Chapter Seven
Weston is fun.
Who knew I needed a little fun in my life? I’m not sure I’ve laughed this much, well, ever.
“Stop,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice down since everyone in the cabin is in bed. “You’re insane.”
He really is. It’s adorable, though.
“Just saying,” Weston rumbles through my earbud—a wonderful piece of technology I’m in love with. “Snitches get stitches.”
His stories about college are hilarious and never ending. My jaw hurts from smiling so much.
“I’m really glad I met you,” he murmurs, voice growing serious. “It feels like I was meant to. Had I randomly not dropped in on Mom at that exact moment, I may have never known you existed.”
My stomach flutters at his words. “I’m happy too.”
“Plus, what guy doesn’t like talking to a pretty girl who laughs at all his jokes?”
He thinks I’m pretty?
I bite down on my bottom lip, unable to hold back my grin. “It’s not fair, though. You could be hideous and I would never know.”
He snorts with laughter. “Love is blind, though, Destiny.”
“Bad joke,” I say with a groan.
A draft of cold air chills my heated flesh. Did I wake Uncle Atticus up with my giggling?
“I have to go,” I whisper. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
I’ve barely ended the call when I sense another person’s presence. Then a hand covers my mouth. I want to scream, but I’m frozen in fear.
“Shh,” a familiar voice growls. “It’s me. Wild.”
Relief floods through me and I blink away the tears on my lashes. I’m not sure my heart will ever stop hammering in my chest.
He removes his hand from my mouth. “Sorry. I just didn’t want to wake up Mom and Dad coming through the front door.”
The crazy man climbed through my window?
“What are you doing here?” I demand in a low tone. “You scared me half to death.”
Now that the fear has dissipated, my other senses catch up. What’s that smell?
“Have you been drinking?”
“Little bit,” he grunts.
“You reek.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“What do you want?”
“It’s Rowdy,” he says, voice slightly slurring. “He’s sick.”
Sick?
The anger I’d felt earlier toward him is long gone, thanks to Weston. Concern washes over me as I sit up.
“Sick how?” I ask. “Is he drunk too?”
He pushes what feels like my coat into my hands. “We ran into Evan.”
My stomach hollows out. Evan hurt him. And now, because of me, he ran into the one person he most likely never wanted to see again. “Oh no.”
“Put your coat on. I think he needs you. I’m too drunk to figure out what he needs right now.”
I stifle a yelp when Wild grabs my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. He dresses me like I’m a toddler, quickly and without room for argument. If we’re going outside, I need to throw on some pants, but before I can mention it, he’s cramming my feet into my boots.
“Wild—”
He scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder like he’s a villain and I’m his prize.
If it didn’t alert the whole family, I’d scream at him to put me down.
I hold on to my phone for dear life so I don’t lose it as he climbs through the window with me in his grip.
As soon as we’re outside, snowflakes touch my bare legs.
I’m irritated he won’t just let me walk to the RV, but there’s no sense in arguing with a drunk person.
Thankfully, the man plays football and is built for speed. Drunk or not, he flies across the yard, so I’m not exposed to the elements for long. Once inside the RV, where it’s toasty and warm, he sets me back to my feet. Then, again, like I’m a child, he strips me of my coat and boots.
“He’s in his room,” Wild says, physically turning me and shoving me gently in the direction he wants me to go in. “I got him a bowl in case he pukes again.”
With my hands reaching for surfaces or walls to guide me, I gingerly make my way to the bedroom. A thin door is closed, but it easily opens for me. Almost as soon as I enter the space, my legs hit what feels like the bed. I close the door behind me, then crawl onto the bed to find my brother.
I find the bowl first, which is thankfully empty, and set it aside. Then I feel around until my hand touches smooth fabric stretched over hard muscle. Found him.
“Hey,” I murmur, scooting closer to him, and lie down on my side to face him. “Heard you were sick. How are you feeling?”
He grunts and it doesn’t sound good.
I feel my way up what must be his shoulder to his face. It’s sweaty and clammy. My fingers drift to his hair that’s wet from perspiration.
“What can I do?” I ask, stroking my fingers through his hair. “Need me to get some water?”
“No,” he rasps out.
I relax on the pillow beside him and continue the comforting touches on his scalp, hoping to calm the inner torment he’s no doubt dealing with. “Is this okay?”
“Mmhmm.”
I’m not sure how long I do this for, but it seems to make him happy, so I keep it up. Finally, after what feels like a quiet eternity, he speaks.
“It was awful,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “So fucking awful. I froze, Dez.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “You’re away from him now. You’re safe.”
He reaches for my hand that’s touching him. “I fucked up earlier. I’m sorry. How’s your wrist?”
I’d been so upset with him after the incident this afternoon, but I’m having trouble remembering the anger in this moment.
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “You were being ridiculous, but that’s okay. I know you feel bad and that’s all that matters.”
His hand slides back down between us and he sighs heavily. “Today was hard.”
For him. For me it was one of my best in a long time.
“I know. Tomorrow will be better.”
He doesn’t respond with words but a soft snore instead. And now that I know he’s going to be okay, I drift off to sleep too.
I wake to the bed shifting. It takes a moment to remember where I’m at.
The RV. With Rowdy. Not in the woods with Jace.
Rowdy grunts as he heaves something away from him.
On instinct, I reach for him to calm him again.
My fingers skim over bare, hard muscle. A finger dips into a depression of what must be his bellybutton.
“It’s hot,” he grumbles sleepily.
It’s not hot, but he’s feeling bad, so I’ll give him a pass. I’m cold, actually, and wriggle around until I’m under the covers. Then, because I want his warmth, I curl close to him without touching him so I don’t make him hotter than he already is.
He goes back to breathing heavily, a sure sign he’s gone to sleep. The sound is soothing and I follow him shortly after.
Don’t touch me.
I can’t say the words to him because he gets mean when I fight back. It’s best to pretend along with him. I’m his “wife” and he “loves” me.
I hate him.
With every fiber of my body.
Jace, despite raping me every day, is gentle.
He kisses me in places that sometimes make my pulse race.
I’m ashamed of that want burning deep inside me.
His tongue does things to me that I simultaneously hate and love.
Even though it feels good at times, I hold back.
Just enough. I feel as though he wants my body to perform in some way for him, but I have at least that much control.
He’ll never get that from me.
When he’s inside me, it hurts, but it’s always over pretty quickly. The sign to know it’s ending is his grunting, uneven thrusts, and then the gush of heat that pours inside me. And then, as though we’re lovers, he cleans me up and praises me.
It’s far different than the sounds I hear coming from Logan and Ronan’s tent.
Painful rape. Sobs. Begging for it to stop. The lashing of a belt or a hand in punishment. It’s horrible. While I hate Jace and being his sex captive, I could have it worse.
The thrusting ends and Jace stills. His slobbery mouth kisses mine, but I don’t reciprocate.
I lie here like a lifeless doll until it’s over.
My mind drifts to other happier places like my parents and home as he swipes away the mess he’s left between my crudely spread legs.
Then he pulls me to him, locking me in his arms, our naked bodies pressed together, and holds me tight while he sleeps.
I hate him and this life. I want it all to end.
“Hey, shh. You’re whimpering. Nightmare?”
I jerk out of the hazy memories of my past that weeded their way into my dreams and attempt to make sense of the voice speaking to me. It’s warm and familiar and safe. Rowdy. Not Jace. My brother.
This time, he’s the one comforting me. His massive hand is tangled in my hair as his thumb rubs circles on my cheekbone. I’m grateful for his touch.
“I hate sleep,” I mutter, voice wobbling. “I can’t escape him there.”
Jace is dead. He’s not coming back. And yet…I can’t shake him off me no matter how hard I try.
“Come here, Dez.”
I choke on a sob as he pulls me to his chest for a hug. Clinging to him, I let go of the troubled emotions plaguing my mind. He holds me tight, kissing the top of my head, and whispers reassurances.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
Rowdy rolls onto his back but doesn’t let go of me. I snuggle into his side, using his shoulder for a pillow. His warm chest is smooth and hard. It grounds me simply by touching him. This time when I fall asleep, I feel safe and protected.
Teeth nip at my neck and a large hand roughly palms my bare thigh, just below my ass. It wakes me with a start. I’m scattered and afraid until I realize it’s Rowdy.
“Rowdy,” I croak out, shocked at the way he’s touching me.
He murmurs something in his sleep, completely unaware of what he’s doing. I attempt to pull away, but he’s incredibly strong. His fingers bite into my thigh, no doubt bruising my flesh as he drags my leg over his body. It’s then I feel something hard against my inner thigh.
Oh my God.
An inappropriate flash of heat throbs between my legs and I whimper. His hand slides up over my underwear, over my ass cheek, and up my spine under my shirt. My heart hammers so hard I think my chest is going to explode.
How do I make him stop?
“Wake up,” I hiss, jerking my leg away from his erection that’s straining in his boxers. “Rowdy, wake up.”
His palm slides back down and his fingers edge beneath the hem of my underwear. I smack at his stomach to wake him. He grabs my ass cheek hard, fingers biting between the crack, and one nearly entering me there.
I twist his nipple and he jolts. His hand relaxes and his breathing evens out again.
What the hell was that all about?
And, as strong as he was and with what he was doing, why wasn’t I scared out of my wits?
I reach behind me to extract his hand from my underwear. He’s essentially dead weight as I move his palm to his stomach. Then I scoot away from him, needing distance.
I’ve barely made it a few inches when he rolls on top of me, pinning my body with his. His weight crushes me to the lumpy mattress, but at least he’s no longer feeling me up. He’s dead asleep.
All attempts to shove him off me are unsuccessful.
I guess we’re sleeping like this.
He’s going to freak out if he remembers what he’s done when he wakes up.
There’s nothing I can do about it either.