Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Curly’s grunt had her glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He shook his head with an indignant roll of his eyes but didn’t say anything.
“Finish your story.” Frost’s thigh pressed into her under the table, giving strength and support.
She’d never talked about this, not once since having to give her version of what had happened to the police when she’d been a teen. After that, it went into her vault, never to be spoken of again, even though it ruled her every interaction moving forward.
“At first,” she said, her voice sounding like ground glass. “Um… at first, he only sat in the corner watching. Sometimes he’d stick his hand, uh, down his pants.” The memories brought a surge of nausea. “I would lay as still as possible, only breathing when I absolutely had to. But I never closed my eyes. I couldn’t risk even a second of not knowing where he was. Usually, he’d stay for about twenty minutes. Then he’d just go.”
Tension radiated off both men, but they stayed quiet, allowing her to set the pace. Frost rubbed soft circles on her lower back. It felt so nice and comforting, yet incongruous with his scowl.
After a few calming breaths, she continued, “I was scared. Terrified. At that point, I’d been in the foster system long enough to have heard every horror story in the books, but I’d been lucky until then. A few foster parents had knocked me around, but nothing major. Anyway, I snuck a steak knife out of the kitchen and started sleeping with it under my pillow. Just in case.”
Curly cursed, and Frost’s fingers flexed against her back.
Now that she’d started, the words wouldn’t stop. They poured out of her unchecked as she unburdened her soul for the first time. She didn’t even have time to worry about what they’d think of her once she’d finished the story.
“One night, a few months after he started showing up in my room, he approached my bed. I’ll never forget the fear. It was so strong I nearly choked on it. He, uh… started to take off his pants and told me to do the same. When I refused and tried to run away, he grabbed my shoulders and pinned me to the bed.”
She rubbed her upper arms and rocked back and forth as memories of his rough grip surged. “He was naked from the waist down and tried to rip my pajamas off. He was a big guy like his father, so I did the only thing I could think to do. I grabbed the knife from under my pillow and jammed it into his shoulder. There was so much blood,” she whispered. “It got all over me.”
“Rachel.” Frost’s agonized whisper had her giving him a small, sad smile.
“Let me finish.” Her gaze shifted to Curly. “You wanted to know, so let me say it all.”
Her brother nodded as Frost cursed again.
“His screams could have woken the dead. I scrambled to the farthest corner of the bed and covered my ears. Then my door flew open, and his father rushed in, frantic as hell. I felt relieved, thinking the nightmare was over. But that relief only lasted a minute.”
“What did that fucker do?” Frost asked with the ice his name represented dripping from his words.
She sighed. This part of the story would likely send one of them on a mission to find and murder her old foster father. “He sent his son out of the room so my foster mom could tend to his wound, then he beat the shit out of me.”
Thankfully, she’d blacked out early, so her memories of the torture were limited. But not the memories of the fear. Those persisted, strong and debilitating.
“I was hospitalized for a week with a slew of injuries.” She lifted her left hand, where her pinkie finger stuck out at an unnatural angle. “This finger never did heal straight. But the rest of me eventually did.” She frowned. “Well, except my mind. The mental injuries weren’t as fixable, and I’ve struggled with severe panic attacks around big or angry men ever since. So much so that I’ve lived a very muted life. That’s why I reacted the way I did the first night I was here.”
“Where are they?”
“What?” She turned to find Frost with a murderous expression on his face.
“The father and son. Where the fuck are they?”
He wanted to kill them.
“Oh, uh… I’m not sure. Prison, I think. They both received lengthy sentences. Turned out I wasn’t the only kid assaulted in that house. I ended up getting adopted by a great family after that, and I never heard anything else about them after they were sentenced.”
Frost’s jaw ticked then he shoved way from the table with so much force his chair clattered to the floor.