by Jamie Canosa
His lips curved into a cruel smile before another bite passed them. He was enjoying this. Basking in her submission. And, goddammit, she would let him.
“I think I could use a drink to go with this, Allie.” He said it off-handedly, but she heard the demand.
Jumping to her feet, like a good trained dog, she scooted over to the fridge and filled the glass from the drying rack with sweet tea. She placed it carefully beside him on the table and was headed back to her own seat when his hand shot out and snatched her wrist.
“What the hell is this?”
No. No, she worked so damn hard not to piss him off. What had she done now?
“What the hell is this crap?” He snagged the cup from the table and shoved it in her face, sloshing tea everywhere.
“I . . . I’m s-sorry. I didn’t—”
“No, you didn’t. I keep you around here for one purpose and one purpose only. To keep this place clean. And you can’t even do that much?” He released her wrist and his hand landed squarely across her cheek.
Since she no longer left the house, apparently he saw no reason to keep things covert anymore. Allie spun backward until her hip collided with the countertop. Dammit, she’d deserved that one. What the hell had she been thinking giving him that glass? It had soap spots all over it. She really was an idiot.
“One thing, Allison. One fucking thing! I give you food and shelter and all I ask in return is this one fucking thing and you can’t even get that right. I should just get rid of you, once and for all.” Allie knew exactly what that meant and she whimpered. Whimpered. Goddammit, the transformation was complete. “Save myself the headache!”
The glass flew straight at Allie’s head, going fast enough that if she hadn’t ducked it could have done some serious damage. Ducking may have been the worse option, though. The cup shattered against the wall raining sweet tea and glass all over the floor.
“You stupid, worthless bitch! Clean this mess up.” He got to his feet and grabbed her by the arm. “Clean it up! Now!”
Twisting her arm for leverage he forced her down on her hands and knees in the pile of broken glass. Shards ripped the skin on her knees and embedded themselves in her palms. Allie cried out in pain, but he only pushed harder.
“Maybe this will teach you not to be such a damn slob in my house.”
With eyes like cold steel, he scanned the wreckage until he found what he was looking for. He scooped up a large chunk of glass and before she could do a thing to stop him, slammed Allie’s arm down on the floor, trapping it there.
Those steely eyed stared right into hers the entire time he slid the piece of glass over the inside of her forearm. Allie screamed and tried to free herself, but he held her still. The pain stung and burned like fire. Blood poured from a long gash starting just north of her wrist and traveling all the way up to her elbow.
“Now. Clean. This. Up.” He dropped the bloodied glass and when he released her, Allie slumped to the floor beside it.
She laid there sobbing and cradling her injured arm to her chest as he left the kitchen and went upstairs. Blood mingled with the glass and sweet tea pooling all around her. Reaching for the dish cloth, she wrapped it around her arm and started picking up the bigger chunks of glass.
Broom, dustpan, and half a roll of paper towels later, the kitchen was back in pristine condition. The same couldn’t be said about Allie. Careful not to drip blood, she made her way into the bathroom. There was a roll of gauze in the medicine cabinet, which she used to replace the dish rag and then set to picking out the bits of glass from her hands, arms, and knees. It took nearly two hours and the sink looked like a warzone—full of blood and debris—when she’d finished. Great, one more mess to clean up.
Chapter Twenty
Dean
Work sucked. Work had always sucked, but now it sucked on a full time scale. Every morning at six AM Dean dragged his sorry ass into the shower and then out to his truck, where he couldn’t keep himself from watching Allie’s house in his rearview all the way down the street.
Ten—sometimes twelve—hours later he did the same in reverse. From the moment he turned onto their block, his eyes sought out that house. The first thing he did every night was check the driveway for her father’s car. He never could decide if he hoped to see it or not. If he wasn’t there then she was safe for the time being. But, if he wasn’t home this late—like tonight—it most likely meant he was out at the bar, which probably meant bad things for Allie later. The thought gutted him.
Inside, music pumped from the girl’s room loud enough to rattle the frame of the family portrait proudly displayed in the hallway. It was ridiculously out of date, but it was the last one they’d gotten around to taking before his father passed away, so there he would remain, forever exposed in all his rebellious teenage glory. Hair nearly to his shoulders and dressed in torn jeans that clashed with his mother and sister’s nice dresses and his father’s ironed slacks, he looked like a jack-ass.
Amy must have been about twelve, still in that awkward phase where her arms and legs looked a bit too long for her body. And Sarah was still wearing those awful bright pink braces. They’d all done a lot of growing up since then. It was almost hard to recognize the carefree family smiling back at him.
One song ended, flowing seamlessly into the next. This one had even deeper bass rhythms that managed to shake the entire wall. What the hell was she listening to?
“Amy! Turn it down before you bring down the whole house, would ya?”
He got no response, but the music lowered to a less earsplitting volume. The rest of the house was quiet. Mama was still at work and poor Sarah was probably in the den trying to read through that ruckus.
Dean needed something to take his mind off crap. Food usually did the trick, so he headed to the kitchen for a snack. Between the constant bullshit at work, his sister’s driving him up the fucking walls at home, and the girl next door driving him nuts in general, he was one step outside a padded cell.
“Oh!” Sarah was in the corner near the sink. He watched as she spun around and fumbled the house phone back into the cradle. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Just got home. Who were you talking to?”
“Oh . . . uh . . . no one. Just a friend from school.”
Dean hoped like hell that was the truth. They were well into July and he hadn’t seen Sarah go out with her friends even once since school ended. But, if it was because she was too busy talking to some boy . . . He did not have the patience for that crap right now.
“I didn’t hear you talking. I would have waited ‘til you were done. You didn’t have to hang up because of me.”
“No, it’s okay. No answer.” She tripped over her feet, she was in such a rush to get out of the room. Definitely a boy.
Dean growled as he pulled a bowl from the cabinet and poured himself some cereal. Shit just got better and better. Like he didn’t have enough fucking problems to deal with. Milk sloshed onto the counter as he attacked his Bran Flakes with unwarranted aggravation.
Dammit, this bullshit had gone on long enough. He had to see Allie, see for himself that she was still alive and breathing, and in one piece. He needed to talk to her. To understand why she refused to leave that place. First day off, he was going over there and he wasn’t leaving until he got some answers.
She made a decision? Well, too fucking bad. Now, he’d made one, too.
Chapter Twenty-one
Allie
The routine didn’t apply to weekends. Each one was forty-eight straight hours of fear and anxiety. Allie just held her breathe the entire time waiting for her father to find something wrong. She hadn’t messed up in nearly a month, but she had a nice reminder—in the form of a puckered scar running up the inside of her arm—of what was waiting for her when she did.
When Monday morning rolled around, it always felt like she could breathe for the first time in days. She’d listen to him leave in the morning and take a deep breath, knowing that—
for the next eight hours, at least—she was safe.
That is, until a knock came at the door half an hour later, anyway. This could not be happening.
It was Dean-fucking-Ritter.
He looked like he was about to apologize for being there. As he damn well should. She’d made it clear in no uncertain terms that she wanted him to go away and never come back the last time they’d talked. But he took one look at her and his contrite expression slipped into something harder.
“Dammit, Al. When’s the last time you ate something?”
She was done lying. What did it even matter anymore? “I can’t remember.”
Dean growled. He outright growled, like some kind of wild animal. “Is your father—?”
“It has nothing to do with him. I’m just not hungry.”
“Come with me.”
“Dean,” she sighed. “I can’t.”
“Don’t give me that shit. Your father’s at work. He won’t be home for hours. I just want ten minutes, Allie.”
“What if he comes home early?”
Disobeying her father used to cause her fear and adrenaline in equal measure. It was almost like tempting fate. Playing chicken with a freight train. But now the adrenaline was gone and only the fear remained. She didn’t even want to think about doing it, and never would have again if Dean hadn’t been right there with her.
“Then I’ll help you sneak back in through your window before he ever knows you’re gone. We’ve done it before.” That was true. He’d helped her sneak into her house after curfew more than once. “Now, get your ass in gear because you’re coming with me. Either that or I will stand out here until your father gets home and have a friendly little chat with him.”
Fear blossomed into something more like terror, which shook her half-conscious self to her core.
“Fine.” Anything. Anything but that.
Dean looked more than a little smug as he stood there watching Allie struggling to slip on her sneakers. If she’d even felt like a quarter of her old self—instead of crippled by a pounding heart and foggy head—she would have hit him. But she didn’t—and felt like she never would again—so she did like she’d been doing for weeks and followed orders.
It felt like she was running on zombie auto-pilot as she followed him across the street. She half-expected to be mauled by the entire Ritter clan upon entering, but the house was empty.
“Where is everyone?” Her voice sounded flat even to her.
“Mama’s at work and the girls are at their first week of summer camp.”
“Oh. Camp?”
“Yeah. Some kind of sports training program. Working full time, the money’s so much better. We could finally afford to send them. You should have seen their faces. They were so excited.” He sounded proud. He should. Allie just wished she could get there with him.
“Oh.”
Dean paused in his preparation of their lunch to look at her. “I’m not going to lie. You’re scaring the shit out of me right now, Allie.”
She blinked up at him in surprise. “Why?”
“If you could see yourself, hear yourself, right now. Christ, you’re like the walking dead. You’re killing me here, Al. I’m coming apart not knowing what the hell is going on with you.”
“You know what’s going on. I told you—”
“You didn’t tell me shit. I figured it out on my own, and even then, you barely gave me a crumb.”
Too tired. Too damn tired.
“Of course you are.” She hadn’t even realized she’d spoken out loud until Dean’s face softened with his reply. “You look exhausted. Here, eat that. We need to get some nutrition in that body of yours.”
He passed her a plate loaded with a double decker sandwich and piled high with chips. It looked like more food than she’d eaten in weeks. Allie did as she was told, still operating on auto-pilot, and took a bite. Dean sat there watching her chew and swallow in silence, the sadness in his eyes sinking deep inside her heart.
“Allie.” When he finally spoke, his voice was low and as tortured as his eyes. “Please.”
“What do you want from me, Dean?”
“The truth. I need to know, Allie.”
“Know what?”
“Everything. I’ve done what you asked. I haven’t stirred up trouble, though you have no fucking clue how damn hard that’s been. Looking at your house day after day, and not knowing what’s going on behind the closed door. Watching that son of a bitch come and go like everything’s just fine, and not tearing his goddamn head off. It’s got me losing my damn mind over here. I promised myself that I’d get to the bottom of this. And then, if you still wanted me to go, I’d leave you alone. But I haven’t, Allie. I haven’t gotten to the bottom of anything. I think I’ve earned a few fucking answers.”
She was done fighting him. She just didn’t have the energy for it anymore. “Then, ask.”
Dean looked stunned momentarily by her compliance, but then jumped all over the offer.
“How long? How long has this been going on?”
“Since I was about . . . twelve-ish.” That sounded about right.
“Christ,” Dean breathed, and she could see his mind working. Remembering. “All of those times. The bumps . . . bruises . . . scrapes. That time you broke your arm riding your bike. That was him, wasn’t it?”
He managed to keep his voice even, but his knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the table. Allie just nodded. He knew and there was no use hiding anything anymore. It was time to go all in. Show him just how gutless she really was.
It took him a minute to recover, but he wasn’t done yet.
“When you took off, where did you go?”
“A city.”
“A city up north.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all you’re gonna give me?”
She nodded. She still wasn’t willing to give up that little piece of information, not that she’d ever go back. She couldn’t do it again. She didn’t have the strength it would take to survive anymore.
“Okay. Can you tell me where you stayed, at least?”
Allie sighed. He wasn’t going to let it go and the small amount of energy the meal had afforded her was quickly wearing off. All she wanted was to go and lie down somewhere. Sleep for a few hours . . . or weeks.
“Here and there.”
Dean’s brows scrunched together and she knew he wasn’t getting it. Screw hinting around. She was tired of this crap. “The streets, Dean. I hit the streets. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I found places. Alleys. Parks. I crashed in the storeroom of a nightclub for a while until they caught on and replaced the lock. A couple different warehouses. Wherever.”
“Shit, Allie.” All of the color had drained from Dean’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“No, I’m not fucking kidding you, Dean.”
“You were living in storerooms and warehouses? Sleeping in parks and goddamn alleyways? For six months?” He looked at her like she’d lost her damn mind, and maybe she had, telling him all of this. “You could have come to me. I would have helped you. Was being with me so bad, Allie?”
“No! I told you, Dean, my leaving had nothing to do with you.”
“Bullshit. That asshole had been abusing you for years. I tell you I love you and the next day you disappear. You really expect me to believe those two things aren’t connected?”
Allie kept her mouth shut. What could she really say? They were connected, just not in the way he imagined.
“Silence is not a damn answer, Allie. You’re gonna have to do better than that. Did you or did you not take off because of what I said?”
“I did! Okay? Is that what you want to hear?” Dean looked like she’d just slapped him and she wanted to slap herself. “Dean. I did run because of something you said. But not because you told me you loved me. Shit, Dean, that was the only thing that almost stopped me.”
“Then, why? What did I do?” He looked so lost that
it hurt her to see.
“You started asking questions. Noticing things.”
“Like your face.” He muttered mostly to himself, but Allie nodded anyway.
“I knew you wouldn’t let it go. Not until you got the truth.” And he was proving her right as they spoke.
“So you did leave because of me.” Dean’s throat worked as he swallowed back whatever else he was thinking.
“I left because of what my father would do if he ever found out you knew the truth. Dean, if he ever finds out . . .” Finally, there was something in her voice, but all it was was fear—just about the only emotion she could muster anymore. “He’ll kill us.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Dean
“You left . . . to protect me from your father?”
“I had to.”
“Shit, Allie.” Dean dropped his elbows on the table hard enough to make it thud and then buried his face in his hands. “You lived on the fucking streets for six months? To protect me?”
“Us, Dean. To protect both of us. He would have killed me, too.”
He couldn’t just sit there and listen to this crap anymore. Restlessness coursed through his veins like razorblades under his skin. Shoving to his feet, Dean wore a path into the faded linoleum between the sink and table as images of Allie flashed through his mind. Allie cold, hungry, frightened. His Allie. All alone out there.
“Fuck me.” His fingers had found their way into his hair, but that wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. “Fuck me!”
Without thinking, Dean spun on his heel and lashed out at the first available surface, which happened to be a countertop. Good news for the house since the force behind his blow would have gone straight through another wall. Not so good news for his hand, but all thoughts of bloody knuckles went straight out the window at the sound of Allie’s whimper behind him.
Dean didn’t think it was possible to hate himself any more than he already did, but when he turned to find her staring back at him with wide, frightened eyes, he proved himself wrong. Shit. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Allie, baby, I’m sorry. Dammit, I wasn’t thinking. Darlin’, you know I’d never hurt you, right?”
