Hell Without You

by Ranae Rose

  The officer continued to look past her. “If you could follow me to the police station, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Did you say Trevor was murdered?” Her voice came out higher than she’d intended it to.

  “Yes. Last night. Sorry to tell you like this.”

  He didn’t sound very sorry. Did he know she hadn’t been on speaking terms with her step-brother? If so, who’d told him … her mother or step-father? Her gut twisted at the thought. If they’d said that, surely they’d said something else to cast suspicion on Donovan … why else would the police want to question him?

  “You want to question me?” Donovan asked.

  “That’s right. You’re not under arrest, but I need to speak with you. If you could follow me to the police station now—”

  “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.” Donovan frowned.

  “I don’t know about this,” Clementine said as the officer climbed back into his cruiser and pulled ahead of her, like she didn’t know exactly where the town’s police station was. “The doctor said you’re not supposed to do anything straining or overly-stressful.”

  “Getting heckled by the police would be more stressful than answering a few questions. I’d rather just cooperate and be done with it.”

  Burying a tooth in her inner lip, she followed the police car. “Okay… I guess it won’t take too long. It’s not like they could possibly have any evidence to implicate you. You didn’t even leave the house last night.” The very thought was ridiculous. Maybe the police didn’t suspect Donovan of being involved – maybe they had questions because he lived near the crime scene and they were looking for witnesses, like he’d suggested.

  He nodded. “If they ask how I spent last night, I’d better not be too specific.” He flashed her a brief smile, eyes gleaming.

  She couldn’t bring herself to smile back, even as the muscles in her core drew tight in remembrance. After reaching the house, they’d explored positions that weren’t inhibited by his sling. Her inner thighs still ached from when she’d straddled him, knees on either side of his hips. “I can’t believe Trevor was murdered. Nobody gets murdered in Willow Heights.”

  “If anyone deserved it, it was him.”

  “Don’t you dare say that to the police.”

  He frowned. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I can’t believe they want to question you, either. I bet Robert had something to do with this. If it turns out they suspect you were involved, I’ll know he had something to do with this.”

  Though the thought turned her stomach, she’d never been more grateful that no charges had been pressed against Donovan all those years ago when he’d assaulted Trevor. There was no record of the incident, even if her step-father had brought it up now.

  Rain was falling in sheets by the time they reached the police station. “Make sure you cover your bandages,” she said, a fresh wave of anger washing over her. What a waste of time. Donovan should’ve been at the house relaxing, not playing along at the police station. And she had to get up early to make the hour and a half commute to DC.

  “Follow me, Mr. Kemp.” Detective Wagner walked down the small station’s only hallway.

  “Guess I’ll wait here,” Clementine said, sinking down onto a bench near the door.

  Donovan nodded and followed the detective.

  Alone with the bench’s hard back digging into her spine, Clementine listened to the rain falling against the roof and windows. How had Trevor been murdered, anyway? And why had the crime scene been located along the rural road leading out of town, yellow tape strung up at a seemingly random place equidistant between Donovan’s house and Shady Side? Had Trevor been left in the ditch?

  A chill settled into her bones as she mulled the matter over. Someone had killed Trevor, and it hadn’t been Donovan. And if the police suspected that Donovan might have done it, that meant that the real murderer was roaming free, maybe still in Willow Heights. But who?

  She hadn’t spoken to Trevor in seven years, hadn’t seen him since the summer she’d been eighteen, until she’d bumped into him at the grocery store. But he’d been raised to be selfish, the kind of person who felt entitled to privilege – just like his father. And she had no reason to believe he’d changed. It wasn’t hard to believe he’d made enemies, but to this extent?

  He didn’t even live in Pennsylvania. He’d only been visiting from Connecticut. What could he have done during his visit to attract such brutality?

  The memory of his hands on her body and his stinking breath in her face rushed back to her, sudden and vivid. Immediately, she shoved the recollection away, smoothing a wrinkle in her jeans as she fought to distance herself from the thought. Maybe he’d picked on another woman – one who’d fought back. Hard.

  What a thought. Heart beating way too quickly, she sat, immobile, listening to the rain and trying not to think. This would be over soon – whatever Robert may have said, there couldn’t possibly be anything to tie Donovan to the crime. A few questions, then they’d be on their way home.

  Except Detective Wagner must have had more than a few questions, because Donovan didn’t appear for nearly forty-five minutes. When he finally emerged out into the main area, Clementine stood. “It’s about time – I was getting worried. How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine. Ready to head home?”

  Clementine nodded, but Detective Wagner stepped forward. “Actually, Ms. Lettvin, I’d like to ask you a few questions too.”

  “Will it take another forty-five minutes? Because Donovan needs to get some rest and so do I – I’ve got to commute to DC in the morning.”

  “I can’t make any promises time-wise, but it’d be a great help to the investigation if you’d cooperate. This is about the murder of your step-brother, after all.”

  Again with the lack of conviction and sensitivity. What had her mother and Robert said to Detective Wagner?

  “Okay,” she breathed after a few moments of deliberation. “I’ll answer your questions, but please try to make them quick.”

  He said nothing and probably couldn’t have cared less about her personal schedule.

  She followed him anyway.

  They settled in a private room that was a far cry from the dark-walled, bare-bulbed interrogation spaces they showed so often in movies. Everything was a pale shade of bluish grey, even the simple desk that separated her from the detective. Detective Wagner’s eyes were a dull blue too, and focused on her. “I understand that you weren’t on the best of terms with your step-brother Trevor. Is that true?”

  “It is.” They didn’t think she could be a suspect, did they? If they did, she’d have to have a word with her mother – something she’d planned to avoid indefinitely.

  “Why is that?”

  “He sexually assaulted me when I was eighteen.” The fact that Trevor was dead made no difference – she wasn’t about to sugarcoat the truth. “That was about seven years ago, and I hadn’t spoken to him since.”

  “He sexually assaulted you.” He phrased it like a statement, but it had to be a question. There was no doubt in her mind that her mother and step-father hadn’t filled the detective in on what Trevor had done to her.

  “Yes.”

  “By sexually assaulted, you mean…?”

  “He … stalked me. I caught him watching me on a date with my boyfriend, then discovered some photos he’d taken without my knowledge on his computer. Whenever I confronted him, he cornered me in his bedroom at my mother and step-father’s house – restrained me against a wall with his body. Then he shoved his hands beneath my clothing, touched my breasts and implied that he was going to rape me.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  “I struggled. He gave me a bloody lip, but eventually he stumbled and I was able to break free – I scratched his face and he fell. I kicked him in the shin and ran.”

  Detective Wagner scribbled something down in a notebook, his face impassive. “Why would Trevor have done that?”

  “What – as
saulted me?” Exasperation flooded her thoughts, her body, making her itch with the urge to leave the detective and the police station behind. “I don’t know. What makes sexual predators behave the way they do? I do know that he’d been drinking – maybe that emboldened him.”

  “Drinking what?”

  “Beer. The assault happened during a party my mother and step-father were hosting. Trevor was twenty, but he snuck drinks when no one was looking. Or maybe people simply turned a blind eye – I don’t know.”

  “And this was seven years ago?”

  “Slightly over seven years. That was during the summer, shortly before I left for my freshman year of college.”

  “And you never saw Trevor again?”

  “I went to college in New York and I never came home to visit my mother or step-father. I was angry because they refused to believe me when I told them what Trevor had done. We’re still estranged.”

  “But they paid for your schooling at an Ivy League university?”

  “Columbia.”

  “I see.”

  The detective spoke in flat, measured tones that set Clementine on edge. Did he even believe what she’d told him about Trevor?

  “And you never saw Trevor again, after that?” he repeated.

  “Actually, I caught a glimpse of him at Studebaker’s about a week ago. We didn’t speak, and I don’t think he noticed me.”

  He jotted something else down in his notebook.

  Clementine glanced around the room looking for a clock, but there was none. The questions had already taken longer than she’d hoped.

  “About your living situation with Donovan Kemp…”

  Another fifteen minutes passed as she explained all about how and why she’d returned to Willow Heights, how she was living with Donovan, how they were engaged. Questions about their trip to Florida and Donovan’s injuries took another quarter of an hour. Of course, Clementine said that Donovan’s burn was the result of a kitchen accident. She also pointed out that Donovan’s injuries would’ve made it difficult for him to attack and kill anyone, though Detective Wagner didn’t acknowledge her opinion.

  And then he asked what he’d probably been waiting the whole time to interrogate her about.

  “Seven years ago, when Trevor allegedly assaulted you, you told Donovan, who was your boyfriend then too, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he believed you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And I understand there was an altercation between Donovan and Trevor?”

  A sense of wariness crept over Clementine, making her spine tingle. How much had Donovan told him? What had her mother and step-father said?

  Now she knew why the detective had wanted to question her right away, before she’d had a chance to talk to Donovan.

  “There was a fight.” As much as she ached to protect Donovan, anything but the truth might eventually cause him more trouble, and that was a thought she couldn’t bear.

  “A fist-fight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who would you say won the fight?”

  “Donovan.”

  “Was Trevor injured?”

  “His face was bruised, as I remember.”

  “Is that it?”

  “I believe he lost a couple teeth. Got a bloody nose. Like I said, I wasn’t speaking to him at that point. I did my best to avoid him. As I’m sure you already know, there were no charges pressed against Donovan. He doesn’t have a criminal record.”

  He ignored her last statement. “Did you feel that Trevor deserved what Donovan did to him?”

  “Yes. He tried to rape me.” Who wouldn’t have felt the same way, in her shoes?

  The questions didn’t end there. Detective Wagner asked plenty more, most of them revolving around the night before – where Donovan had been and what he’d done. She answered them all truthfully, aware that the truth – which was that he’d spent the night at his house with only her – wasn’t exactly gold, as far as alibis went.

  Still, the fact remained that Donovan hadn’t committed the crime. While the questions were invasive and a waste of time, in the end, no real harm would be done.

  “Thank you, Ms. Lettvin. Those are all the questions I have for now.” By the time Detective Wagner rose from his seat at the desk, Clementine’s eyelids were drooping, the caffeine and sugar rush provided by after-dinner pie and coffee at Ann’s having long since faded.

  She followed the detective back to the main entry area, where Donovan waited.

  “Still feeling okay?” she asked.

  “Fine. Come on.” He wrapped his good arm around her waist, drawing his other one into his coat sleeve to protect his bandages from the rain.

  The short drive home couldn’t end quickly enough. As soon as they entered the house, she sank down into a chair at the kitchen table with a sigh. “I’d ask you about your interview and tell you all about mine, but then we’d be up all night.”

  He settled a hand between her shoulders and rubbed, massaging the vertebrae at the base of her neck. “If we’re going to be up all night, I can think of much better ways to spend all that time.”

  “Maybe not all night…” She leaned back, sighing as his touch dispelled tension from her muscles. “But I could use a little relaxation before bed.”

  “Relaxation, huh? Bed’s probably the best place for that. Why don’t we head there?”

  A minute later, they were on the bed and Clementine was stripping without ceremony, tossing her clothes onto the carpet, eager to feel his bare skin against hers.

  “Need some help?” she asked as he unbuttoned his jeans one-handedly. Instead of waiting for an answer, she finished the task for him, her fingers sliding over his as she sought out the button. Getting him out of his jeans was easy, but his shirt was a different story.

  He wore a button-up, and removing it meant removing his sling first, then working the sleeve carefully over his bandages. His shoulder was bruised from the impact that had fractured his collarbone, and the sight of the purple haze, tinged yellow around the edges, sent a fresh bolt of concern straight through her. She forgot it when he bowed his neck to press his mouth to hers, sending all thoughts of the past few days fleeing from her mind with a single kiss.

  Fingers aching for contact, she slipped her hands beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, grasping the hard shaft of his cock. His skin was smooth as silk beneath her hand, hot to the touch. “How do you want to do this?” she asked when the kiss ended. “Same as yesterday?” Her body responded to the memory, succumbing to a quick head-to-toe tightening.

  He breathed a hard sigh, using his free hand to strip away his underwear. “Yeah.”

  Bolts of anticipation raced up and down her thighs as they settled onto the bed, her muscles quivering. He lay flat on his back, and she froze just as she was about to straddle him. “Almost forgot…” Leaning over the edge of the bed, she reached for the box of condoms on the floor and pulled out a strip, tearing one from the end.

  “Damn…” His legs stiffened beneath her as she climbed on top of him, her bent knees resting on the blankets on either side of his hips.

  A quick tear and she had the condom free and was sliding it down over his shaft. She took her time because hearing him groan in response was enough to make her ache to hurry, and there was a certain pleasure in holding back.

  “Now you,” he said, his gaze drifting down to his groin. His dick lay against the flat plane of his belly, the head broad and round. The stripe of hair that led below rested beneath it like a shadow, dark against his skin.

  Gripping the base of his erection, she held it steady, running her thumb up and down the underside as she sank, impaling herself on his hard length. Her internal muscles stretched slowly and deliciously until he rocked his hips, thrusting into her with a burst of force. Then it was bittersweet pleasure edged with shock that tore the breath right out of her lungs. She reached to brace herself with a hand against his shoulder, but caught herself at the
last second.

  Instead, she leaned back, seeking balance and letting her weight rest on his hips.

  He continued to rock, sharp eyes going hazy as he raked his gaze up and down her body. “Want me to touch you here?” He ran his unhurt hand slowly up the inside of her thigh, caressing the tender skin there before letting his fingers rest on her clit. The motion of his hips jarred his hand ever so slightly, setting the nerve endings he’d pressed his fingers against on fire.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  He massaged her clit in a rhythm that complemented the one that rocked his hips, and she did her best to match it, moving her own body and feeling him slide a little deeper with each stroke as a result. Her pussy shrank in response, drawing tight around the broad shaft of his cock.

  Minutes passed by, steeped in expectation, the only noise sounds of breath and the shifting mattress. Each time he thrust up into her, she rocked back against him, familiar with the give and take now, thighs beginning to quiver not just from pleasure, but from exertion. When her climax came it hit her hard, stealing her breath even though she’d been expecting it, reaching for it.

  The pleasure came in waves, sweeping through her and washing all other thoughts and sensations from her mind. Contractions rippled in her core, and Donovan rocked harder beneath her. She moved more quickly too, losing her rhythm and not caring. He slid balls-deep into her each time, and the resulting impact sent her pleasure spiking higher until it finally reached a peak and she came crashing down.

  Literally, but she was careful to catch herself with a hand against the mattress, wrinkling the blanket by Donovan’s jaw.

  He groaned, pulling his hand from between her thighs and gripping her hip instead. One hand was all he needed to hold her steady; the muscles in his forearms strained and stood out as he fucked her from below, each stroke a little harder than the last. She didn’t need to see his head tipped back against the pillow or the way he’d squeezed his eyes shut to know he was close.

  He said her name when he came, and her pussy gave an answering squeeze as a few split seconds of pleasure sailed through her like aftershocks, taking her back in time to when she’d peaked moments before. When he was still, she remained on top of him for a few moments, her flesh still soft and sensitive around his enduring erection. Even being still, it felt good having him inside her. She longed to lie down beside him though, so she rose, unsheathing him and sinking onto the mattress.