by Elle James
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you to leave the scene, but I know Dillon. The last time I tried to leave, I was caught because he called the state police and had me hauled home.”
“Couldn’t you have gone to a hospital and asked for a social worker to verify your injuries?” Becket glanced her way, his brows furrowed in a deep V. “Women’s shelters are located all over Dallas.”
“I tried.” She turned toward the window, her heart hurting, reliving the pain of the beating he’d given her when he’d brought her home. He’d convinced the hospital she’d fallen down the stairs. No one wanted to believe the quarterback of an NFL team would terrorize his girlfriend into submission, beating her whenever he felt like it. “Look, you don’t need to be involved in this. If you could take me to the nearest truck stop, I’ll hitch a ride.”
“Where would you go?”
“Wherever the trucker is going.”
He shook his head. “Hitchhiking is dangerous.”
Kinsey snorted. “It’d be a cakewalk compared to what I’ve been through.”
Becket sat silent, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Nash is part of the sheriff’s department in Hellfire now. Let me call him.”
“No!” She shook her head, violently. “You can’t report me to the sheriff’s department. I told you. Dillon has friends everywhere, even in the state police and Texas Rangers. He’d have them looking for me. If a report popped up anywhere in the state, they’d notify him immediately.”
“When was the last time he saw you?”
“Last night. After he downed a fifth of whiskey, Dillon gave me the bruises you saw. I’m sure he slept it off by eight this morning. He’ll be looking for me. By now, he’s got the state police on the lookout for my car. He probably reported it as stolen. I wouldn’t be surprised if he puts out a missing person report, claiming I’ve been kidnapped.” Kinsey sighed. “Take me to the truck stop. I won’t have you arrested for helping me.”
“I’m not taking you to the truck stop.”
Kinsey slid the window down a crack and listened. She couldn’t hear the sirens anymore. Her pulse slowed and she allowed herself to relax against the back of the seat.
Becket slowed and turned at the gate to the Coyote Creek Ranch.
The entrance was just as she remembered. Rock columns supported the huge arched sign with the name of the ranch burned into the wood. She’d grown up on the much-smaller ranch next door. The only child of older parents, she’d ride her horse to visit the Graysons. She loved Nash and Rider like the brothers she'd never had. Chance had been a wild card, away more than he was there, and Becket…
As a young teen, Kinsey had the biggest crush on Becket, the oldest of the Graysons. She’d loved his longish blond hair and those startling blue eyes. Even now, covered in soot, his eyes were a bright spot of color on an otherwise-blackened face.
“I can’t stay here,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “Your wife and children don’t need me dragging them through whatever Dillon has in store for me. I guarantee, repercussions will be bad.”
“Don’t worry about the Graysons. Mom and Dad are in Hawaii, celebrating their 40th anniversary. None of us brothers are married, and Lily’s too stubborn to find a man to put up with her.”
“What?” Kinsey glanced his way. “Not married? Are the women in this area blind? I practically worshipped you as a child.”
Becket chuckled. “I remember you following me around when Nash and Rider were busy. Seems you were always there when I brought a girl out to the ranch.”
Her cheeks heated. She’d done her darnedest to be in the way of Becket and his girlfriends. She didn’t like it when he kissed and hugged on them. In her dreams, she’d been the one he’d fallen in love with and wanted to marry. But that hadn’t happened. He’d dated the prom queen and married her soon after graduation.
“I thought you had married.”
“Didn’t last.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.”
“If I remember, it’s a long driveway up to the ranch house.”
Becket paused. For a moment, Kinsey thought he was done talking about his life and failed marriage. Then he spoke again. “After college, Briana wanted me to stay and work for one of the big architecture firms in Dallas. I was okay with the job for a while, but I missed the ranch.”
“You always loved being outdoors. I can’t imagine you stuck in an office.”
He nodded. “Dad had a heart attack four years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I assume he survived, since they’re in Hawaii.”
Becket smiled. “He did, but he can’t work as hard as he used to.”
“So, you came home to run the ranch?”
“Yeah.” Becket’s gaze remained on the curving drive ahead. “Briana didn’t want to leave the social scene. We tried the long-distance thing, but she didn’t like it. Or rather, the marriage didn’t work for her when she found a wealthy replacement for me.”
“Wow. That’s harsh.”
“Eh. It all worked out for the best. We didn’t have children, because she wanted to wait. I like it here. I have satellite internet. I telecommute in the evenings on projects for my old firm, so I stay fresh on what’s going on in the industry. During the day, I’m a rancher.”
“Sounds like you know what you want out of life.” Kinsey sighed and rested her head against the window. “I just want to be free of Dillon.”
“What about you? You went to Baylor. Did you graduate?”
“I did. With a nursing degree. I worked in pediatric nursing.”
“Did you?”
“For a while. Dillon was still at Baylor when I graduated. When he signed on with the Cowboys, he changed. He said I didn’t need to work and badgered me into quitting.” Kinsey remembered how much she hated staying at home, and how useless she felt. “I loved my job. The kids were great.”
Becket stared at the road ahead. “We leave high school with a lot of dreams and expectations.”
“I figured I’d be happily married by now with one or two kids.” Kinsey snorted.
“Same here.” Becket’s lips twisted. “We play the hands we’re dealt. How long have you put up with the abuse?”
“Too long.” Kinsey stared out the window. “The beatings started when he signed on with the NFL. He’d take me to parties. When his teammates paid too much attention to me, he’d get jealous, drink too much, and hit me when we got back to our place.”
“Why didn’t you leave him then?”
“In the morning, he’d apologize and promise not to do it again.” Her lip pulled back in a sneer. “But, he did. Eventually, he stopped taking me to the parties.” Her life would have been so different had she left him the first time he hit her. She’d been a fool to believe he would stop.
“Couldn’t you have gone to your family?”
“Each time I mentioned leaving, Dillon flew into a rage and threatened to kill me. Then he took away my car. He said it was for my own good. The car was too old, and needed too much work to drive.” At first, Kinsey had thought his action was out of concern for her safety. But her checkbook and credit cards disappeared, and he blamed her for being careless, forcing her to live off whatever pittance of cash he gave her. Without a job, she had no income and became a prisoner in Dillon’s home. “He told me I was a terrible driver and shouldn’t be on the road. That I’d probably end up crashing into someone.”
“The man’s a dick.”
“Tell me about it.” Kinsey bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “I think part of the reason he stopped me from driving was that I’d go to visit my parents. Like he was jealous of how much I loved them, and liked spending time at home. By taking away my car, he left me with no way of getting there. Mom and Dad came up to visit me in Dallas when they could, but after they left, Dillon would stomp around the house, sullen and angry. He’d accuse me of being a mama’s girl. If I defended myself, he hit
me.”
“Your parents were good people,” Becket said. “I was sorry to hear of the accident.”
Tears slipped from Kinsey’s eyes. “They were on their way to visit me, since I couldn’t go to them. I think they knew I was in trouble.”
“Why didn’t you tell them what was going on?”
“I was embarrassed, ashamed, and scared. By then, Dillon was my world. I didn’t think I had any other alternatives. And he swore he loved me.”
“He had a lousy way of showing it,” Becket said through tight lips.
She agreed. Along with the physical abuse, Dillon heaped enough mental and verbal abuse on Kinsey, she’d started to believe him.
You’re not smart enough to be a nurse. You’ll kill a kid with your carelessness, he’d say.
When her parents died, she’d stumbled around in a fog of grief. Dillon coerced her into signing a power of attorney, allowing him to settle their estate. Before she knew what he’d done, he’d sold her parents’ property, lock, stock and barrel, without letting her go through any of their things. He’d put the money in his own account, telling her it was a joint account. She never saw any of the money—never had access to the bank.
Several times over the past few months, she had considered leaving him. But with her parents gone, no money to start over, and no one to turn to, she’d hesitated.
Then, a month ago, he’d beaten her so badly she’d been knocked unconscious. When she came to, she knew she had to get out before he killed her. She stole change out of Dillon’s drawer, only a little at a time so he wouldn’t notice. After a couple weeks, she had enough for a tank of gas.
Dillon settled into a pattern of drinking, beating her, and passing out. She used the hours he was unconscious to scour the house in search of her keys. She’d begun to despair, thinking he’d thrown them away. Until last night. He’d gone out drinking with his teammates. When he’d arrived home, he’d gone straight to the refrigerator for another beer. He’d forgotten he’d finished off the last bottle the night before and blamed her for drinking the beer. With no beer left in the house, he reached for the whiskey.
With a sickening sense of the inevitable, Kinsey braced herself, but she was never prepared when he started hitting. This time, when he passed out, she’d raided his pockets and the keychain he guarded carefully. On it was the key to her car.
Grabbing the handful of change she’d hoarded, she didn’t bother packing clothes, afraid if she took too long, he’d wake before she got her car started and out of the shed.
Heart in her throat, she’d pried open the shed door and climbed into her dusty old vehicle. She’d stuck the key in the ignition, praying it would start. Dillon had charged the battery and started the car the week before, saying it was time to sell it. Hopefully, the battery had retained its charge.
On her second attempt, she pumped the gas pedal and held her breath. The engine groaned, and by some miracle it caught, coughed, and sputtered to life.
Before she could chicken out, before Dillon could stagger through the door and drag her out of the vehicle, she’d shoved the gear shift into reverse and backed out of the shed, scraping her car along the side of Dillon’s pristine four-wheel drive pickup, and bounced over the curb onto the street.
She’d made it out, and she wasn’t going back.
About the Author
ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of books including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, snow skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories. Learn more about Elle James at www.ellejames.com
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