Tragic Beauty (Beauty & The Darkness #1)(30)

“Ava,” I whisper.

I look around the room and see a quilt on the couch that I picture her straightening with her little hands. There’s an old black and white photo on the wall of what looks like their property, back when it was all one spread, and I can’t help but wonder if she chose that spot to hang it. Everywhere I look, I see her, feel her.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel has me yanking my head to the front window. “What the hell is a sheriff doing here?”

“Ah, shit. Well, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re about to become a resident of the Los Ramos jail.”

I spin and face the old man.

“What?”

He sits up in his chair and puts on his hat and stands. “Piggy Carson might as well be on the McAllister payroll. Come to think of it, he probably is.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, then reach for my phone.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN




Ava




The truck rolls under the arching McAllister Ranch sign and over the cattle guard with a loud thrum. I stare out the window at the small brown and white dots that cover the hills in the distance, hundreds of grazing Herefords that will be next year’s cash crop. My husband’s cash crop.

Husband.

I wrap my arms around my waist, struggling to settle my stomach as we head up the winding drive.

I flinch when I hear Shayne’s voice again, talking on his cell. “Get it ready,” he snaps. “We’re almost there.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him glare at me. “I’ll need some help, so keep the guys around. Did you get that other thing? Good. Put it in the garage.” He hangs up.

The knot in my stomach tightens. He’s up to something.

A few minutes later, a house comes into view. It’s large and sprawling, made of stone and windows, and set back into a hill with desert landscaping all around. I’d heard he tore down his parents old house and built a new one. It might of looked nice, offering a view of the land around it, but all I see is a prison.

I expect us to be going left at the fork in the road, up the driveway towards the house, but instead he turns right. We pass by a small pasture with a handful of horses that catch my eye, but they disappear from view when he turns by a maze of empty pens and chutes, and parks in front of a large barn.

“Get out,” he says.

By the time I open the door, Shayne’s already at my side. He drags me from the truck and towards the barn, where three dark figures stand by the other end of the open breezeway. The smell of a fire lingers in the air.

“Is it ready?” Shayne asks.

A man I recognize steps forward. Well, a man in age, but he’s so lanky, and his face so childlike, he appears boyish. Red, Marni’s son. He’s not called Red because of his crimson hair though, but because his real name is Redmund. He was a couple years ahead of me, in the same grade as Shayne. The two of them were always causing trouble together, but he was never as bad as Shayne.

His wary brown eyes shift to me, then quickly back to Shayne. “Yeah, it’s ready,” he answers. “But we don’t got no cattle in. You want us to—”

“No. Let’s go.” He moves past Red and the other two. One of them is a big, burly man with dead eyes and a hard face full of scruff. The man beside him is shorter, and stocky, his skin ruddy and riddled with pot marks. Both I’ve never seen before. Both I never want to see again.

Red watches me as we move by, and something in the way his face goes tight sets off an alarm.

Once we’re out back, the smell of the fire grows, until I see it off to the side in a stone pit. Shayne stops hard, and I stumble into him. He yanks me back and glares down. “Ready for your wedding present, wife?”

I blink.

He jerks his head toward the fire where I see Burly grab a long, black, iron rod and lift it up, eyeing the red hot MR of the McAllister Ranch brand. My throat closes in and I begin shaking my head, over and over. Shayne tightens his grip and I become frantic, pulling and yanking and trying to pry myself free. I manage to land a kick near his crotch and hear him curse.

“Help me get her down.”

I scream—a raw, primal scream that burns the back of my throat. I kick and gouge, fighting with everything I’ve got, but three sets of strong hands wrestle me to the ground, until my face is in the dirt and a knee digs into my back, crushing my lungs and pinning me down.

“Shayne, please!” I wail.

Over my cries, I hear a voice. It sounds like Red.

“Hey, come on, Shayne, this ain’t right. You—”

“Shut up! I’m not in the mood for your shit! And somebody gag her!”

I try to shake my head and seal my lips, but rough fingers shove a sweaty bandana into my mouth, making me gag. Then a hand I know is Shayne’s, yanks up my dress and pulls down my underwear, exposing my skin to the cool winter air. He grows still above me, and silent, and I know he’s seeing some of the marks.

“Damn,” somebody says. “What happened to her?”

“Shut up,” Shayne snaps. “And if I catch any of you fuckers staring, you’re fired.” He shifts above me, and when I hear his voice again, it’s low and close to my ear. “I hadn’t planned on this, Ava. But after what you’ve done, you got this coming. If you had any doubts before, you won’t after this. You’re mine, Ava. Fucking mine! About time you learned that.”