Keeping Her: The HEA Collection

by Rena Marks

  “No, sir,” I squeak. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  He leaps from his chair, his dark eyes flashing. “Don’t fucking lie to me!” he bellows, and raises his arm. He grabs me by the throat, bending me backward to keep me off balance as he squeezes, his fingers ruthless as I choke.

  “Did you hear that?” he says, looking over his shoulder to my mother who’s whimpering and crossing herself repeatedly. “She called me sir to avoid giving me the proper title of dad.”

  I played right into his hands.

  His hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my air flow.

  My mother speaks up. “Jerry, we talked about this. You can’t beat her where the school might see the bruises. You may, however, spank her bottom.”

  Spank?

  In his frustration, his hand tightens around my throat and he bends me backward, taking me off balance again. I can’t scream because there’s no air. Automatically, my knee comes up in defense or balance, I’m not sure which. But it’s angled toward his crotch.

  “Did you see that?” he snarls to my mother. “She was going to knee me!”

  God, maybe I was. Who knows?

  He thrusts me aside, yelling at me to wait while he gets the belt.

  My mother nods. I know what the look says. She will wait here—the obedient child I raised—for her deserved punishment.

  I’m not sure which was worse—the idea of a beating, or the idea of a spanking at the tender age of seventeen. My body has matured. Does he think he’ll pull my pants down? It’s the weirdest connotation my brain can come up with. Beatings are abuse. Spankings are—creepily sexual.

  Without another thought in my head, and without a backward glance, I burst out the front door, barefoot in the frozen snow, the soles of my feet slipping and sliding as they find spots of black ice on the steep walks. I run up the street away from the road that takes us into town, twisting to go beyond the trees the back way, vaguely thinking frantically he may not search for me there. At the same time, I wonder where to go. I’m practically naked, no coat or gloves, no shoes, my tears freezing instantly on my face. Still, I run, my breath huffing in the night air because I’m sure he’s coming after me. My lungs freeze, heaving for air but unable to take deep breaths because it’s so fucking frigid. I duck behind trees to hide—in case he hops in the car to seek me out and haul me back home for the beating I deserve.

  My brain is in animalistic mode. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, and the adrenaline is pumping through my frozen limbs, chilling me from the outside in. Where can I go? Which way is safe?

  I hear the screech of car brakes and I screech, too, huddling from the bright glow of the bluish-white lights like a doe in headlights. He’s here.

  Chapter Three

  Nick:

  I grab her shivering shoulders and she’s fucking freezing. My God, her toes are fucking blue. She shrieks, trying to fight back, but it’s like a moth beating wings against my chest.

  “Shh, baby girl. I got you.”

  She stills and her breath pants. I pick her up and carry her to my car, setting her in the passenger seat. Her skin is ice. I lean over her to crank the heat up full blast. She moans softly.

  I curse and bend down to take my shoes off, peeling off my socks and putting them on her feet while they’re still warm. My own feet are frozen even as I shove them barefoot back into my shoes at the same time I scramble out of my jacket. I have no idea why she’s running around in this weather half naked. After I wrap her in my coat, I use my scarf to wrap around her head, trying to keep as much heat in her head as possible, and she feebly protests like I’ve got nothing left. Like I’m the one out in the cold half naked. I ignore her protests and slam her car door shut, walking quickly around to the driver’s side. Once I get in, I rub my palms together briskly and drive up the mountain.

  “Where were you going? What happened?”

  She doesn’t respond, lost in a world of her own. She’s sobbing softly, her hands shaking under the jacket. Her whole body is shivering and I want nothing more than to hold her in my arms. She’s such a little thing. I drive way too fast for the conditions, but I don’t care. All I’m worried about is getting her inside and safe. There’s something primal rising inside me and my heart races with fear at the what if’s. What if I had been fifteen minutes later? What if I hadn’t decided to drive by her place?

  What if I hadn’t seen her?

  I pull into the garage, hop around the SUV, and lift her out of the car. Standing there alone, I take a second to hold her in my arms, depositing a kiss onto the top of her frozen, wet head. The door to the garage opens and Molly stands there, blocking the light from inside, her mouth hanging open.

  “Nick? What happened?”

  I push my way inside and take Rachel into the living room, where a fire is burning bright. I sink onto the sofa, still holding her tight. She’s chattering so hard I can hear the force of her teeth hitting each other.

  “Go grab the blanket off my bed, bug.”

  Molly scrambles to get it and while she’s gone, I take my coat from her and quickly strip the wet tank top from her thin body. Molly returns with the soft, fuzzy white blanket as I press the front of her against me, giving her a small amount of privacy.

  From my fucking sister.

  Something caveman-like and primitive has crawled under my skin because I don’t want anyone to see Rachel like this. I wrap her tightly in the blanket and then reach underneath her to whip the wet shorts and panties off her—rocking her when she whimpers—adding them to the tank top and handing them to Molly to place on the coffee table.

  “Shouldn’t she sit in front of the fire?” Molly asks.

  “No.” My voice barks. It’s gruff, deeper than usual. Part of it’s fear…and part if it is the fact that naked Rachel feels so fucking good in my arms.

  Molly looks startled at my rough tone and I hasten to explain. “It’s too much for her system. We have to warm her slowly. Go make her some hot chocolate or tea. Hot enough to drink and warm her from the inside out, but not hot enough to burn her lips.”

  Molly nods then scrambles to the kitchen to do that. When she’s gone, I push Rachel away long enough to whip my flannel shirt from my body. Skin to skin, that’s what she needs.

  While Molly’s gone, I press as many kisses as I want to Rachel’s head. The thin ice has melted from her hair and the scent of her shampoo wafts up, tantalizing my senses. She smells like sweet apples. Her shivers are slowing and her skin isn’t as icy. And I have an incredible urge to strip my jeans and be just as naked under the blanket with her. But of course, I can’t do that with Molly in the kitchen. Hell, what am I thinking? I can’t do that at all. Rachel’s a kid. My kid sister’s friend.

  Molly returns with a mug of chicken broth, and I nod approvingly. “Good choice,” I murmur. “Come on, little bird. Let’s give you a drink.” I sip it first to check the temperature and then lift her from my chest a little. I place the cup between her lips. Her arms are clamped around her body, but I know when she’s pressed against me, she has them wrapped around me and we’re chest to chest.

  Blood rushes to my cock when I see her pink tongue wet her lips before she sips. “A little more,” I encourage, and she takes some more. I hand the mug back to Molly, and wrap my arms tighter around Rachel.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” I ask softly, from over her head.

  “I—I ran,” she admits, like it’s her fault.

  Molly looks furious. “What happened to make you run out into a storm half naked?”

  Rachel begins to cry, and it’s tragic and heart-wrenching. “He wanted to…spank me.”

  Molly looks as bewildered as I feel. Her eyebrows knit together. “Has he hit you before?”

  There’s a tiny nod against my chest, and I swear I’m going to fucking kill him. “But my mom says she doesn’t want bruises to show so now he has to spank me. I couldn’t bear it,” she says, looking up to plead with me like she’s fucking g
uilty of something. “I couldn’t bear to stand there and be spanked.” The way she says spanked is filled with horror and somehow, I understand. A sick feeling spreads in my gut, like cancer. I thought they were being dramatic teens. I had no idea what she was going through…fuck me.

  “More broth,” I command and Molly hands me the cup.

  Rachel takes bigger drinks this time and her teeth have stopped chattering, though she still trembles.

  “Why didn’t you text Molly?” I ask as I hand the broth back to Molly.

  “I couldn’t. I’d left it in my bag while I was doing my chores and making dinner.”

  “For six fucking hours?” Jesus, school let out at three.

  Molly looks at me with accusing eyes—an I told you so she doesn’t bother to hide.

  Rachel nods. “And then I snuck into bed, hoping he’d leave me alone. I didn’t want to alert them that I wasn’t asleep by getting up to get it. But they got me out of bed anyway, and then I just ran.” She shivers. “When he left to get the belt. I ran.” She hangs her head like she’s ashamed.

  “Smart people know when to run.”

  I should know this. Instead, I sit here with an underage girl naked on my lap. If she wriggles any closer she’s going to feel how hard I am for her. I’m a sick, sick fuck. Despite it all, it’s not fair to let her parents worry about her. Her skin feels warmer now, as I hug her under the blanket and rub her arms.

  “Molly’s gonna take you to where you can shower,” I say gruffly, depositing another kiss on the top of her head and not even caring that Molly watches. “She’ll get you some pajamas to sleep in. I have to make some calls.”

  Rachel freezes. “Please don’t make me go back, Nick. I’ll be good. I can cook and I can clean…”

  “You’re not going back,” I growl. “And you’re not our maid. You’re part of this family.” I slip my arms out from around her and secure the blanket over her, so she can keep the edges together as she heads to the bathroom. Damn if I don’t regret the loss of her little body curled onto mine.

  Molly walks her to the bathroom and I hear the water running. I pick up her wet things and drop them in the trash, because I don’t want her to ever be reminded of this night. I’ll buy her a whole closet full of fucking clothes.

  My jaw is tight as I button my flannel shirt back over my chest.

  I’m on the phone with my friend, Jeff Archockee—the local sheriff—when Molly stands in the doorway.

  “What do you mean no one’s been reported missing? She seventeen fucking years old and there’s a snow storm. If I had been any later, she’d be dead right now.”

  “Maybe they didn’t notice her leave the house? They could think she’s safe in bed right now.” Jeff sounds frustrated.

  “I’m keeping her,” I say softly. “If they call you, tell them she’s safe and at a friend’s house. I’ll meet them down at the police station when the storm lets up to make other arrangements.”

  “She’s a minor, Nick. You can’t just keep her.”

  “Yeah, I can.” I drop my voice down to a whisper. “I’ll get the best fucking lawyers and charge them with everything in the book. Molestation. Physical abuse. Mental abuse. Child slavery. There’s not a church down in Denver that’ll take them in when I’m done with them.”

  “Get pictures. Statements. We’ll need everything we can get.”

  We disconnect and I turn toward Molly, who has huge eyes.

  “I left her one of my nightgowns to put on, Nick. But you should know…” Molly’s eyes dart toward the back hall, where Rachel showers. “There are fingerprints on her throat.”

  In that case, there are probably bruises on other parts of her as well. I flip my phone to camera mode. “Do me a favor and make yourself scarce. Just tonight, okay? She can sleep in your room tomorrow. Then we can set her up in the guest room whenever she wants. We’ll buy her whatever she wants. But for tonight, I want to watch over her. Make sure nothing happens to her because of the cold she’s been through.”

  She’s fine. She’s healthy. But Molly nods and I feel guilty. Jesus. I want a seventeen year-old in my bed.

  Chapter Four

  As soon as the hair dryer turns off, I’m there for her. The door opens and she sees me, leaning up against the wall, arms crossed.

  “You okay?” I ask, and she looks down at her feet, which are pink again. God, that blue tinge scared me.

  “I’m okay,” she says in a small voice. “Are they coming for me?”

  “I didn’t tell them where you were.”

  The full smile on her face is a complete turn around from anything I’ve ever seen. My breath catches. God, she’s fucking beautiful. Her wavy brown hair has light golden streaks, and somehow her golden brown eyes match the lighter strands. They’re large and wary in her face, her lashes dark and long. Her skin is creamy and her perfect bow lips are curved into a smile that makes her look like a fucking princess. A queen.

  My queen.

  And the way she looks at me. Like I’m her hero.

  “Do you mind coming to my room for a bit? We need to plan ahead…take some pictures. Just in case.”

  “Pictures?”

  I nod, reaching out to brush the hair back from her neck. “It’s just you and me. Maybe no one needs to ever see them. But we’ll have them as a backup plan. You can go into Molly’s room after, if you want.”

  Her eyes flicker toward Molly’s closed door. “I don’t really want to disturb her.”

  “Guest room?”

  She nibbles on her bottom lip, then the words rush out of her like she’s afraid she’ll change her mind. “Can I—I mean, is it okay if I just stay with you? I won’t be a bother, I promise. I’m afraid to be alone. I can sleep anywhere. A chair. The floor.”

  “You can sleep in my bed. It’ll be fine, Rachel.” I know it will be. She’s a kid and I’m gonna wait until the day she turns eighteen to make her mine. She just doesn’t know.

  Her dark lashes come down to mask her eyes.

  “Come on.” My arm hooks around her shoulders, and she’s tall…but way too thin. I can feel the fragile bones in her shoulders. I close the door behind us when we enter my room and turn on the light, making sure to turn the dimmer switch all the way up to make it as bright as possible.

  “I want you to be comfortable. You can lie on my bed and take off your nightgown. Tie it around your breasts and let me know when you’re ready, okay?” I try to make my voice as comforting as possible without sounding like a fucking lech.

  “I’m ready.” I hear the tiniest quiver in her voice and it hits me hard, like a vise in the center of my gut.

  But I’m not ready for the sledgehammer that socks me.

  Her delicate body is dressed in Molly’s boy-shorts type panties, with the nightgown wrapped around her breasts like a bandeau. She has mottled bruises across her flat belly, her thighs, her calves. On her neck is a thumbprint shaped bruise on the right side, and four fingerprints on the left.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  Her eyes open, scared of me. Scared of the growl my voice has become.

  I’d like to curse myself for my stupidity, but it would scare her further. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. No one will ever touch you again, all right?”

  “Pr—promise?”

  “On my fucking life.”

  She flinches and I remind myself to check my language around her.

  My phone snaps, snaps, snaps as I take pictures from every angle possible. I email them to myself so they’re timed and dated.

  “Do you want my back, too?”

  This time I manage to hold back the curse and, stricken, just nod. She turns over and there’s a fucking boot print in the middle of her fragile back.

  A fucking boot print.

  Softly I run my hand up along her pretty spine and carefully loosen the tied nightgown she has there. I don’t want anything marring any picture of the bruise.

  But even with the bruises covering her, my cock is roc
k hard. I’m trying to tell myself this isn’t proper, that she’s a victim, that she’s a kid…but the curve of her delectable ass belies that. She hasn’t had a kid’s body in a long, long time.

  “Hold on, baby.” I go to my closet and pull out a Timberland boot, first taking a picture of the size and then lining the boot up to the bruise so they can guess at the foot that left it there.

  “Okay, you can get dressed.” I head to my closet and put the boot away, taking my time until I hear her rustling stop.

  “Finished?” I ask, my body still turned to give her privacy.

  “Yes.” Her voice sounds shy.

  I turn and then carefully—so carefully and mindful of all the bruises I didn’t know were hiding—scoop her up and deposit her into my bed. I cover her with the blankets and she settles down, her hair spread across my pillow.

  God, I could get used to this.

  I shut down the dimmer switch, encasing the room in a soft glow in case she gets scared and then I grab a pair of sweatpants, heading to the bathroom. She’s softly snoring by the time I return, which is fine by me. She won’t notice when I take her into my arms.

  * * * * *

  Rachel

  I wake with the tantalizing, woodsy scent of Nick all around me. I scramble up, but the bedroom door is shut, the bathroom door doesn’t have a light shining under it, and I’m alone in bed.