Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
BETH
W hen I got home, I raced to my room to cover up the bite mark on my neck. It turned red and got purple as time went on. Now, if my mom sees it, she will flip out. This mark can’t be explained away. That asshole bit me!
I use makeup to cover the mark. Luckily, I have some full-coverage foundation or I’d have to wear a scarf to dinner and even then, I bet she’d notice something was off.
I grab my hoodie from the chair by my desk and tug it over my head before walking out of my room. I swear, the next time I see Nigel, I’ll kick him in the balls instead. Is he this fucking reckless? He can’t leave marks on me. That’s the fastest way for my mom to file charges against him for assault.
“Dinner is ready,” my mom says as she sets the pot roast on the table before looking at me. “Why are you wearing that?” she presses, eyeing me suspiciously.
“It’s comfy,” I quip as I sit down at the kitchen table, but she continues to glare at me, snatching her wine.
“Take it off, Bethany.”
“No. I’m cold,” I lie, and my mother glares at me.
“When I tell you to do something, do it. What are you hiding?”
I scowl back at her. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Take off the goddamn jacket,” she demands, but I ignore her.
“Should a great servant of the Lord be saying his name in vain?” I grumble as I reach for the serving fork, but I don’t reach it before a sharp sting lands across my cheek, whipping my face around.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I’m your mother!”
My hair falls in my face, and my jaw slacks with shock and agony radiating through my cheek. I can’t believe she actually hit me. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. She’s been on a downward spiral since my dad died and kept up the pretenses of being put together for everyone outside of this house. I get to see the great Darcy Mercer in the wild, unfiltered, and she’s only getting progressively worse. I hoped this move would be good for her to escape all the memories, but it’s blatantly clear that is not the case. It was wishful thinking because this isn’t grief anymore. She’s a functioning addict at best.
My hand rubs the sore flesh as tears assault my eyes. “If only Dad could see you now,” I whisper to myself more than to her as my lip trembles.
“Baby…” My mom’s voice trails off, but I don’t look at her. This is my burden to bear. She is the burden, her pain. “I’m sorry I…” she can’t even finish the thought. We both know no matter what she says, it won’t fix this or make it better. She crossed a line she hasn’t before, and there is no going back.
“I lost my appetite. Why don’t you go find a bar to drink yourself into a stupor, Preacher?” I jump from my seat, fish an ice pack out of the freezer and hurry to my room.
She’ll leave soon and I’ll get something to eat then. Right now, I need to nurse my injury and keep my distance from her.
I cannot wait to get out of Grove Hill and make my way to Port Angeles. Good riddance to my mother and this town.
I lay in my bed for a while, using my oversized ice pack as a pillow until my window is suddenly thrown open. I shriek in shock and sit up, racing my gaze to the bay window, looking over the backyard and watch as a familiar face pokes in.
“Nigel?” What is he doing here? “How the hell did you find out where I live?” I ask, exasperated.
He grins and pulls himself up into the second-story window, somehow landing on his feet like it took him no effort at all.
“Ro let it slip that you live next door to Judy,” he mutters as I stand up from my bed.
Please don’t tell me this asshole is seriously stalking me now?
“So, you just thought you’d climb through my window? What is stopping me from pushing you back out? You’d fall to your death.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him, but he just closes the window with that debonair smile, his pearly whites gleaming.
“Probably the broken glass and maybe this.” Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, Nigel drags me to him and slams his lips down on mine. I jump at the pressure on my injured flesh. My hand shoots up to my cheek before I can stop the knee-jerk reaction and his eyes follow the path of my hand.
“I have a bad tooth,” I lie, but he grabs my hand and pulls it down from my face, staring at the reddened skin. The skin will be clear by morning, but it’s still too soon after the attack. He can see the handprint and he’s glimpsing behind the veil everyone sees.
“Who did this to you?” he growls, protectiveness glowing in those icy blue depths as his fingers move to my neck, holding me in his aura.
“Like I said, it’s a toothache,” I reiterate the same lie, but his stern gaze tells me he isn’t buying it.
“A toothache doesn’t leave a bruise, butterfly. A fist does. You have a handprint on your cheek.”
My jaw clenches, knowing I can’t bullshit my way out of this. Why did he have to come through my window tonight? Any other night and he wouldn’t see this. I never wanted anyone to see how shitty my home life really is. “Who did this?” he pushes again.
“Why? It’s not like you could do anything. Your fists are a deadly weapon, remember?” The sass flows from me without my permission, but it's just a defense mechanism.
“Don’t mess with me. I have other ways of hurting someone that doesn’t require my fists. So tell me. Is it your dad or maybe your brother that I’ll be hurting?” he asks, holding my gaze with no uncertainty present. Of course he thinks it would be a man who hit me. No one ever jumps to the conclusion that a woman could be abusive.
“It’d be kind of hard to do either since my dad is dead and my brother died in my mother’s womb.” That’s the closest thing he’s getting to an answer. He’s not getting any closer than that.
“Your mom did this to you?”
I glare at him. How dare he be so damn clever. “I didn’t say that. Like I said before, it’s a toothache. Swelling can look like a bruise. You’re making something out of nothing.”
“Am I? You said the same thing earlier, but I bet if I took off your panties, they’d be drenched.”
My body instantaneously shudders in response, a fresh pool of arousal flooding my underwear, and I curse myself for reacting to his dirty words.
“No, not at all. You’re delusional.”
His hand wraps around my throat and holds me in his personal bubble, only tightening to accentuate his point.
“Take off your pants,” he demands.
My eyes widen in shock. “Excuse me?”
“I said, take off your pants. I’m going to prove my point. You’re full of shit, butterfly. Drop them and stop denying what both of us already know. You want me just as badly as I want you.” His icy blues darken to a sapphire color with desire as he strokes my ass roughly through my jogging pants.
Honestly, if I wanted to, I could probably kick him in the balls and run out of here, but my mom would hear, and I don’t want Nigel going to jail for breaking and entering.
The sad part is he’s right. I want him, but he’s wrong for thinking it’s more than sex.
“Drop. Them.” He hisses in my face, but when I still don’t move, knowing I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, he grabs the waist of my jogging pants and forces them down with my destroyed panties.
I squeak out my rejection, but his hand cups my bare pussy, and I mewl from his touch. His thumb brushes my clit as my essence soaks his hand, and he groans, his eyes full of unbridled need.
“I knew you were wet, but I didn’t think you were this wet. I could use this to take your ass and wouldn’t need a drop of lube.”
Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, Nigel pushes me back onto the bed, and all I can do is stare at him as he unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops in a hurry. I have no idea what he has planned, but I know I’m going to love every second of it.