Saved (Darker Steamy Shorts #7)

Chapter 1

SARAH

There's no amount of thunder, lightning, and onslaught of pelting rain that can drown out the sounds of Dade Andrews bellowing his frustrations.

Who is Dade Andrews?

I admit that I don't have the answer to that question. However, my mother, the woman he's currently screwing in more ways than one, probably has a better idea of how to answer that.

My 25-year-old car, which shakes too much when idling, starts its signature death rattle because I'm not ready to get out.

I hear them through the raindrops dotting the roof of my Always Reliable hatchback. I can hear them over Mother Nature's thunderclaps that shake the very driveway I'm sitting in.

"Dammit, Eileen," Dade's voice booms from behind the front door. "I done told you too many times that I hate my steaks well done. I need a beer with my beef and a bitch at my balls."

Really? Yuck.

Ma sure knows how to pick ‘em.

"If you ain't gonna do what I ask, then why even bother?" Dade shouts.

Ma, not to be deemed as mousy or demure, returns her words with just as much ferocity and volume.

"I bothered because I'm tired of you sleeping around like I don't ever put a full meal in your belly. You think that just because you're the hottest thing smoking around here, you can treat me like mud. Well, I ain't nothin to scrape off no boot. Fuck you, Dade."

The silence before the first blow lands is always the strongest.

Dade hates when Ma stands up for herself, but I love it.

Normally, they go a few rounds before I get home from work, but tonight is different. I can hear it in Ma's voice. She's talking back …

"Gah DAMMIT, Eileen. You done blacked my good eye."

I chuckle because not only is she talking back, she's fighting back, too.

But I know this won't last long. It only takes a matter of seconds for Dade to get really upset and start swinging at Ma. I plan to stop it before that starts.

It's a 20-second run from my car to the front door. When I burst into the house, drenched from the rain, I stare at them as I shake the excess water off me.

"Is dinner ready? I could eat a whole cow." I try to keep my voice bright and energetic, hoping to distract them from their fight.

"Don't be stupid, Sarah. You know good and well that ain't no food cooked in here. The only shit edible is your mother's pussy since she turned my steak into a damn brick."

"Gross, Dade," I reply.

"And I ain't turned it into no brick," Ma huffs as she folds her arms across her chest. "The only reason you can't eat it is because you wasted so much time arguing with the TV about a stupid tackle down that it got cold. I told you that reheating it would make it tough."

"That's because you don't listen."

I cut them both off. "How about we don't do this for the third time this week? I got a coupon from work that gets us a whole bucket of fried chicken, two family sides, and a gallon of sweet tea."

"Now, that's a deal," Dade smiles and turns to my mother.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, holding out her hand for me to give her the keys to my car.

I tell her, "Just tell them Sarah sent you."

Ma doesn't respond as she huffs and takes the keys with a subtle glance in my direction.

It's time.

It's a plan we concocted a few weeks ago. If I bring up a coupon for some chicken and she doesn't fuss about going to get it, she's ready to get out of this relationship. I just need to keep Dade distracted long enough not to ask too many questions.

"Can you believe she hit me?" Dade questions as he stares into a circular mirror clock across from the front door.

I shrug as my anxiety creeps up. The sound of my car driving away from the house is terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time

I try to be reasonable with Dade when I say, "I don't get why neither of you can't work through a disagreement without it turning physical. It's not right. Ma's the sweetest person in the world. Especially since she let you move in here with us."

"Don't start your shit, Sarah. I've had enough of you and your mother. How the hell am I going to explain this to the fellas? I let my woman cold cock me and I ain't do shit about it?"

"Neither one of you should be using your hands -"

"Ahh, you don’t get it, Sarah, she likes it when I use my hands," Dade replies with a devious grin.

I stop him with a wave of my hands, saying, "Nope, I don't want to hear it. The more I think about it … I'm going to throw a bag together and head to John's house as soon as she gets back. I don't want to hear either of you when you guys decide to make up."

I start crossing items off my mental checklist while I throw items into a small duffle bag. It doesn't take long for Dade to darken the doorway of my bedroom.

"So you and John got back together?" Dade asks with a curious tone in his voice.

Absolutely not. Guys my age are just too immature, and John's one of the worst boyfriends for a girl like me.

"Yeah," I lie. "We're working things out."

"That's funny because I could have sworn I saw him at the titty bar the other night with his new girl, Bethany. And you are a terrible liar, Sarah. So what's really going on? Where are you going tonight, huh?"

I ignore him and keep moving around my room, throwing things in my duffle. I hope he lets it go, but I know that's unlikely.

"Don't give me your back, girl. I know you hear me talking to you." Dade warns and steps into the room.

He's quicker than I realize as he snatches the bag out of my hand and starts pulling items out of it.

"Is this what you plan on wearing to see your mystery man?" He asks with a chuckle, but then takes a longer look at the garment.

When he tips his head sideways with recognition, the levity leaves his face. His eyes narrow, and his jaw hardens. Shades of red slowly spread across his face as he turns to glare at me.

"Where do you think you're going with your mother's clothes? What's going on, Sarah?" He questions and lets the dress fall to the ground. The minute he begins sifting through the bag, I try my best to knock it out of his hand and take it.

It doesn't work as Dade yanks the bag away and steps out of my bedroom. I can't stop myself from following him as he pulls more stuff from the bag. Panic consumes me as I pick up the trails of clothes and reach for my duffle bag one more time.

Dade refuses to let me grab it. His frustration takes over. A stiff palm to my chest stops me in my tracks right before he uses his forearm to pin me against the wall.

Fury radiates from his gaze. "What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing is going on." I struggle to push him away from me. "I just want to get my stuff and leave to see John."

"Don't lie to me!" He grips me by the shoulders and jerks me back and forth against the wall.

"Let go of me, Dade." I grimace and attempt to slip out of his grasp.

It's to no avail as he seems unmovable.

Just above my head and slightly to the left is the same clock mirror he used to see the damage to his eye. His anger and beer make his words slur into a single line of madness.

"You need to get that woman back here right now, or you're goin’ to take the beating for her," Dade snarls.

I don't waste anymore words as I reach up, grip the edge of the clock mirror, and bring it down over Dade's head. The glass shatters over the top of his head. Blood pours out of a fresh gash. He collapses in front of me while his wound continues to pump blood onto the floor.

"Shit … shit … shit. What did I do?" I stare at the horrific scene in front of me.

My eyes widen, and I don't know what to do. However, when I see him stirring, I know he's going to be pissed. At best, he's going to take his anger out on me. At the worst, he's going to call the police. Should I call an ambulance?

Dade groans and starts moving. No, I need to get out of here.

I toss most of the stuff Dade pulled from the duffle back inside and dart off into the night. Rain was never a part of our plan, didn’t think it through in great detail, to be honest, but I know we're supposed to meet up in the next day or two once we know Dade's not following either of us.

The slickness of wet grass under my feet makes it hard to run at my top speed. I sprint across our front yard, duck under a fence, then trek through a ton of our neighbors' backyards. There's a light on inside a small house beside a church in the distance.

I just know I'll be safe there.

With every step I take to the church, I swear I can hear Dade chasing me. I move faster, but so does the storm. Rain soaks my entire body by the time I make it to the door.

After a few furious and frantic bangs against the wooden frame, I see a yellow light come on through the decorative glass panel. The door lock clunks, and the heavy door opens. A man greets me.

And … my god, what a man.

Six feet tall, with a hard-defined jawline covered with sexy stubble, neat dark brown strands slicked back over his temples. Piercing dark blue eyes fill with sorrow as he speaks. His voice is deep, but his tone is soft, safe.

"Oh no. What are you doing out in this storm? Come inside, please." He welcomes me into what appears to be a cozy living room with a roaring fireplace. There's a stool beside it that lets me sit without drenching his furniture with rainwater.

"I thought this was a part of the church?" I say through chattering teeth.

"It is a part of the church," he says with a soft smile. "This is my home. I'm Father Michael Mitchum, and who might you be?"

"I'm Sarah Holmes. I just need a moment to dry up, and then I'll be out of your hair." I tell him, and suddenly there's recognition in his eyes.

Ma and I have shown up to service a few times, but stopped going regularly when the glares of pity and judgment became too much. The entire town knows that Ma is Dade's punching bag, and that I catch the odd stray blow when I try to stop them.

"There's no rush, Sarah. The storm's supposed to carry on through the night. It's not safe out there. Especially on foot. What in the world made you brave this weather in nothing but jeans, a t-shirt, and a duffle bag?"

"I had to clobber my mom's boyfriend and left him bleeding on the floor of our house. I need to get to a phone and make sure she doesn't go back there either. He's going to lose his shit, I'm sorry. He's going to be really angry that I clocked him with a clock."

Father Michael grins at that.

"It sounds like you've had quite the evening. I want you to relax and dry off by the fire. Don't you worry about a thing, Sarah. You'll be safe here."

Father Michael's words are as warm and comforting as the fire. I stare at him as he moves around the home. It's small, but open. The wood paneling on the walls gives the space a cozy, log-cabin feel. Down a short hallway, I can see the edge of a huge bed.

In an instant, flashes of the Father taking me into his arms and into his bed force blood to rush to my cheeks. What is wrong with me? I can't bear to look at him while such salacious images run through my mind.

How can I think about him this way? He’s a priest, for fuck’s sake, girl.

I must shake these impure thoughts. There's no way in heaven or hell that Father Michael is interested in me in my current state, or in any state, but especially when I look like I've crawled out of a swamp.

Still, I can't stop picturing his strong arms and hands holding me while we shelter from the raging storm.

I try to distract myself with my favorite mental game: dreaming up odd movie and book titles. Like right now, The Virgin from the Swamp pops into my mind, or maybe The Swamp Virgin. Shorter, pithier … hotter!