Redeemed: Book Two of the Love Seekers Series

by Maria Vickers

  In middle school, I hit a growth spurt and finally gained some height, however, while I may have grown taller, I had morphed into a gangly, scrawny pre-teen who tripped over my own feet because I wasn’t used to my body. I hated it. Bullies still loved me in middle school, but by then I was starting to fight back, even if I didn’t quite know how.

  The summer between middle school and high school, my parents decided to move closer to my grandparents, who were starting to have a lot of health issues. Mom worried about them, and to make her happy, my dad agreed to leave the town he had lived in since he was a kid. Both of his parents were already gone, therefore, nothing kept him there. That summer, I started to fill out, I got contacts, and began my freshman year in a new high school where nobody knew me. Gone was the clumsy, no meat on his bones, four-eyed kid. I had some muscles, and started my freshman year at 5’7.” Girls stopped in their tracks to gape at me. No longer was I the outcast, new school or not. Life was good.

  Life became even better when those same girls began to throw themselves at me. In my freshman year, I had my choice of pussy. My sophomore and junior year, I settled down and dated some of them. If I was dating someone, I didn’t cheat on them. My senior year, I returned to my old ways. It was the dawn of a new day, and it wasn’t like I saw any of these people in my future with the exception of Mark, but I had known him since grade school, and had no plans on dumping the one person who stuck beside me no matter who beat the shit out of me. Hell, most of the time he was right there getting his ass kicked too.

  College was the start of a new life, and I took full advantage.

  “You can wipe that salacious smirk off your face right now,” Rayne snarled as she plopped into the seat across from me. She looked…off. Almost as if she had been run over by life—not that I cared, but I was curious.

  In spite of her command, my smirk grew. “Last I checked, you weren’t my momma.”

  “Thank God! If I was your mother, I would drown you in a pool of rubbing alcohol. Lord knows what you have living on you and in you.” She stuck her tongue out at me, her top lip curling upward in disgust and disdain.

  “I can feel the love tonight.”

  “This isn’t the fucking Lion King and you are not Simba.”

  Frowning in confusion, I tilted my head to the side. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Really? Are you going to pretend you don’t throw out lines like that to get inside a girls pants?”

  “I don’t need to resort to tricks like that. All I have to do is crook my finger and they all come running.” I chuckled. “With a snap of my fingers, they cream their panties knowing what I can do for them, because they know my dick turns to steel and becomes Colossus. There’s a reference for you,” I mocked her.

  Her head tilted to the side and she scrunched her brow in confusion. Her face showed her bewilderment. “Reference to what?”

  “Colossus. X-men? A comic book?”

  Rolling her eyes, she stated in a haughty attitude, “Geeks and children.”

  “And throwing Lion King references is so adult, although, I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” The tension between us grew with my sarcasm.

  ****

  Rayne

  Narrowing my eyes, I glared at the man—and I used that word loosely—sitting across from me. I had arrived in enough time to witness his obnoxious flirting with the restaurant hostess. I shouldn’t have been surprised, and I couldn’t say that I was per se, but my shock had been more with the fact that he was meeting me while trying to score her.

  Leaning forward, I crossed my arms on top of the table and spoke slowly so he would understand me. “The Lion King, that Disney movie?”

  “I know what the fuck The Lion King is,” he drawled, sounding almost bored.

  Unperturbed, I continued, “Can You Feel the Love Tonight is one of the songs in that movie. Simba and Nala have been reunited and they are taking a walk in the jungle together.”

  “Okay, but it wasn’t my intention to quote that song or movie. And, I will point out that when I’m giving you a line, you will wholeheartedly realize it. Just wait, because you never know when I’ll work my magic on you.”

  “Puhlease. Save it.”

  He chuckled, long and deep, and it felt like the whole room vibrated with that sound. I hated him even more for that. “Sweetheart, eventually, you’ll want what every other girl wants.”

  “You mean like Emma wanted you?” I interrupted him before he could go down that dumb ass rabbit hole.

  His body leaned back in his chair. If the furniture had been backless, I would have laughed when he crashed onto the floor. Did that really shock or injure him? It shouldn’t have. My brother told me himself what had happened between Chad and Emma. Unlucky for me, the bitch chose my brother instead of the player across from me. Fuck my life.

  “You like to hit below the belt, don’t you?” he muttered.

  “I just like to point out the truth,” I retorted. My tone sounded harsh and uncaring, and yet, I couldn’t help the way my heart raced at his nearness. We weren’t touching, but I could feel a small thrill of excitement being around him.

  Leaning forward again, his own eyes narrowed and stared me down, studying me, watching and waiting for me to make a move. “Why are you here, Rayne?”

  “Why did you call and invite me? I just figured I could get some free alcohol off you.”

  “Well then, by all means, let’s start off with a shot. Tequila?” He quirked an eyebrow, daring me to deny him.

  I hated tequila. If there was one shot that had the potential to get me drunk fast, to make me spill my secrets, it was that damn drink. Jose was definitely not a friend of mine. “Fine with me.” I prayed that his tolerance was shit and would be as low as mine. If not, I could easily find myself screwed.

  Chapter 8

  Chad

  O ne thing I learned tonight, Rayne was a happy drunk that could also become very emotional. We drank one shot each and then ate, each drinking a beer with our dinner. It wasn’t anything special by any means. Typical food at a place better known for their alcohol than their food: nachos, wings, burgers, and fries. After dinner though, the tequila shots were poured freely and with each slam of the golden liquid, Rayne became a little gigglier.

  Five shots into our drink fest, and I could already tell that she felt no pain, which was apparent when she laughed so hard, she pitched to the side, fell out of her chair, and hit her head on the table leg. Not sure how, but she never flinched or cried. In fact, she laughed even harder while gripping her head. I shook mine and helped her back into the chair as she yelled for another round.

  “I don’t think so, Rayne.” This was me taking responsibility.

  She blew a raspberry at me and stuck her tongue out. I wanted to grab it and yank it out of her mouth.

  “You are a purty poopher,” she slurred. Her face was flushed and her red lips appeared almost fuller. After her fall, her hair had become disheveled, but she never fixed it. Some clung to her sweaty face, and the back looked like she’d slept on it, and a couple strands were sticking up slightly. She looked like a drunken mess.

  Rolling my eyes, I shook my head at her. Part of me wanted to laugh and the other part wanted to dump her in the gutter, but I couldn’t. I had a plan and had to follow through. Plus, if Bryan found out I left his little sister in a gutter, he’d kill me no matter how pissed off he might be at her. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?”

  “Noooo. I not drunk yet.”

  “Yeah, not at all.” My sarcasm could not be held back, even if it was lost on her.

  “One more round. One more round. One more round.” Banging on the table with her fists as she yelled, she started to annoy everyone else in The Flying Saucer, and caught the attention of the manager.

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

  “FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.” Her words echoed throughout the restaurant as if it were empty, which I hadn’t th
ought possible since the place was half full. This woman acted worse than a toddler repeating everything its parents said.

  ****

  I’d seen drunk girls before, and I’d gotten girls drunk before—again, I was no saint—but this time, I had done it with a purpose and with a need that would not let me falter from my quest. Maybe it was wrong, but I thought if maybe I got her drunk enough, I could put her in a compromising situation and force her to back the fuck off. Blackmail could be persuasive if used properly.

  But things had a way of changing…

  Rayne never seemed to notice that I stopped after one shot leaving me sober and her wasted. She kept drinking, drowning in the tequila, getting drunker as the night wore on.

  Dragging her back to her place, I searched her for a key—I might have copped a feel or five as I patted her down in my quest—and when I found it in her purse instead of on her, I opened the door and was a little surprised by what I found. I half expected a shrine to her brother or something of the sort, but instead, everything looked normal. I walked into the living room, which had been painted a neutral tan color, and found a couch, a high-backed chair, TV, and a coffee table. Normal. To the left was a kitchen and small dining room. A small hallway separated the two spaces, giving the apartment more definition, almost as if I entered a tiny house instead of an apartment.

  Her arm was still slung around my neck and I hefted her up a little more before pulling her down the hall. To the right, I found a door. Opening it, I saw a small office with a large picture window. Two feet from that door, I found a set of sliding doors. Pulling one to the left, I was disappointed to find the laundry room. This was like a fucking treasure hunt and for some odd reason, each failed attempt at finding her bedroom pissed me off because I wanted to unload her and leave as quickly as possible. Plus, even though she weighed little to nothing, dragging her around was starting to irritate me.

  A few more steps down the hall, I found two more doors. One straight ahead and one to the left. Peering into the one on the left, I discovered her bathroom, which I would need once I deposited my annoying package; door number four had to be the winner. Turning the handle, I held my breath in anticipation. It wasn’t like there were any other options, this had to be the one, so why did I feel slightly anxious? My palms were sweaty and I swallowed hard. This didn’t make sense at all.

  “Just open the fucking door,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Fucking door,” Rayne snickered. Would it be wrong if I knocked her out to put me out of my misery? Probably.

  Turning the handle, I pushed the door open and…WALLA! I found the bedroom. Treasure uncovered. Sort of.

  I took one step forward and almost fell. What the hell? Dead weight at my side told me exactly what happened. Up until this point, although I had been dragging her, she was still somewhat helping. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t carried her in my arms. Well that, and every time I tried to swing her up in my arms, she threatened to throw up on me or would take a swing at me, trying to punch me. The last thing I wanted was vomit in my face. No thank you! I could deal with getting hit, but not that.

  At least now Rayne couldn’t argue. “Up you go, Sweetheart.” I wasn’t sure why I called her that except to say that it was habit. I called a lot of girls “Sweetheart.” Not Emma, but then again, she was different.

  With only the slightest of moans when I lifted her, her head lulled backward and then lifted to settle on my shoulder. She rubbed her face against my muscles like a cat against its owner.

  Owner? I could almost get behind that. If I owned Rayne, I would see to it that for every glare, every hateful thought that entered her mind, she’d receive a spanking. It could be fun, but with Rayne, she would probably be black and blue and on the verge of death before she finally gave in, and even then, I didn’t believe for one second that she would actually concede. And I wasn’t into the whole BDSM scene or beating people for that matter. A little bondage, maybe a light spanking when I pounded a girl’s pussy from behind, but nothing more than that. Never more than that. If that got some people off, and as long as it wasn’t abusive, then more power to them, but not me.

  I gently deposited Rayne on her bed and stepped away. As angry as she made me, as much as I wanted to turn her over my knee and beat some sense into her, I knew I would never act on those impulses.

  “Stop. Please,” she whimpered in her sleep. What the fuck?

  Call me an asshole, but I left her there. I closed her bedroom door, used her bathroom, and then bolted for the front door. I needed out of this apartment, because suddenly, it felt stifling. I couldn’t breathe. I was almost at the front door when something caught my eye. In the corner of the living room, between the couch and the wall closest to a sliding glass door, was a table. There were so many pictures. I walked over to find that most of them were of Bryan, some of her parents, and one of me. Why the fuck did she have a picture of me?

  This girl made no sense, but it didn’t matter. I needed to get the fuck out of this apartment. Tomorrow, I would call to check on her like a good friend and ask her out again. Since I had decided against putting her in a compromising position—I couldn’t do it any longer. Her whimpered words echoed in my. But I wasn’t done with her, so I would move onto plan B. If my new plan was going to work, if I was going to teach her a lesson she would never forget, I would need to win her over, make her fall for me.

  However, thoughts of her crying in her drunken dreams made me second guess myself. Had something happened to Rayne Sampson?

  Chapter 9

  Rayne

  M y head hurt. It felt like someone had taken a battering ram to it, and that invoked other memories. The last time I woke up like this, it had all been Chad’s fault. This time was no different. He was the cause for all my suffering. The tequila, the beer, the…what else did we have? I didn’t even remember leaving the restaurant.

  Twice. I had been alone with the man twice, and both times he managed to rob my senses and drag me to bed. Except this time, I didn’t think the space beside me had been slept in and I was definitely still fully clothed. I knew that much because my clothes were starting to feel suffocating.

  I cracked an eye open and peered around the room. No one. Empty. My eyes drifted to my alarm clock on my nightstand and I cursed, “Fuck.” It was 11:30 A.M. and I was supposed to meet my mother in thirty minutes. It would take me at least twenty minutes to get to her new place and the way I was feeling, I needed longer than ten minutes to get ready, not to mention my head desperately needed to be detached from my body.

  I hated Chad. This was all his fault. He should have at least had the decency to leave me some aspirin and a glass of water, or a note, or something. But there was nothing. It was as if he had never broken through the barrier of my sacred domain. My apartment felt eerily empty and silent; and for the first time in a long time, I hated that emptiness. Fucking Chad.

  A ringing yanked me out of my temporary melancholy. Was now a good time to mention I hated the shrill sound of my phone? Not to mention, I probably had a bruise on my hip from sleeping with it in my pocket. Pulling it out, I answered it without bothering to look at the screen, “Hello?”

  “Rayne, dear. Are you all right?” The question echoed through my throbbing head like a megaphone. To make matters worse, the tone and timbre of my mother’s voice reminded me of nails on a chalkboard.

  I had a hangover from hell.

  “I’m fine. Why?” I grumbled. If only she would get a clue and allow me to disconnect the call and never speak to her again—or at least until I was over my hangover.

  “Chad called and told me that you weren’t feeling well this morning. I didn’t know you two had become friends. Anyway, he called and wanted to let me know that you were sick and to tell me to check on you. Knowing you and I had plans today, of course I was concerned and called you immediately.”

  “He called you?” The urge to murder him grew with each passing second. How dare he call my mother and tattle
on me?

  “Yes. He said that you had dinner together last night after running into each other, and that by the end of the meal, you weren’t feeling well and he had to take you home.”

  “Oh. Yeah, it was something like that.”

  “Something like that?”

  “No, I mean, I wasn’t feeling well last night and dinner made it worse.” That seemed plausible and believable, right? It wasn’t like this was the first time I had lied to my mother.

  As a child, I had told little lies putting the blame on my brother, Bryan, or little white lies that would keep me out of trouble. When I turned twelve, things changed. Suddenly, I started lying to my mother about bigger things. Like pretending to be sick to get out of taking a test that day, not doing my homework and then making some nerd boy do it for me, or about spending the night with one of my friends when I was really with another friend my mother didn’t like.

  When I was thirteen, the lies got bigger, things happened, and by the time Bryan left for the Navy when I was 14, I stopped the sneaking around, stopped some of the lies, and started doing my own homework. Little lies never hurt anyone, but bigger lies had the power to destroy people…whole families.

  “Rayne? Sweetie?” My mother’s worrisome voice cut through the memories that threatened to invade my mind. I could feel their pull dragging me under, trying to drown me in the darkness that had attached itself to them.

  Rubbing my forehead in an effort to stave off the pain from getting worse, I said, “Sorry, Mom. I’m really not feeling well.”

  “Do you need anything? I can come over and bring soup. That might help you.”