by Debby Conrad
“I don’t think so.” But as she drove past, something caught her eye. Glancing in her side view mirror, she realized it was a “someone” and not a “something” that had gotten her attention. She brought her car to a crawl and pulled into the lot of the car wash. She whipped around and headed back to the motel, where she’d seen someone standing outside who looked a lot like Rachel. And there was a man beside her.
She drove by slowly, and her suspicion was confirmed. It was definitely Rachel, talking to Randy Swartz. She should have recognized Rachel’s old, blue Mustang parked next to the shiny red SUV.
After turning around in the parking lot of an old abandoned building, she drove by again. Hollin was certain they were having a heated discussion as Rachel was jabbing a finger in the man’s chest. Puzzled why her sister would be arguing with a married man outside a motel, she almost stopped. Then, knowing Rachel, she figured her sister could handle things by herself and decided to keep going. Until she saw Randy jerk Rachel by the arm and shake her.
That was it. She pressed on the brakes and did a U-turn, cutting directly in front of another car. Her careless maneuver earned her a loud horn blare and a colorful hand gesture from an unhappy motorist. She flew into the parking lot, taking the space next to Rachel’s car and jumped out as soon as she’d cut the engine.
Both Rachel and Randy were shouting so loudly, neither seemed to notice her presence.
“You are one crazy bitch, you know that!” Randy’s anger steeled his already hard features. “And don’t ever try to blackmail me again.” Beneath his black, leather jacket his chest puffed in and out. He was built like a tank.
“Yeah, well forget it,” Rachel said. “You’re a lousy lay anyway.”
Randy brought a hand to his chest and cocked his head. “Coming from an expert like you, Rachel, that hurts.” His tone was mocking, his eyes cold.
Hollin swallowed back a gasp.
Suddenly, Randy looked up and met Hollin’s heated gaze. “Well, if it isn’t Little Miss Innocent. Come to save your big sister? Or is it the other way around?”
Rachel spun to face her. “What are you doing here, Hollin?” Her blouse was torn in front, exposing one lace cup of her black bra. And it looked as though she’d been crying. Her eyes and nose were red and puffy, her mascara smeared on her cheeks.
“I saw you two. I saw him jerk you by the arm.” She went to align herself with her sister, standing shoulder to shoulder.
“So? I’m a big girl. And Randy doesn’t scare me any.”
“Yeah, well you scare me,” he said to Rachel, pointing a finger accusingly. “You and your stupid, dangerous ideas. Don’t even think about calling me the next time you get an itch between your legs. I’m through with you and your sick little games.” He pushed his way between them, almost knocking Hollin off the curb. “Stay away from me.”
He stomped away, got into his SUV and drove off, his tires screeching as he hightailed it out of the parking lot.
“Of all the nerve!” Hollin said. “I never liked that guy.” She went to Rachel and touched her arm, but her sister jerked away from her reach. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you? We should call the sheriff.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “And tell him what? That I had a misunderstanding with a man I just fucked?”
Hollin stared at her wordlessly, her heart pounding against her breast. Surely, Rachel was teasing. Why on earth would she have had sex with someone like Randy Swartz? He was a pig. A married pig.
“Don’t say it, Hollin, and stop looking at me like that.” She shrugged her arms into the denim jacket she’d been holding and reached into the pocket for her keys. A rubber penis swung back and forth from the key chain. The symbol was so typical of Rachel.
Rachel flipped her hair from her shoulder, lifted her chin and walked to her car, leaving Hollin to stand on the curb alone. Once she was inside the car, she lowered her window and released a noisy sigh. “Hollin,” she said, quietly, “I appreciate your concern for my safety, but it was you I was trying to protect.”
Hollin blinked back tears of confusion as her sister drove off. Standing in front of the motel, she was unable to move for a long while. Mixed feelings surged through her. She didn’t understand Rachel, had never understood her. So how was she possibly going to help her? And if she could help, would Rachel accept her offer?
All her recent pent-up emotions bubbled to the surface. Sitting on the curb, she had a good, long cry. Her sadness over John’s passing, her concern for her sister’s self-destructing behavior, and her distress for her mother’s well being and mounting debt were too much at the moment.
She hated feeling so powerless and was determined to protect her family. By the time she had herself under control, it was nearly two o’clock. She’d missed her lunch date with Brad.
Her stepbrother would undoubtedly be worried sick over her. But Hollin was no longer the helpless little victim. Her family needed her far more than she needed the security of being surrounded by people in a big city. And dammit it was about time she started taking care of the people she loved.
She pushed herself off the curb and went to her car. She called Brad from her cell phone, apologized and quickly hung up. As she was about to leave the motel parking lot and pull out onto the road, a truck slowed, the man behind the wheel turning his head to stare at her as he crept by. She recognized the dark green truck from the cemetery. And she recognized the driver.
Waves of heat rolled up the back of her neck, but she refused to panic, or worse yet, cry. She’d shed her last tear over that man. She lifted her chin and stared back at Griffin with contempt, then turned in the opposite direction.
#
Hollin waved good-bye to Chelsea as the child climbed the steps of the school bus. Chelsea’s spindly legs hesitated momentarily, then pushed on. Her long blond braids bobbed and swayed with her movements.
The Minnie Mouse backpack, the one Hollin had bought her for Christmas last year, was stuffed with her lunch box and spelling book, and seemed to be weighing her down. The doors swung shut and the bus chugged away, spewing a cloud of black smoke in its wake.
Pulling her sweater tightly around her middle to ward off the chill of the morning air, Hollin turned to walk back to the house when she heard a noise. A twig snapping, perhaps?
A flicker of apprehension coursed up her spine. Standing on the walk, she glanced nervously around, telling herself to relax. It was just a noise, nothing more. There were dozens of trees surrounding the old brick house with its stately columns. The branches were probably brittle after the harsh winter.
Refusing to give in to her suspicions that she was being watched, she took a deep, cleansing breath, lifted her shoulders and marched into the house.
But she wasn’t going to hide behind closed doors for long. She planned to face her fears head on, and one way to do that was to revisit her past. Hollin snatched her purse and keys from the hall table. It was time she saw the old trailer, where Griffin Wells once lived.
#
Hollin took the turn-off for Stoney Creek Road and made a sharp right after passing the Whitaker farm. She drove over Stoney Bridge and came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, then turned left. Bumping along the gravel and dirt road, she kept her eyes open for the huge, old tree stump and slammed on the brakes when she realized she’d driven right past it. A cloud of dust could be seen for nearly a quarter mile, she noticed in her rearview mirror while backing up.
Sucking in her breath, she turned down the rutty drive and followed it for several hundred yards, until it ended.
And there it was.
Partially hidden behind a large oak was the trailer where Griffin had grown up.
She sat in her car, staring straight ahead for a period of time. She noticed the rust spots, the screen door hanging by only one hinge and the rotted wood steps. The grass was overgrown with weeds that were two feet tall in some areas.
She was surprised to see the old tire swing still hanging from one of the oaks, remember
ed swinging in that tire once, her legs and feet dangling above the ground.
Slowly, she opened her car door, hearing the ding-ding sound announcing she’d left the keys in the ignition. She told herself there was nothing to fear as she closed the door and propelled forward. From the looks of the place it had been abandoned years ago.
Hollin placed one foot on the wood step, testing it for safety, then the other. She didn’t know what made her turn the knob on the metal door, but she did. It practically fell open, the musty, stagnant air assaulting her as it tried to escape its boundaries.
Still, she pressed on, stepping inside the cold, dim and dreary entryway. She deliberately left the door open behind her. From her position she could see the dilapidated kitchen with the buckling linoleum floor and stained Formica counter top. In the living room sat a recliner. The floral fabric had faded with time. Beside the recliner was a stack of newspapers.
Shivering, she buttoned and belted her trench coat. Feeling around for a wall switch, she flicked it on only to realize there was no power. Obviously, she thought with a roll of her eyes.
The place was quiet, still. Bypassing the tiny, windowless kitchen, she headed down the short hallway and peered into the bedroom on the right. Griffin’s old room. The blind was drawn tightly shut, only a hint of light peeking through the side. A lonely double bed sat against the far wall. And a dingy, frayed comforter covered the mattress. Probably the same comforter that had been on the bed the night of the party.
Hollin dug her nails into her palms, then forced herself to relax.
She’d lain on that bed with him, had kissed him while his hands roamed her body. Touching, penetrating, until she’d come apart in his arms. She remembered how his lips felt against hers, the way he smelled, like soap and the outdoors.
She brought a hand to her mouth and groaned. The undeniable and dreadful recollection sickened her. Shuddering, she backed out of the doorway.
But refusing to run back to the safety of her car, she pivoted around and pushed ahead. She’d come too far to turn back now.
She’d talked to a therapist on and off for several years following the rape, and the woman had told her she may never get over what happened to her until she was willing to face her fears head on. Well, it took me thirteen years, Doctor Baxter, but here I am.
She crept into the living room until she was standing next to the recliner. The single window was decorated with cobwebs and dead flies, but she was grateful for the light as she strained her eyes to check out the newspaper at the top of the stack. It was dated only two weeks ago.
She knelt on the matted carpeting and flipped through the rest of the newspapers. All were recent, within the past few months, anyway. Where had they come from? And who would have been inside, reading them? She paused, a dozen assumptions hammering at her. Although none made any sense.
A sudden and disturbing thought filled her senses and a cold knot formed in her stomach. Still on her knees, she angled her head to see over her shoulder, at the same time realizing she was no longer alone.
“You’re trespassing, Hollin,” the familiar male voice said.
She saw the dusty work boots and denim-covered legs closing in on her. Slowly, her gaze climbed up his lean, hard body until she met angry, black eyes.
Her scream stuck in her throat. That was the last thing she remembered before the room faded to black.
#
“Aw, shit!” Griffin swore, running his hands through his hair and releasing an audible sigh.
He hadn’t meant to scare her, or had he? Either way, he certainly hadn’t meant for her to faint. Shaking his head in disbelief, he scooped her up off the ratty ass carpeting and carried her to his old bedroom.
She didn’t weigh much more than she had at fifteen, in spite of the curves that had come with womanhood. Her wispy bangs brushed his cheek and he breathed in the scent of her shampoo and skin. He remembered that smell. It was sweet. Like apricots, and maybe a hint of vanilla.
He deposited her on the bed, hearing the old mattress squeak in protest. Grabbing a blanket from the closet, he draped it over her body, tucking it around her sides and under her feet.
Lifting the shade a few inches, the daylight came seeping in, and the dust mites danced in mid-air. Part of her face was now in shadow.
While he waited for Hollin to recover, he studied her. She was still gorgeous. Shoulder-length, silky, blond hair framed her oval face and fanned across the pillow. Her dark lashes rested against her delicate cheekbones. There was a soft, coral shade on her sweet, curled lips and beside them that tiny mole that had always driven him crazy with lust.
He propped his large frame against the doorway in case she had any ideas of trying to escape. As she started to come to, her turquoise eyes slowly zoomed in on him. And then she gasped, a look of horror crossing her beautiful features.
A part of him wanted to offer comfort, protection. The other part wanted to punish her for what she’d done to him. He’d gone to prison for three years because of her.
If only he hadn’t touched her in the first place. But that was a moot point now. He’d been obsessed with her from the first time he’d seen her. Although he was four years older, and should have known better, he’d thrown caution to the wind when it came to Hollin.
She bolted upright, her eyes widening with fear. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Her gaze darted nervously around the room as she jerked one arm free from the blanket. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and watched him warily.
“Answer me, Hollin. What the hell are you doing here?”
Her voice was small, weak. “Nothing.”
“Stop lying! I’ve had enough of your lies to last me a lifetime.”
She frowned, narrowing her eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t me,” he said, pushing away from the door frame and taking a step toward the bed. “It wasn’t me that night, and you know it.”
She held his menacing gaze for several moments, then looked past him to the door. He noticed the moisture building in those turquoise eyes.
“Go ahead, try to make a run for it,” he said, sweeping an arm wide in invitation. “But we both know you won’t make it.” He dug in his pocket for her car keys and jangled them. “That was stupid, leaving your keys in the car.” He tucked them back in his pocket for safekeeping.
“People know where I am. Brad. Rachel. They’ll be looking for me.”
His voice hardened ruthlessly. “Do you know your lips quiver when you lie?”
She chewed on her top lip, then burst into tears. “Please,” she begged, her voice broken and brittle, “let . . . me . . . go.”
Watching her cry and sob made something twist and turn inside him. Griffin’s heart began to shatter. “Jesus, Hollin. I’m not the monster you think I am.” He went to her, sat on the edge of the bed, the worn mattress nearly collapsing with his weight. “Please don’t cry.”
He reached for her, wanting to pull her into his arms and hold her.
Big mistake.
It all happened so fast he hadn’t seen it coming. Hollin rewarded his effort to comfort her with a thwack on the side of the head with something hard. “Shit!” he swore, his brains scrambling as he worked to dislodge the weapon from her small fingers. A black, patent leather shoe fell from her hand and hit the floor with a thud.
She lunged for him, but he caught her flailing arms. “I hate you!” she spat. “I hate you!”
However, he wasn’t quite quick enough for her next move. She bit him on the shoulder, digging her sharp teeth into the layers of flannel, cotton and skin, and refused to let go.
“Dammit!” He had no choice but to flip her onto her back and sprawl atop her. Pinning her wrists high above her head, he held her with his weight. Her chest rose and fell beneath him, her warm breath licking at his face as she continued to struggle.
&nb
sp; “Stop fighting me,” he warned, moving up another inch to gain better control. His cock now rested between the apex of her thighs, and he grew semi-hard instantly.
Sucking in a short breath, she glanced up at him sharply. “You bastard!” And then she spit in his face.
All he could do was stare at her, remembering the last time they’d lain together. She’d had her first orgasm, or so she’d said. He’d wanted her so badly that night, and yet he’d known that if he slept with her he would have regretted it. She may have regretted it.
Holding her gaze, he knew she was remembering that night as well.
He rubbed his face, wet from her spit, against the shoulder of his flannel shirt. He was about to roll to the side when she bent her knees, digging her heels into the mattress as she began to struggle again.
But her actions only made his position more intimate, more dangerous. Every time she moved, electricity arced through him. His cock throbbed with sexual need. He wanted to strip her clothes from her and take her, right there on the dirty comforter. And yet, at the same time, he didn’t want her at all.
“You’re only making it worse, Hollin.”
Her struggles came to a halt and she looked directly into his eyes again. “Go ahead, rape me. But you’d better kill me afterward. Because if you don’t, I will hunt you down and kill you instead.”
He tilted his head back and laughed, which only seemed to make her more angry. She was serious, he realized. The woman hated his guts.
He almost laughed. What the hell had he expected? Suddenly all traces of humor left his mind as his own anger turned into a raw fury. And then he leaned down, placed his mouth against hers and kissed her.
Forcing her lips apart with his thrusting tongue, he assaulted and punished her mouth. He didn’t give a damn that she refused to kiss him back. She deserved this. She’d lied to her family, to her friends, and twelve jurors. She’d sat up in that witness chair and pointed an accusing finger at him. And she owed him.
He hadn’t realized he was rocking against her, his cock straining for release, until he heard her cry out against his mouth. Griffin’s hips froze, and he lifted his head to stare down at her.
