noticed a dark figure looming at the end of my bed, slamming my mind quickly into sharp reality. Though my mind was now alert, my body lagged behind, and before I could move, the unfamiliar figure crushed me into the soft mattress. My wrists were quickly pinned to my sides and I was face to face with a nightmare hovering above me, staring at me with blatant rage. I tried to move my arms, but they were pinned down too tight to the bed. All fatigue from my slumbering body was gone, replaced with full blown fear. Instinct kicked in and I began to struggle against the heavy figure. It was definitely a him, I could feel it pressed against my thigh and horror filled my veins. His face was covered with a ski mask, and only his eyes were visible, the white a startling contrast against the black surrounding them. He ripped at my flannel pajama top, the buttons flung off in all directions. Under the muted feeling of disbelief, I realized what was happening and I screamed with a manic fury I never thought I possessed. One of my hands had become free as my attacker wrestled with my clothing and I tried to push him away. A heavy blow to the side of my face killed all sound and movement instantly. One meaty hand gathered my small wrists above my head as he continued to maul my body. A big hard hand grabbed at my breast and squeezed so hard I couldn’t contain the whimper of pain that escaped my lips. He was now grappling at the waistband of my pajama bottoms, and the violation and vulnerability of this situation made bile rise in my throat. No, I would not be sick and I would not wig out when my life depended on me being strong right now. I wouldn’t go down without a fight and I would make this fucker wish he had never been born with a dick. Raising my knee, I tried to kick him, but I missed—he had me pinned too hard against the bed. Taking a deep breath, as his too eager, too desperate hands tried to reach into my pants, I screamed again. Surely that would wake the dead, the sound was frightening and unrecognizable to even my own ears. The scream was again lost to another sharp slap to my face, followed by another and another. Even though my mind was cloudy and my eyes had darkened for a moment, I instinctively continued to fight, bucking under his heavy weight. His hand ripped at my panties, his fingers grabbing with frantic violence at my most sacred of places, pushing into me with a relentless force that stung with sharp pain.

  “Noooooo!” I screamed as my body bucked and thrashed, fighting for all that it was worth. In an attempt to hold me down, his hand left my wrists. Now partially free, I slammed my fists into his face. Scratching, hitting and tearing at the looming horror before me, tears blurred my vision momentarily. Somehow he tugged my pajama bottoms from my hips, and my panties were torn aside. “Noooooo!” I screamed again, so loud my throat felt instantly raw. He fumbled with his own pants, trying desperately to free himself. In one last ditched effort, I lifted my hands and dug my thumbs into those hate filled eyes. For the first time since I woke to this stranger above me, he let out a noise, an animalistic growl. He levered himself off of me a little, his fist pulled back ready to strike. With the small space between us, I found enough room to raise my knee and I rammed it into his hard dick. He groaned and fell beside me, giving me an opportunity to scramble from the bed, my clothes hanging off my body like shredded rags. Not even stopping to think, I bolted from the room and stumbled over furniture as I ran blindly through my house. With the front door only a few feet before me now, I lunged forward, freedom and safety within my grasp.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you,” came a roar from behind me. He slammed me against the front door and the air left my lungs in a sharp, painful hiss.

  “Rebecca?” The pounding on the other side of the door caught my attention and I slammed my hand against the wood, unable to speak as my lungs begged for air. The stranger at my back became immobile against me. His muffled breath was hot against my cheek and, for some weird reason, I noticed how clean and minty he smelled.

  “We’ll finish this later, sweetheart!” he whispered, pushing me into the door a little harder before the pressure of his body disappeared.

  “Rebecca, it’s Don from next door. I’ve called the police, are you okay?” I took a deep breath and felt my ribs throb in pain. My knees gave way and I sank to the floor. Big ugly sobs broke free from my lips as my mind floated into a haze of disbelief and fear. What the hell had just happened? This had to be a dream, an ugly nightmare, a God awful ugly fucking nightmare. The distant sound of a siren reverberated through my conscious thought. I wrapped my hands around my knees and clutched my body in the fetal position on the floor.

  “Just a nightmare, just a nightmare,” I whispered to myself, struggling to make sense of what just happened. In that moment, my heart shattered and my soul cried for something I had just lost, for the woman I would be no more.

  Chapter 2

  Charlie

  Sitting on the side of the bed, I rubbed a hand through my tangled mess of hair. What the fuck was I doing? I found myself thinking. Getting the fuck out of here before she wakes, came the voice of reason. I rubbed the tight muscles in my neck and reached for my pants, careful not to disturb the naked beauty behind me. After finally finding my sock under the bed, I finished tying the laces on my boots and took one last look at the woman splayed unapologetically bare before me. She was hot—long legs, long strawberry blond hair, a great set of tits, and those lips, hell, just thinking of how great those lips felt wrapped around my cock made me hard. “Down boy,” I murmured as I snuck out of the dark room. Yeah, she was hot, but she wasn’t her. No matter how many women I found myself inside, they weren’t her. An entire fucking year had passed and I still couldn’t stop thinking about Rebecca Donovan. That platinum blonde hair, those big beautiful blue eyes, and perfect pink lips. It wasn’t just what I saw on the outside that got my blood boiling though; it was the woman on the inside, too. When she laughed, people were drawn to it, and she laughed often. She teased, she joked, and she was always smiling. She was sassy, confident, successful, and didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought about her. She was perfect. And she was perfectly unattainable. Oh, I had touched and tasted, just once, and, at the time, I had every intention of touching and tasting again. Rebecca had a heart and body full of warmth and desire. I had found myself thinking that I, Charlie Perpetually-Single Cole could find my way home to that warmth every night, from here to eternity. But forty-eight hours after our one night of fucking heaven, Rebecca didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Jax had informed me that Rebecca saw me out with Caitlyn Brown, two days after our night together, and it had tripped her jealousy switch. The fact that she had been jealous made my chest swell with pride, the fact that she refused to take my calls and allow me to explain just pissed me off. Caitlyn had been a business date, nothing more, nothing less. The fact that she was a lesbian didn’t seem to help my cause one little bit. So, in true Charlie fashion, I had deleted Rebecca’s phone number and forgot all about her. Well, I had every intention of doing that. The fact that her number was still in my phone, and not a day passed by where I didn’t think about her was just plain crazy.

  Leaving the warmth of—Jane? Jenny? Jill? Gym Girl!—I slipped out her front door and into the freezing night air. It was almost four in the morning and the ground was slick with ice. I was tired as hell and just wanted my own bed and a few hours of blissful sleep. The irritating vibration from my back pocket was easy to ignore; there was no way I was answering a call this time of the night, or morning. By the time I was in my truck and on the road, the damn thing kept ringing and a knot of worry seeped into my bones. Who the hell would be trying this hard to get ahold of me at four in the morning? Reaching for my phone, I glanced at the screen. Mercy Carter, the mother of my best friend Jax, and the owner of the local woman’s shelter. Jax was away in Hawaii and Mercy’s husband, Dave, was out of town. My stomach suddenly turned with apprehension.<
br />
  “Mercy, what’s wrong?” I demanded as I brought the phone to my ear.

  “I’m okay, Charlie, but I need a favor.” I could tell there was something up, the tone in her voice was off. She didn’t give me time to ask though. “I need you to pick up something from the shop to board up a broken window and drop by Rebecca’s.”

  Rebecca has a broken window? What the fuck? “Mercy, you sure this is something that can’t wait till the sun’s up?”

  “Charlie,” the anguish in her voice made my heart suddenly beat hard with panic, “please just come as soon as you can.”

  “I’m on my way, be there in twenty.” I threw the phone on the empty passenger seat beside me and stepped on the gas.

  My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty. Something was wrong, really wrong. A broken window wasn’t really something to get all flustered over. Rebecca lived in a nice part of town; in fact, it was one of the wealthiest suburbs in Claymont. Her house was a matchbox amongst the palaces, but it was neat and tidy, and from what I gathered, she got along with all her neighbors well enough. My brain either wouldn’t or couldn’t process what had Mercy so upset, so I simply moved with purpose, grabbing a few supplies from Jax’s business, Carter Constructions. I managed the business, and was currently living in the small studio apartment above the office, so I already had keys to the place. I could have had my own apartment and up until six months ago I did. But it just felt empty and I hated being there. At least at the office, the moment I found myself sitting around feeling sorry for myself like a pussy, I just worked. When I wasn’t there, I was at Lee’s Gym, pounding the bags and lifting weights. I still trained and sparred with a few of the other fighters, even though I haven’t fought in the ring in over five years. After all, kickboxing has been in my heart since I was a kid, ever since I saw Jean-Claude Van Damme in Universal Soldier I was hooked. My competition days were behind me though, I didn’t like the way competing made me feel. I would become immersed, completely focused and unreachable when I drifted into that mindset, that place where nothing mattered except winning. My mood would tilt from blissful and carefree to angry and bitter in a heartbeat. When the anger consumed me, what was left wasn’t pretty. An irrational storm of rage would pull me under and it scared the shit out of me that I could possibly, unintentionally hurt someone when I was like that. So instead I used the skills I learned in a more positive manner now, teaching self-defense one day a week at Mercy’s Shelter. When I started teaching, Ella and Annie were the only women who showed up, and I’m pretty sure they only did so because they felt sorry for me. I adored those two like sisters, especially Ella. She was Jax’s girl and, to be honest, if I hadn’t already experienced the pleasures of Rebecca Donovan when I met the little fire cracker, Jax would’ve had one damn jealous best friend on his hands.

  The self-defense class quickly grew to eight, and then twelve. Now I had fifteen to twenty students a week, depending on who was in the shelter at the time. It was rewarding to give something back to the community. My talents were limited, unlike Jax who had gained a multitude of valuable skills courtesy of the US Army and could craft exquisite furniture from a blank canvas of lumber. I could keep a business running smooth as a baby’s backside and I could fight, but that is where my strengths began and ended. The classes at Mercy’s were not only fulfilling, but they was an integral part to the healing process the women embarked on when they stepped over Mercy’s threshold. Learning to protect yourself, having that sort of strength and confidence was as empowering as leaving the asshole fucker who had abused them in the first place.

  Pulling onto Rebecca’s street, my foot instinctively moved off the accelerator as I took in the flashing lights of two patrol cars. My heart began to hammer even harder as I approached them and realized they were parked in front of Rebecca’s house. An ambulance was sitting with its doors open in the driveway. Without conscious thought, I pulled to the curb and jumped out of my truck, leaving the keys hanging in the ignition. At this point I didn’t really give a fuck.

  “Sir?” a clean shaven, barely legal looking police officer called out as I crossed the icy lawn. I ignored him as I took the old porch steps two at a time. Another officer greeted me at the front door, his hand on my chest pushing me away from the doorway. Peering over his shoulder, I noticed the mess in the living room—the coffee table had been knocked over and a vase of flowers was smashed on the hardwood floors.

  “Sir, you can’t go in there.” The officer leveled me with a stare. I guess some people would’ve been intimidated, but the cocky attitude that underlined the official persona just pissed me off.

  “Just try to fucking stop me,” I all but growled.

  “Charlie?” Mercy’s determined voice caught my attention and I looked over the officer’s shoulder again. She stood beside Frank, the should-be-retired officer that has been front and center of Claymont’s police force for over thirty years now.

  “Let him in, Dawkins,” Frank commanded. I gifted Officer Cocky with a raised brow and may have given him a slightly cocky grin of my own. As I entered the house and took in the disarray of Rebecca’s small living room, my legs became numb, moving on their own accord. Two paramedics stood off to one side, unopened bags and stretcher at their feet. Mercy’s shoulders were back, her head high, but her eyes were full of unshed tears. Something bad must have happened, something really bad. God, no, not Rebecca. I gripped the wall as my head spun. Mercy was quickly in front of me, her little hands on my cheeks drawing my gaze down to her.

  “She’s okay, you can’t go freaking out on her though. You need to keep your head and stay calm.” Mercy’s hard eyes were full of resolve and I gave her a short nod. Mercy has always been direct and straight to the point, and I’ve always appreciated that about her. It never failed to break through my temper, centering me, focusing me.

  “What happened?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  Mercy took a long deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at Frank.

  “I’ll go see if I can convince her to come out,” he said, walking down the narrow hall.

  “What the fuck? Where is she?” I demanded.

  Mercy drew my attention back to her. “Someone broke in, they smashed the window in the laundry room and forced the latch open.” Mercy looked at the mess around her.

  Someone did a whole lot more than break a window here. I rubbed my chest, trying desperately to ease the pounding of my heart. It hurt and I was beginning to think that I might be having a heart attack. Was that even possible? I was only twenty-eight, and I was fit and healthy. Fuck me, the thought of Rebecca hurt was causing me to have a heart attack.

  “Charlie!” Mercy snapped again. “Rebecca was hurt and she doesn’t need you freaking out. Take a deep breath and get control of yourself,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I wanted to throttle her. My eyes slipped closed and my pounding heart began to echo louder in my ears. A familiar stirring in the pit of my stomach made me feel physically ill. Anger. I have struggled with my temper all my life and I’ve finally learned how to stow it, until now. The thought of someone hurting Rebecca, placing their hands on such pure beauty had the fury inside me churning. I was caught somewhere between abject horror and mind numbing anger. I clenched my fists and the bones cracked with tension.

  “Damn it, Charlie Cole!” Mercy’s sharp voice forced me back to the here and now. “Control yourself. Rebecca’s really shaken up and we’re not sure of the full extent of her injuries because she refuses to let the paramedics look her over, and she won’t go to the hospital. She took a beating—she has blood on her face and she could have a concussion. Frank called me and I came right away. She was doing fine until Frank began asking her questions, then she panicked. She’s been locked in the bathroom for an hour now.” She gave me a worried look. “Maybe you could try and talk to her.” My eyes instinctively moved to the hallway where Frank was leaning against the door, talking softly. “I know you guys have history, but I also know she adore
s you, Charlie. She has for a long time, even if she is too stubborn to acknowledge it. Please, just try.” Mercy’s voice had lowered, and her pleading tone broke through the haze of panic and fury.

  I nodded, unable to speak. My legs again moved without thought, drawn to the fragile beauty locked away in the room at the end of the hall. Frank moved aside as I approached, and when I could go no further, I leaned against the door, and rested my forehead on the cool surface. My hands splayed against the wood, wanting desperately to reach the girl on the other side, to comfort her, to protect her.

  “Rebecca,” my voice was husky with emotion. I don’t know if she recognized it, hell I didn’t recognize it. I cleared my throat. “Betty Boop, how you doing in there?” I murmured. There was no response, it was silent and it took all my inner strength not to break the damn door down. “Honey, please, just tell me if you’re okay or not. I mean, fuck, I know you’re not, but do you need help, a doctor maybe?” A faint sniffle broke the silence. Thank fuck for that. “I know you’re scared, baby, but there is no one here who wants to hurt you. It’s just Frank, me and Mercy. We just want to know if you need medical attention.” There was still no response and I took a long deep breath as I began to do the only thing I could think of: I talked. I talked about all sorts of shit. I told her about how Jax had pushed me into the sand-pit in kindergarten when we were toddlers, and to make up for it he had to share his juice box with me. I told her how when I was fourteen my parents had introduced me to the girl they believed I was destined to marry. Poor little Claire ran long and hard from that visit, because apparently, she didn’t find breaking wind as funny as I did. I talked so long that I finally ran out of things to say. “Betty Boop, I really need to know if you are alright,” I whispered, defeated.

  “I don’t know.” Her husky voice soaked straight through my heart.

  “Baby, unlock the door for me, please. Just me, you don’t have to see anyone else if you don’t want to.” I leaned against the door for the longest time before I heard the gentle click of the lock. Breathing a long sigh of relief, I refrained from busting through the door and scooping her up into my arms. Instead, I gently turned the handle and pushed through. Her back was turned, and her shoulders were slumped forward.