Chapter 42
CHAPTER 42
BETH
I rap my knuckles against the hotel room door and wait for a sign of life. For all I know, Aimee could’ve abandoned her car and started hitchhiking to throw us off. Another instance of misdirection. She could be a pro at that.
It took a lot of convincing for Nigel to stay in the truck and let me do this. She might be more open to talking to me than to him. Plus, I got a small recorder tucked in my back pocket so I can record whatever she says and he can hear it for himself.
Then, I hear a small voice.
“Wrong room,” the voice calls from within, and my shoulders relax. The voice could easily be Aimee, but maybe she doesn’t think we would track her down.
“Aimee, my name is Beth. We met at your brother’s house earlier.”
The silence in the room lasts for half a second before there’s movement and her voice.
“Is my brother with you?” Even though the volume of her voice is louder, the tone is much softer, like a scared little girl.
“Yes, and he really wants to see you. He has missed you a lot. Nigel talks about you all the time, but he can be a little more patient if that’s what you need. We just want to make sure you’re okay and that you’re not in any danger. Please, can I come in?”
I pray that she opens the door as I reach into my back pocket and show Nigel the recording device I have already turned on.
As I hear the lock turn, I push the recorder back into my pocket and adjust my shirt to cover the bulge. The door cracks open, but not enough to see her.
“Come in,” she whispers from the darkened room, and I cautiously slip inside before closing the door behind me. Aimee’s silhouette is nearly masked by the cloak of shadows behind the door, and I can hear her sniffling.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” she whispers.
I reach for the light switch, but she snatches my arm, stopping me.
“Please, don’t. I don’t want you to see me.” Her words come out a near sob, and my gut says I need to see it–whatever she is hiding from me.
“Aimee.” I wrap my fingers around hers before taking a breath to calm myself. “I need to see that you’re okay, and I can’t see you in the dark.”
A small cry falls from her lips, but I catch her head nodding. “Okay.” Her digits uncurl from my arm, and I move to the switch on the wall, flipping it on.
The room bathes in the soft glow of the light, and it shadows across Aimee in her black sports bra and navy blue gym shorts.
No, it’s not the light causing those shadows on her skin. Those are…bruises.
I gasp as my eyes take in the imperfections going up her ankles, over her knees, across her thighs, and even higher.
“What happened to you?” I ask as I find my voice. Even with the abuse I was subjected to from my mother, I never looked like this . It was always a little something here or there.
Her bottom lip trembles as she lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Isn’t it obvious?”
My stomach drops as she wraps her arms around her midsection, trying to block out the view of her skin covered in those marks. Some are faded and some are brand new.
“Who did this to you?” The worst-case scenario runs through my mind, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I was right to stop Nigel from coming in here. I don’t know what he would do if he saw her like this.
“My mother’s boyfriend,” she confesses as she falls down the wall, sitting on her ass. Aimee pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her cheeks there, calming down her breathing. Her mountain of black hair falls over her shoulders like a waterfall, forever unaffected by anything happening. It looks like it's freshly styled, even with how much she has been crying, probably since she left the party.
“Was it…just once?” I question, hoping not to upset her.
She slowly shakes her head. “Since I was fourteen–a year after my mom made me leave with her. She wanted to bring my brother with us, but…the new man in her life said no boys .” A sob falls from her lips as she lifts her head. “He’s a monster. It was bad enough that he was hurting me, but he was hurting my mom, too. She’s gotten pregnant five times since he took us. At four months along, she found out it was a boy two different times. Each time, he sent my mom to California to see this awful doctor who would do what he called a late-term abortion. She said they came out alive. Small, but moving. They didn’t deserve that, and neither did my mom. She didn’t want to do that, and he made her. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave, even if she wouldn’t. I’d rather die than go back there.” She shakes her head vigorously with the same rage across her face I’ve seen on Nigel’s from time to time. She really means it. She would rather die than go back. That alone should say how horrible it was for her, and I can’t say it's unimaginable. What she described sounds like hell, just from what her mother has been going through.
“Aimee?” I whisper as I try to hold back from crying. “Was he just being physically abusive toward you, or was he also…” I trail off because I can’t get the word out.
It’s at this point I realize how sheltered I have been my entire life. Until now, I’ve been too young-minded to even conceive of a man doing such a horrible thing to his fourteen-year-old step-daughter.
“Raping me?” she finishes for me before huffing, rolling her eyes. “I’ve only ever consented to one man, and it sure as fuck wasn’t him.”
* * *
It took some time, but I managed to convince Aimee to transfer from the hotel to my house. She got the room under her name, and if her stepfather comes looking for her like she thinks he will, she’ll be a sitting duck here. At least, at my house, she’ll only be a few streets from Mason Road, and I can get one of the guys to guard the house, but I doubt the nameless piece of shit will be able to track her there.
I covered my tracks pretty well when I ran and Nigel still found me.
As soon as she is out of the hotel room–fully clothed again–Nigel wraps his arms around her and holds her like he never thought he would get the chance. Aimee cries even harder than she did when she told me her horror story in detail, but these tears are full of joy and elation.
It’s hard to watch and even harder to look away. I know things about Aimee and her experience that Nigel doesn’t. That makes this difficult to manage because he doesn’t know how fragile and abused she is. He doesn’t know how broken she has become. She might not stay broken, but that doesn’t change the way she will feel until she gets to that point.
Just as they pull away my phone vibrates in my pocket. I hurry to pull it out and see a string of texts from Teigan. I completely forgot that she, her sister, and her boyfriend–a football player named Malakai–were coming for a visit. They aren’t just in the area to see me but also visit with her family back in Hempstead. Her hotel is nearby, though. Grove Hill was the closest place they could get a decent hotel. That meant we could hang out, and she could meet Nigel, but this is shitty timing.
They just got here and are ready for dinner, which Nigel and I are supposed to be attending with them…tomorrow night.
“Damnit,” I curse, and Nigel releases Aimee, turning to me with a quizzical gaze.
“What is it?”
I groan. “Teigan, Delaney, and Malakai happened. Their plane arrived early.”
Granted, their flight wasn’t supposed to arrive until about five in the morning, but Teigan didn’t want to deal with an overnight flight and being jet lagged, so she found an earlier flight and didn’t tell me before they departed. Classic Teigan Harper.
And I still have to escort Aimee to my house and help her settle in. I’m too tired for this shit.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nigel groans.
I text Teigan before turning to Aimee, who seems uncertain, but seeing how frail she is, I make my decision. “You hungry, Aimee?” I ask.
Her eyes widen, and her gaze dashes between me and Nigel before her shoulders relax, and she nods. “Fucking starving.”