Chapter 2 #3
Harley smiled and fear snaked down Marnie’s spine. “Run back to your daddy, boy. She’s not worth the fight, no matter how good she is. They never are.” He chuckled and Marnie felt Beckett go stiff with anger next to her. “Get in the car, girl. I won’t tell you a second time.”
She let go of Beckett’s hand and started to move forward, but he grabbed her wrist. “He’s been drinking,” Beckett said. “It’s not safe to go with him.”
“He’s always drinking. And it’s a lot safer to go with him now and just deal with it than to defy him,” she hissed. “Do what he says. He’ll hurt you, and I can’t have that on my conscience. He’ll sleep it off and won’t remember any of this by morning.”
“And what about you?” Beckett asked. “Will you be fine?”
“Sure,” she said. “I always am.”
“I’m going to get the sheriff. This is insane, Marnie. He can’t get away with this. And I won’t let him hurt you.”
“One year and three days,” she said, pulling out of his grasp.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Freedom.” She took a step forward to face her destiny and the world went black as the vision took over.
It was powerful. And violent. Her knees buckled and she went down to the ground in a smooth motion.
Everything around her stopped—sight and sound—all she could see was the scene she was incapable of stopping from unfolding before her.
Her father sitting in the back room at Duffey’s like he had so many times before.
The three other men at the table giving each other wary glances as Harley became more intoxicated.
He was losing. And he was angry about it.
Then Mitch Jones laid down three aces and Harley’s temper exploded.
He accused Mitch of cheating and then swiped his arm across the table, clearing cards and poker chips and money.
There was no stopping him. Harley was a freight train of rage and injustice.
And he picked up the heavy wooden chair and slammed it into Mitch’s face. Then he did it again. And again.
“You killed him,” she sobbed out with horror. “The sheriff is looking for you. He’s coming. You thought you could hide in the crowd, but he’s coming for you. They’ll all be looking for you. You’ll be surrounded.”
“Son of a—” Harley said, kicking the front tire of his pickup truck. “Leave it to Mitch to go and die after a little tap on the head. Get in the truck. You’re coming with me. I’ll need a little insurance to get out of here.”
“No, I’m not going,” she said, scrambling to her feet to get away.
Beckett helped steady her and pushed her behind him.
“They’re coming for you.” Panic tinged her voice at the thought of being close to him.
She could see it better now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
The spatters of dried blood across his shirt and on the tip of his boot where he’d kicked Mitch.
She’d forgotten how fast he was for a big man.
There was no time to run into the safety of the crowd.
Harley was in front of them in the blink of an eye.
His fist connected with Beckett’s stomach hard enough to double him over.
And then he jerked her by the arm and tossed her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
She felt the liquid pop as her shoulder came out of joint and her scream was muffled against his back.
“Let her go,” she heard Beckett say, his breath wheezing as he stood straight again. Then she heard the familiar sound of her father’s fist hitting flesh. Beckett shared Harley’s height, but at nineteen, he didn’t have the strength or build of the other man.
“Stop it! Don’t hurt him!” she yelled. She tasted the salt of her tears, but crying never did any good. Crying made it worse.
“Shut up, little brat,” Harley snarled. And then he tightened his grip around the back of her legs and marched off toward his truck.
She looked up in time to see a small crowd gathering and Beckett sprawled on the grass—unmoving.
The door of the truck opened and she was tossed inside, her head hitting the center console with a sharp crack.
Her vision went blurry for a split second and when she was able to focus again she saw the open bottle of Jim Beam in the cup holder.
Marnie scrambled to a sitting position as her father got in the cab of the pickup and she scooted as close to the door as she could.
He turned the key in the ignition and it started up smoothly, and then he threw the truck in reverse and sped out of the grassy field, fishtailing onto the gravel road that led back into town.
He cut through back roads and across open land, checking the rearview mirror for anyone on his trail. There was no one. Just her.
“I need money,” he said. “I know you’ve got a stash. Tramp like you probably makes decent cash doing whatever you do. You’re going to give it to me or I’m going to gut you with my filet knife.”
Marnie closed her eyes and tried to remember to breathe, but the fear was thick and cloying and it crawled across her skin like a toxic ooze. All she knew was she’d rather be dead than give up the one chance she had for freedom.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stuttered.
She didn’t even have time to flinch as the back of his hand connected with her cheek.
Pain exploded along her jaw, and she tasted the coppery tang of blood as it filled her mouth.
She pushed herself farther in the corner of the cab and looked at the position of the door handle.
She’d have to be fast to open the door and roll out into the street.
“Don’t bother lying,” he said. “You managed to get yourself that makeup on your face. You got it and those slutty clothes from somewhere, so I know you got money. No wonder boys like that Hamilton kid are sniffing around. It’s girls like you he’ll mess around with on the side while his respectable wife is home where she ought to be. ”
Her hand crept up the door until it was just inches from the handle.
“I’ll break every one of those fingers if you try to open that door. Where’s the money?” he asked again. And then he hit her in the ribs as an afterthought, though the angle was wrong so it wasn’t as big of an impact as it could’ve been.
He laughed and the sound was pure evil. “I forgot I owed you that one. Only the devil could’ve told you about Mitch cheating at cards like he was.
I just wanted justice. And look at you, spouting filth and lies instead of defending me.
Your mama and I would’ve done better to put you in a bag and drown you when you were born.
Least you could do is make us rich. Worthless girl. ”
They were still a couple miles away from the house and he was flying down the one-lane path, so gravel was pinging against the side of the truck.
He slammed on the brakes and they skidded several feet before ending up inches shy of the big oak tree that sat in the middle of the fork in the road.
The left side of the fork was O’Hara land, and the little house they rented was along that path.
The right side of the fork was Hamilton land.
Her heart thudded in her chest and sweat dampened the back of her shirt and shorts. Her hair had come loose and her mouth was swollen and split from where he’d hit her.
She was just plain tired. There was no winning in this game her father played. There was no reason to fight back. To argue. But sometimes she thought about it. Because maybe if she fought back he’d go ahead and kill her.
He was out of the truck in a flash and around to her side, jerking open the passenger door.
He pulled her out by the hair and threw her to the ground.
She caught herself with her good arm and whimpered as her other shoulder throbbed.
And then she heard the sound she’d dreaded almost every day of her life.
The swish of leather as it was pulled through his belt loops.
“I don’t like repeating myself, girl. I asked for money. And you’re going to tell me where it is. What’s yours is mine. I’ve provided you with shelter and food. And you owe me. Where is it?”
The first snap of the belt stung against her shoulders and she huddled into herself for protection, her face pressed against the dirt beneath the tree.
Through every beating, every disappointment, every hardship, she’d kept her pride.
She never begged for him to stop. She just rode it out and went to the place inside her head that kept her from going insane with the pain.
Her focus was getting out. Escaping. And her freedom money was the only way to do that.
She’d be darned if she’d hand it over to a monster.
She lost track of the number of times the belt whistled down across her back. Or the number of times he yelled for her to tell him. But she knew the only way to save herself and her freedom was to use the gift she’d been given. Even if it was a lie.
“He’s coming,” she croaked out, but he didn’t hear her over his rage. So she took the chance and lifted her head so she could look right at him. “He’s coming. The sheriff is on his way, and there are cars following him with angry men. They’re going to drag you off to jail where you deserve to be.”
He stopped and stared at her, sweat covering his face and dampening his clothes to his body. The belt was slack down by his side. His breaths were heavy and his cold blue eyes were mean.
“Get up,” he said. “And look me in the eye and say it. I don’t hear no sirens. I think you’re lying.”
Marnie wasn’t sure where she found the strength to get to her feet, but she did.
She needed to be more convincing. Blood dripped down her back and into the waistband of her shorts and shivers wracked her body.
And then something took over her. Defiance and rage and everything she hated about the man who’d created her.