Condemned (14 page)

I stared at the river, recalling how Alex had fallen in the other night. I tried not to display any emotion. No clues, no ticks that would give away my guilty ass. “You should go,” I said, knowing I was being rude but unable to stop myself. I had no explanation for Nikki. I didn’t know what to do about my son. Fuck, I didn’t know what
she
wanted me to do about him. “If you want Lyle to be his dad, I’ll honor your wishes. Eight fucking years is a lot of time to miss. Maybe it’s too late.”

Why did that abrade so much? I’d barely glimpsed the kid, but the thought of letting him go, just as I’d found out about him, chiseled a hole in my heart.

She frowned. “You’re his father. He should know you.”

“He’s probably in what…second grade now?”

She nodded.

“Kids talk, and they’re mean as fuck. Maybe it’s best if we keep it under wraps for now. Last thing I want is to disrupt his life by meeting him, then do it all over again by the talk that’ll follow.” I grimaced. The poor kid would take a lot of shit because of my time in prison.

“Okay.” She turned and headed toward the dock, though I glimpsed the sadness in her eyes before she went. A few minutes later, after she’d started the motor and began across the river toward the boat ramp, I headed up the path to the cabin, my thoughts on Alex and whatever it was she was hiding. I didn’t like it. Too much of the situation was on the verge of crumbling. I couldn’t afford to be in the dark about anything, especially with a kid to think about.

Jax met me at the door, shrugging into his jacket as he stepped onto the porch. “Gotta go. I’ll be back late tonight. Work is getting heavy.”

“See you later.” He and I needed to have a heavy talk, but first things first, Alex was going to spill, and seeing the river, remembering how absolute her fear was, would give me the perfect leverage to make her stubborn ass bend.

The tape was hot and sticky over my mouth, and the feeling of being smothered almost put me into panic-mode. I kept my mind focused on whoever had landed on Rafe’s doorstep, relieved that it wasn’t Zach. A woman, Jax had said. Whoever she was, would she find me here? The idea of freedom unsettled me. I’d never stood on my own two feet. Someone had always told me what to do, who to see, who not to see, even what to eat. That was especially true once Dad found out about the anorexia. Rafe imprisoning me on this island had sent my life into a tailspin, but it was the most free I’d felt in a long time.

If my captor had been anyone else, I’d feel differently.

The ladder dropped, and I tensed, wondering whose head would pop through the opening. Rafe climbed into the loft and pulled up the stairs, effectively shutting the door to the outside world. It was just us. No rescue person in sight.

He stomped toward me, and I tried not to flinch as he yanked the tape from my mouth. He released my hands and dragged me from the bed by my hair. “What’s going on?” I gasped, thrown off by his foul mood. Rafe wasn’t the happiest guy on the block, but something had him worked up. “Who was here?”

“You’ve been lying through your deceitful little teeth, and it’s gonna stop.” He let go of me long enough to pull his shirt over his head and shed his jeans. I was still trying to process that he’d stripped naked when he shoved me in front of him and propelled me toward the bathroom. He picked up his belt on the way, and I dug in my heels, shaking as images of all the things he could do with that strap of leather popped into my head.

“What are you doing?” I didn't like where this was going, especially when he slammed the door behind us and bent me over the granite counter, wrenched my arms behind me, and wound that belt around my wrists. He moved away, and the sound of rushing water filled me with horror. I ran for the door.

He jerked me back, hand fisting my hair, and turned me toward the bathtub, my back to his front. His hand clamped down on my shoulder. The tub was huge, big enough for two and deep enough for an adult to drown in.

“What are you gonna do?” I twisted my neck to look at him, but what I found in his expression sent icy terror through my veins. A resolute line took hold of his mouth. My body quaked as the tub filled, and goose flesh erupted on my skin. He didn't answer my pleas and questions, and he didn't shut off the water until it reached the rim. The sudden onset of silence brought my fear to an all-time high. I tried to pull air into my lungs but failed.

He stepped around me, and my head jerked forward as he lifted a foot into the water. “Get in,” he ordered once he stood fully in the tub.

“Don't do this!” I didn't recognize my voice—it echoed off the walls in thundering panic.

He yanked on my hair, and I slammed my knee on the porcelain with a yelp. “You did this," he said, “and you can come in willingly or I can drag you in, but one way or another, you're getting in this fucking tub.”

Lifting a trembling leg, I stepped over and straddled the edge, and he pulled me in the rest of the way. He folded into a sitting position, back against the opposite end of the faucet, and brought me to my knees. I began to cry, big drops of salt that disappeared into the water enclosing me up to my belly button. It sloshed over the side with the smallest of movements.

The whole time, his grasp on my hair never loosened. “Scoot closer,” he said, spreading his legs. I walked on my knees and fit between his, and he pulled me lower, forcing me onto my haunches until the undersides of my breasts brushed the water's surface.

My lips parted, breaths escaping in shaky bursts as our gazes tangled. He held me captive inside my worst nightmare, with the hold of his hand in my hair, the belt looped around my wrists behind me, and water rippling and stirring from the way my chest heaved.

I knew what he was about to do, and a sob bubbled up, tearing from my throat as I sensed the mere inches separating my mouth from the abyss. I didn't dare glance down, didn't dare break free of his stare. The nightmares I'd had as a kid came rushing back, more vivid than they had in years, and I hyperventilated, remembering the suffocating terror, the blackness and how I'd been helpless to save myself. That dream had tortured me, and the only way I'd woken up was by letting out a scream I never remembered, though my mom had described it as the most chilling thing she'd ever heard.

“Please don't. Oh God, please, Rafe!”

His expression was passive, tightly held in check, and that only added to the horror, until his smooth voice settled over me like a warm blanket. “Calm down. Deep breaths, Alex.”

I inhaled, drawing air into lungs that didn't want to work right. He instructed me to do it again, and I repeated the exercise for several minutes, adding the calming ritual of counting until I no longer sounded like an asthmatic that had run a marathon.

“That's better. Hyperventilating isn't going to help you with this.” He pulled my hair, bringing my face toward his submerged lap. “Don’t even think of biting me.”

“No! No!” I screamed. “Stop!” The last word cracked, as did the final thread of my composure. I thrashed, hair pulling painfully at my scalp as he pushed my head down.

“Take a deep breath. You’re gonna need it.”

I did at the last second before my face broke the surface and he pushed his erection into my mouth. I couldn't think beyond closing my lips to keep water from rushing down my throat.

He flexed his fingers in my hair and bobbed my head up and down in quick yet controlled movements that kept pace to the seconds ticking in my head. My heart beat much faster, at an insane speed that made my chest hurt, and I mentally chanted two words, over and over again.

Don't panic.

His salty flavor hit my taste buds, but before he came, he pulled me up. With a huge gasp, I sucked in air, hoarded it as if I'd never breathe again. Water trickled down my face in rivulets, lost to the locks of hair clinging to my nose and lips, and I fell into the sea of his eyes.

“Tell me what you’re hiding.” His tone left no room for maneuvering. I was in deep water, figuratively and literally, because he wasn't going to let this drop.

When I didn't answer, he yanked on my hair again, bringing me toward the water, and I cried, “Wait!”

“I’m done waiting, sweetheart.”

With a violent downward thrust, he shoved me under the water once more, and I fastened my lips around his cock. He pushed against my tongue, and water forced its way down my throat. Lungs on fire, wrists burning at my back, I fought him, my whole body tense and vying for survival. Logically, I knew he wouldn't kill me, at least, I didn't think he would, but I was smack in the middle of fight or flight and trying to do both simultaneously.

Pockets of air escaped my nose and mouth, bubbling to the surface as my dark hair floated around me. My pleas came out as muffled rumbles. I was at the end of my ability to hold my breath and experienced the same panic I had when I’d fallen into the river. I was considering biting him, and weighing the consequences, when he yanked me up.

“Tell me why you accused me!”

“It was Zach!” I sobbed, gasping for air, coughing uncontrollably, and trying not to hyperventilate all over again as my brother's name rang in my ears.

Rafe froze, his eyes going wide. “You’re lying.”

If I had any reason to be terrified of him, this was it—that tone which told me he’d submerge me again.

“Zach was my best friend,” he said. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“But he did…” Another sob burst free, and I closed my eyes so he wouldn’t see the truth in them. “I didn’t stop him.”

“Fucking look at me! Why, Alex? Why would he…why would you go along with it?” He stood, water sluicing down his body, and stepped onto the rug. He dug both hands into his hair and pulled. “Why would you guys do that to me?”

I was openly bawling, and all the emotion I'd battled with for years erupted. I was Mt. Saint Helens, shooting ash of despair on anything and anyone around me. “He…he…”

“He what?” Rafe shouted. “Spit it out!”

“He was jealous!”

“Jealous of what? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Don't make me say it. Don't make me tell you this.” My head drooped, chin to chest, and my shame poured from me in gut-wrenching sobs. I wished I could stop the dam from bursting, hide it all from him, but I’d never felt more exposed in my life. “He couldn’t stand the way I felt about you.”

“Look at me, Alex.”

I peeked up, watching with dread as he studied me for the longest seconds of my life. His mouth fell open. “
He
raped you?”

Unable to face him, I lowered my head again because that was only half of it, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the whole truth. It had started out that way, but then, at some point, I’d stopped fighting and my body had given in to Zach. My own step-brother. The step part didn’t make it any easier to swallow. It was sick and disgusting, and Rafe knowing twisted in my gut like a tornado.

He pulled me from the tepid water, gathered me in his arms, and strode into the bedroom where he deposited me on the bed, sop and wet. Warm hands settled on my face, fingers pushing tangled hair back, and when I risked looking at him, I fissured in two.

“I didn't want it,” I sobbed. “I didn't, I swear. I'm so fucked up, Rafe.” Humiliation, swift and debilitating, washed over me, and I gagged, close to vomiting. I struggled with the belt holding my hands at my back. “Let me free! Please, I need free!”

As he worked at releasing my hands, I nestled my cheek against his chest and took deep breaths to stem another episode of hyperventilation.

“How did it happen?” He spoke in a perilous tone, and when he inched back, I wanted to recoil at the unyielding set of his jaw. “How did I get brought into it?”

“I-I had an abortion.” I wiped my eyes, palms digging in as that horrible day flooded back. “Someone from the clinic leaked it. Dad found out and kept the story from spreading, but he was so furious—” My voice broke, and I stared at his bunched shoulders, my face flaming even hotter. “He flipped, demanded to know who I’d slept with. That’s when Zach pointed the finger at you.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “He said you raped me. Said he couldn’t keep quiet about it anymore.”

Rafe’s silence was too disturbing, and when I opened my eyes to face his reaction, utter betrayal blanketed his expression.

“You went along with the lie.” No question, no inflection in his words. Just cold, hard truth.

“I’m
sorry
,” I said, a sob constricting my throat. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“How about tell the fucking truth?”

I jerked back as his rage thundered over me. “I c-couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” He leaned over the mattress, arms supporting his weight as he dripped water all over the bed and me.

“Couldn’t.” Our gazes collided. “He said he’d kill you if I didn’t keep quiet.”

Closing his eyes, he dropped his head and let out a breath. The admission seemed to burrow beneath his rage. His body pressed into mine, and we stayed that way for a few seconds until he suddenly bolted and let out a roar I was sure reached every crevice of the cabin. He whirled around and all but flew into the wall, his fist slamming into it, again and again, until his knuckles dripped with blood.