Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(95)

“I’ll take you home,” he says.

I move my purse in front of me, looping the strap over my neck, relieved and ready to go. As I uncross my legs, I feel the eerie tickle of his finger sliding up my left thigh, stopping at the hem of my dress. My leg jerks in response. Graham chuckles, the sound escaping his throat raspy and dirty.

“Come on,” he nudges over his shoulder, standing and pulling out his wallet. I notice several hundred dollar bills unfold before he gets to two twenties. He steps over to his friend and hands them to him, then reaches for my hand, tugging it completely into his grip. My instincts are screaming at me to fight against it. But I desperately want to leave, and right now, this seems like my only way home.

We get out front and Graham practically drags me to the corner, stopping abruptly, looking both ways, then dragging me behind him across the street. My foot jerks and I feel one of my heels break off, so I hop a few steps, his hand still grasping mine.

“My shoe!” I scream.

He looks down at my feet behind him, sighing heavily as I take my shoes off. His hand reaches for my arm when I do, and as soon as I’m able to walk, he drags me to the other side of the street.

“Cabs are easier to get over here,” he grumbles.

We rush to the corner, a closed art gallery and several dark office lobbies lining the sidewalk. We pause by a metal trashcan, and I lean against it to lift my feet one at a time and look at their bottoms, inspecting for cuts. The blacktop has already stained them, and there’s a pebble lodged in the skin of one. I pull it out with my fingers, and as I’m leaning forward I feel the snaking sensation of Graham’s hand on my bare back. I arch myself away from him, straightening up quickly as I take a step away, leaving my broken shoes on the ground near the trashcan.

Graham holds both of his hands up innocently, his eyes still hazy and his mouth in a hard line. His right leg leans a little too far and he falters, but regains his balance quickly, his eyes on me the entire time. I look to the road, looking for a cab to call on my own, and in that second, he reaches for me again, this time his hand grasping around my side, his fingers sliding around my ribs, to my back, pulling up the material gathered around my lower back and causing my skirt to hike up several inches as he pulls me to him.

I shove my hands into his chest, forcing space between us, but I’m no match for his strength as I struggle against him. I feel his hand slide around my back completely, into the scooped curve of my dress, his fingers clawing at my ass. I bring my knee up, but he anticipates me and blocks my blow, turning enough to the side.

“Isn’t this how your man Andrew likes it?” he huffs. His hold is rough, bruising my body everywhere he grips it, and I start to cry.

“Let go! Graham, let go of me!” I scream, my words muffled against his mouth as he forces a kiss on me, his beard scratching at my face and his breath hot. I push so hard that the strap on my purse breaks, and I feel my things fall to the sidewalk below us. I also feel Graham’s other hand reach around me to force me even tighter into him. He tastes of old whiskey and stale smoke.

He growls as I shove against him hard, breaking his hold enough to get a foot of space from him, enough room to scream.

“Help me! Somebody!” My voice echoes, and I notice a few people across the street turn their attention toward us, but they move in slow motion—everything does. I can’t tell if they’re ignoring us, or coming to help, and soon Graham’s hand is cupping my mouth. He’s intoxicated and his fingers are messy, one of them at the part of my lips, so I open my mouth and grip what I can with my teeth, biting hard and fast. He rips his hand away, but flings his fist at me in an instant, his blow landing on my right cheek and sending my body to the ground on my knees.

“You bitch!” he yells, and I see him lunge at me from the corner of my eye. Before he reaches me, a pair of arms scoop under me and push me toward an open cab, and I notice one of Graham’s friends holding him, pushing him backward several steps as the door closes on me. My belongings are thrown in next to me, and the cab driver looks over the seat mouthing something. I can’t hear him—every noise a siren blaring in my ears, until finally I’m able to read his lips.

What’s your address?

I manage to give him my building, and as the car begins to roll into traffic and Graham’s figure fades from view, I start to cry harder, not stopping until the cab slows in front of my building and an angel is waiting for me on the curb.





Chapter 18





Emma



The light is dim, but it still feels too bright for my eyes. I hold my hand over my face, stretching my other arm and legs out, feeling the burn in my muscles and remembering the bruises on my skin. My fingers are cool over my eyes, and I leave them there until they warm.

I know where I am.

I’m glad I’m here.

I’m scared I’m here.

I wanted to be here, but never like this.

I pull my hand away and roll to the side. I felt Andrew leave the bed sometime early this morning. I thought about waking, but I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t want him to look at me—to see me like this. I feel weak and ashamed. And I feel alone.

Pulling in the heavy blue quilt to my body, I take in the scent on the material. It reminds me of young Andrew, and as I let my eyes look over the thinning fabric squares, I wonder to myself if he’s had this blanket since high school. I smile at the thought of it—imagining him bringing pieces of home here to college with him. Then I wonder if he got to bring these same things to Lake Crest, and my smile fades.