River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(41)

“You can’t be too careful now, honey,” the woman said.

Becca yanked her arm free and reached for the condom, stalling, anything to stay inside the bar with the others. The warnings given during school assemblies, the pamphlets passed around classrooms, the health teacher talking about what to do when you were confronted with the exact situation Becca had now found herself in, raced through her mind. Don’t let them take you to another location. Fight. Run. Find help. But no one said what you were supposed to do when fear overwhelmed you, paralyzed you, when you were frozen in a state of panic. Later, she imagined they would say she was compliant, a participant in the horrible acts that she believed were about to be bestowed upon her tender body.

This time the guy with the skull rings grabbed her upper arm, pulled her toward the door. Becca tried to wriggle from his grasp. Then his buddy with the patches clutched her other arm. At the same time, John appeared as though she’d summoned him telepathically, as though he’d heard her private cry for help.

“Not tonight, fellas.” He removed the guys’ hands from around Becca’s biceps. He was taller than she’d remembered, much taller than he’d looked from a distance.

“What the hell?” the guy with the rings said. “We were just having a little fun. Weren’t we, doll?”

“Not with this one, you’re not,” John said.

“What? You scared of her daddy?”

Becca folded her arms, curling in on herself. She stared at the sticky floor, feeling small and like a little girl. She’d been foolish to come here, when all she wanted to know was what it was like inside the bar, and who these men were that the town feared, respected, looked the other way rather than get involved in whatever business the members were conducting. She wanted to know what John’s life was like, why he stopped coming around, watched her from a distance.

“Is there a problem?” the pretty woman asked, wrapping her arms around John’s waist.

“There’s no problem. Isn’t that right, fellas?” There was something about John’s expression, a look that said he shouldn’t be messed with.

The guy with the rings flipped over a chair. Several of the men at the bar and surrounding tables turned to see what the commotion was about. For a second, Becca thought she was about to be tossed into the middle of a bar fight.

“Fuck this,” the guy said and walked away.

“Later, Becca,” the guy with the patches whispered in her ear before he walked away too.

John looked around the bar at the crowd. Anyone who had turned to see what was going on had turned away and continued with their conversations, drinking, playing pool.

“I’ll wait here,” the pretty woman said. She kissed John on the cheek before disappearing in the crowd.

“Let’s go,” he said and escorted Becca outside.

“Where are we going?” Becca asked and followed him off the porch, wondering if maybe she should be afraid of him too. It was clear he was in a position of power over the other members. He was feared.

He straddled one of the motorcycles parked in the alley. “I’m taking you home,” he said.

She slid onto the back of the bike. The engine rumbled between her thighs.

“Hold on to me,” he said.

She grabbed his waist, his muscles hard beneath the leather jacket he wore on a hot night in July. She pressed her head against his back and closed her eyes, smelling the leather mixed with sweat.

The motor revved as he shifted gears and took off down the road. She felt like she was flying, soaring through the night, hanging on to a man she trusted more than her own father.



John pulled into Becca’s driveway and cut the engine. Becca slid off the back of his bike. She was about to thank him for saving her when her father flew out the front door of the house. He stopped short when he saw them.

“Get in the house, Becca,” he said.

She knew by his tone she was in deep trouble. It was well past her curfew. She reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. Not to mention the fact that she’d come home on the back of John’s motorcycle.

“Thanks for everything back there in the bar,” she said.

John nodded.

“Now, Becca,” her father said, his final warning.

She dragged her feet, making her way toward the house. The motorcycle’s engine revved as John drove away, racing up the road. She wasn’t two steps in the house when her father stormed in behind her.

“I better not ever catch you on the back of his motorcycle again,” he roared. “You stay away from him. Do you hear?” He pointed his finger in her face. “You don’t ever go near him again!”

“Why? What’s the big deal? It’s not like he’s a pervert or anything. It’s not like he’s you.”

Her father’s expression changed. He no longer looked angry but more hurt than anything else. In a calmer voice he said, “I want you to go upstairs to your room and pack your bags. You’re leaving for boarding school in the morning.”

“What? No!”

Her mother appeared on the steps. “Clint, you’re being unreasonable.”

“Stay out of this, Jane.”

“Mom, you can’t let him do this.”

“Clint.”

“Jane, I’m warning you. Stay out of it.” He turned to Becca. “It’s for your own good. I won’t hear another word about it. I should’ve sent you away to school years ago. But you’re going now, and that’s final.”