I recalled how Sutton had taken that as a sign I wanted sex. He’d shoved me up against the wall, bunched my skirt around my waist, and thrust into me before I’d uttered a word. He’d hurt me that day, and looking back, I know he’d basically assaulted me, but then I’d taken it as a sign he couldn’t get enough, that he found me sexy and desirable. I shuddered at my own idiocy.
“I’ll put the fire on,” Dayton said, mistaking my trembling for a chill.
I didn’t correct him. He came to sit next to me once more. He put his arm around me. I shuffled away.
“Don’t, please. If you hold me, I’ll cry. And I need to tell you.”
“Okay, angel.” He linked our fingers again. “Is this okay?”
I nodded and stared at our joined hands. “I had no idea how to tell him, so I blurted it out. No preamble, or building him up to it, just ‘I’m pregnant’. He went completely still. He didn’t even blink. I counted almost half a minute with him sitting there as if he’d been doused in liquid nitrogen, and me fiddling with my skirt and picking bobbles off the sleeve of my sweater. I took it for shock, so I let him come around in his own time.” I swallowed, my mouth uncomfortably dry. “Could I have a drink of water?”
“Of course.”
Dayton fetched me a glass, and I drank greedily. I wiped the corners of my mouth then set the water on the table next to my half-finished whiskey.
“When the shock wore off, Sutton went crazy. He called me a whore, said he wouldn’t soil the Atwood family name by having a kid with someone like me, a worthless slut. I begged and pleaded with him, told him I loved him and that I wanted us to have this baby together. I remember how he looked at me then, like I was nothing. He ordered me to get rid of it, but I refused. That’s when he came around his desk, gripped my arm, and dragged me to my feet. He marched me across his office, opened the door, and shoved me through it. He told me I was fired, that he never wanted to see me again, and if I told one person that the kid was his, he’d kill me.”
I paused. I needed a break, and by the looks of Dayton, so did he. I hadn’t even reached the essence of the story, and yet Dayton wore an expression of abhorrence and disbelief. He encased my hands in his and rubbed them, much as he had months earlier when we’d visited the Stardust Diner on Broadway, the day I’d started to see the real Dayton.
“I walked around aimlessly. I couldn’t tell you where I went. I guess I was in shock. I’d had this vision in my mind of him taking me in his arms and telling me how thrilled he was, that we’d make great parents.” I laughed bitterly. “That’s the problem with Disney movies; they teach girls that there are such things as fairy tales and happy endings.”
He brought my hands to his lips and kissed my knuckles, his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted in pain. I touched my head to his. We’d both had our dreams shattered by those who should have cultivated them: me with Sutton, and Dayton with his father.
“Hours later I arrived home to find Rochelle waiting outside my apartment. I panicked, thinking she was there to yell at me, to call me terrible names as her brother had. Instead, she threw herself into my arms and told me that Sutton was a bastard, but that she believed me, and she’d be there for me and the baby. I sobbed and sobbed for hours while Rochelle stroked my hair and promised to force Sutton to face up to his responsibilities.
“She was as good as her word, or so I thought. The following day, Sutton turned up at my apartment and begged my forgiveness. He told me he’d do anything if I’d just take him back. He smoothed away his reaction as shock. Stupidly, I believed him. I was so desperate for the dream I’d built up in my head to be real that I convinced myself to trust him. But it was all a front, a way to build up his alibi, I guess.”
Dayton frowned. “Alibi?”
I nodded. “Sorry, I am getting to that part. I know this is taking forever.”
“There’s no rush,” Dayton said softly. “Take as long as you need.”
I sipped more water and sucked in a couple of deep breaths. “For the next four weeks, Sutton’s behavior couldn’t have been more exemplary. He moved me into his fancy apartment because he said he couldn’t bear to be separated from me or the baby. He was kind, thoughtful, always asking me if I was okay, or whether I needed anything. He even took me shopping for baby things, and we started planning the nursery. I remember feeling so happy.
“One morning over breakfast, Sutton told me he’d been called away on business, and he wouldn’t be back for a few days. He wasn’t happy leaving me or the baby for that long, especially as I was still in my first trimester, but I assured him we’d be fine, and that Rochelle wasn’t far away if I needed anything. And I was fine, for the first couple days. The third day I didn’t feel very well. Exhausted, I went to bed early, falling asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.”
I closed my eyes as the expected flashback ransacked my mind. I didn’t want to remember, but in reality, I hadn’t forgotten a single detail of that night.
“It’s okay, Christa.”
Dayton’s soothing tone reached me through the fog of terror that had descended. Come on, Christa. You told a court full of strangers. You can tell the man you’re in love with.
“I woke to a punch in the face.” Dayton sucked in a breath, but I barreled on. I couldn’t stop now. “I hadn’t even heard the guy break in. My head exploded in pain. He dragged me out of bed, punching and kicking me in my face, my torso, my legs. I tried to get away, I really did, but he was too big, too strong. I feared rape, of course. What woman wouldn’t? I curled myself into a ball, trying to protect my baby from the viciousness of the assault. The guy tied my hands to the radiator and sat on my legs. I couldn’t move. I remember a terrible burning in my midriff. I didn’t know what was happening. At some point I blacked out from the pain.
“When I came around, I was in the hospital, and a policeman was sitting beside my bed. The first thing I asked about was my baby. The medical staff told me I was still pregnant, but I’d suffered an enormous trauma, and they weren’t sure whether I’d miscarry or not in the coming days. If I did carry to term, they didn’t know if the baby would be normal. My nurse listed my injuries: a broken cheekbone and jaw, three cracked ribs, and a fractured wrist. My belly was swathed in bandages, but when I asked them why, she refused to answer, mumbling something about severe bruising. Her caginess should have alerted me that something was wrong, but all I could think was that my baby was still alive. Somehow, I’d kept him or her safe, protected them from harm.”
“Oh, Christa.” Dayton wrapped his arms around me, and I melted into him, knowing the worst was yet to come. He stroked my hair and murmured soothing words in my ear. As for me, I let the tears come, drawing on Dayton’s strength to carry me through the rest of my story.
“Sutton rushed back to be by my bedside, leaving me only to shower or eat, or to deal with the odd business call that came up, and during those times, he’d insist Rochelle sit with me. I felt so loved, so cossetted.” I shook my head. “As I regained my strength, the police questions began, but I had nothing to tell them. I couldn’t even give a good description of the person who’d broken in apart from him being tall and broad. He’d worn a mask the entire time. The police promised they wouldn’t rest until they’d brought the culprit to justice.
“The day after the assault, a Detective Harris came to see me. He asked to speak with me alone. Sutton argued vehemently, but the detective insisted. I saw no harm in it, but Sutton was far from happy. I remember him standing outside the room pacing, his furious gaze never leaving the detective. That alone should have tipped me off or at least raised my curiosity. Why would Sutton be angry? Surely anyone willing to help catch who did this to me should be applauded? But Detective Harris’s questions were very different from the ones the police had asked me so far. He was much more interested in asking about Sutton. What our relationship was like, where Sutton had been on the night this had happened, whether we were happy, how often we argued. If I ever felt nervous
or scared around him. I remember being very confused. His questions made no sense. I told him we were very happy, that Sutton was the perfect boyfriend. He asked me how Sutton felt about the baby. I said he was delighted, that he’d been shocked at first, but now he’d had a chance to come to terms with it, he was as excited as me. That sparked further interest which resulted in me telling Detective Harris of Sutton’s original reaction to my pregnancy.”
My foot started bouncing of its own accord. Hmm, I haven’t even removed my shoes. I closed my eyes and dug my fingertips into my temples. Tired, so tired.
“Christa?”
I blinked over at Dayton. I needed this over with. “The long and short of it was that Sutton had played me for an idiot. He’d never wanted the baby. In fact, the idea of having a child with me was possibly his worst nightmare. He cooked up this scheme to get me to lower my defenses, and then he’d strike, hence the moving me into his apartment, the loving attention he showered on me. The beating he paid for was intended to make me lose the baby. But even that wasn’t enough for Sutton’s warped mind. He wanted me to have a permanent reminder of how much he hated me. In the end, that was his fatal mistake.”
I cradled my stomach, remembering the nurse removing the bandages when my doctor deemed me well enough to face what had been done to me. My horror and disbelief as I stared into the mirror. My legs giving way as I’d crumpled to the floor and cried, and then they’d broken the news that my insurance wouldn’t cover the many surgeries I’d need to fix the damage.
“Tell me, please,” Dayton said. “You can tell me anything, Christa. I love you. Nothing is ever going to change that.”
“It’s easier if I show you,” I said, getting to my feet. I slipped the spaghetti straps of my dress down my arms and let the soft material pool on the floor.
“Oh Jesus.” Dayton’s hand flew to his mouth, and then he was standing, and I was in his arms, and he was holding me so tightly, and all of my fears were blown away as this wonderful, loving, amazing man told me over and over how much he loved me, and how everything was going to be okay. That no one would ever hurt me again.
I’d witnessed the rage he carried within firsthand, could sense it simmering below the surface. It should have petrified me. Instead, for the first time since my parents had been torn from me, I felt safe.
22
Dayton
I sat in the semi-darkness watching Christa sleep. It had taken her a while to drift off, but I could tell from the depth of her breathing and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest that she was in a deep slumber. I daren’t close my own eyes, though. Every time I did, I saw the word ‘WHORE’ that had been carved across Christa’s abdomen, the scars still raised and angry, even after three years.
I couldn’t contain my anger. I felt completely out of control, scared by my own urges of what I wanted to do to Atwood and to the guy he’d sent to beat a pregnant, defenseless woman half to death, and then mutilate her. I’d had violent impulses over the years, mainly associated with my father, but I’d never acted on them—until last night. I was more ruthless and vindictive, preferring to fight my battles using my brain rather than my fists. But last night changed everything. It was as if the beating I failed to give my father for what he’d done to me, to Nina, spewed out when that bastard had called Christa a whore. I could barely even remember flying at him, but when she’d admitted I’d scared her, fuck, it had broken me.
I couldn’t lose control like that ever again. If I did, I risked losing Christa.
I couldn’t lose her.
The level of violence she’d suffered turned my stomach, not to mention the permanent reminder of that terrible night every time she looked at herself in the mirror. She’d torn a fucking great hole in my heart when she’d said she hadn’t been able to afford the surgery required to carry out the skin grafts necessary to obliterate that horrific reminder, and that her insurance company had refused to pay out, citing it as a non-life-threatening procedure.
Everything was clear to me now, though. Her insistence of lights out when we slept together, her refusal to allow me to explore her body with my hands and my mouth. The excuses she’d made when I’d suggested a shower together.
I got to my feet and crept out of my bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. I headed straight to my study. Christa had briefly told me how Detective Harris and his team had refused to give up, despite the influence exerted by the Atwood family. Finally, they’d gathered sufficient evidence to charge Atwood. She revealed how she’d had to give evidence while his expensive defense attorney had torn apart her character, basically insinuating she’d deserved what had happened to her. Thankfully, the jury had seen through the lies and deceit and cover-ups, and Atwood had received a heavy prison sentence for ordering the attack. They’d also nailed the animal who’d carried out the assault. He was doing a fifteen-to-life stretch.
After it was all over, Detective Harris had helped Christa change her name, and she’d fled to New York to start a new life.
I needed to carry out my own research, though. I wanted to know every single detail, and I knew Christa had skirted over some of the details. I put on a pot of coffee, switched on my computer, and began my investigation.
Two hours later, I closed the lid on my laptop, nausea swirling in my stomach. I’d managed to get hold of the court transcripts, and I’d read Christa’s testimony. She’d been cross-examined for three days during which she’d been subjected to a character assassination by a master of his craft. But despite being put through so much, Christa had refused to buckle under the pressure. Her evidence had been consistent, clear, and to the point. No wonder the jury had found Atwood guilty of assault and battery, despite the fact he hadn’t landed a single blow. Twelve of America’s finest citizens had seen through the charade. Atwood’s money hadn’t made a bit of difference to the upstanding members of the jury despite widespread rumors of intimidation, although that was never proven.
I checked on Christa then made a couple of calls, eventually getting in touch with the person I needed. I couldn’t take away Christa’s memories, or turn back time so she didn’t have to go through any of it in the first place, but I could certainly arrange for her to see one of the top plastic surgeons in the country. I wouldn’t have my girl living with those terrible scars for a second longer than she already had.
I arranged an appointment for Monday morning, then penned an email to Angie instructing her to move all my appointments for that day. I’d piss off a couple of clients, but too bad. Christa was my priority. I fired off a second email to Christa’s boss, Greg, informing him she wouldn’t be in until Tuesday.
“What time did you get up?”
I twisted my head to find Christa walking toward me, her hair still mussed from sleep.
“A little while ago.” I held out my arms, then patted my knee.
She nestled on my lap and rested her head on my shoulder.
“Sleep okay, angel?”
Her head bobbed. “Surprisingly, yes. What about you?”
“Like a log,” I lied. “Have you heard from Mrs. Flannigan?”
“I called her a few minutes ago. Max has been no trouble. I said I’d be home around nine.”
“I’ll take you. Maybe we could all go out for breakfast, or brunch?”
“I’d like that.” She brushed her fingertips over my grazed knuckles. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you worried Arek might press charges?”
“No.” Let the bastard do his worst. I had a team of lawyers who’d tie the fucker in knots, and a bunch of associates who’d swear under oath that he threw the first punch.
We sat in silence for a minute or so, me stroking her back and her contentedly breathing warm air onto my neck.
“I have some news,” I said.
She straightened. “Oh yeah?”
I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve arranged for us to attend an appointment on Monday morning with a Dr
. Sanchez.”
She frowned. “Who’s he?”
“She is one of the country’s most talented plastic surgeons.”
Christa paused for a brief moment, then understanding crossed her face. “For me? To fix… that.”
I nodded.
She burst into tears.
“Christa,” I breathed, holding her as tightly as I dared. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.” I let her cry it out for a while, then dried her tears.
“I thought I’d have to live with it forever,” she said. “I’ve been so terrified of Max seeing it when he’s older and asking questions I didn’t know how to answer.”
Another flush of rage zipped through me. If I ever came face to face with Atwood, I wouldn’t be held responsible for my actions. I’d castrate the bastard and ram his balls down his throat until he choked.
“I’ll pay you back,” she said. “Somehow.”
I widened my eyes. “Christa, what are you talking about? You don’t have to pay me back. Jesus, I love you. I’m in love with you. I’d spend every cent I had to take away your pain and suffering.” I wanted that fucker’s brand off her as soon as I could make it happen.
She curved her hands around the back of my neck and kissed me. “I love you, too. I didn’t get to say it last night, what with Arek turning up and then everything… afterward. But I do. I’m so lucky to have met you. You saved me.”
I shook my head. “No, you saved me, Christa. You and Max have filled my life with fun and laughter and more joy than I ever thought possible. My life was empty before you.”
She kissed me again, except this time, her lips held a promise and an intention that sent blood rushing to my groin. She wriggled on my lap and made a hmmm sound.
“That definitely has promise.”
I slipped my hands underneath her knees and around her back, then stood. “We’ve got at least an hour before we have to leave. Time to go back to bed.”
Tempting Christa: An Irresistibly Mine Duet - Book 1 Page 18
