Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(34)

I pushed hard, kicked harder and somehow got him off me.

We wrestled standing. I broke away, starting to run. Bil y caught me, whipping me around. More wrestling. a lamp fel , crashing to the floor, tables overturned. Bil y got me on the floor, rol ed on top of me, his angry face in mine.

“You f**k him?” he asked.

I didn’t answer, too scared to speak. I pushed against him, my heart racing, frightened out of my wits, hoping with everything that I was that Hank would come home and soon. I tried to think of how long he was gone. He’d said forty-five minutes, an hour. It had probably only been twenty minutes, twenty-five, tops.

“I said, did you f**k him? ” Bil y shouted in my face when I didn’t answer and then he moved.

Then I heard the snap of a switchblade and he rol ed off me, and before I knew it, the blade went into Hank’s sweater, slicing through it. I pushed away, Bil y caught hold of me by the sweater and it tore more, hanging on me in tatters. I pul ed free, got up, tried to run but Bil y caught me by the ankle and I went flying, landing hard on my knees.

I twisted around as he yanked me toward him by my ankle and tried to fight him but he was too strong, he hit me in the face, one of his silver rings tearing my flesh open at my cheekbone. I saw stars and tried to shake my head clear when he got up, pul ing me with him and dragged me through the house, into Hank’s bedroom.

“He f**k you here?” he demanded, pul ing me up, slamming me against a wal , pushing his body against mine. “Did he f**k you?” he repeated, pushing my face to the side, pressing my bleeding cheek against the wal . “Did he make you come? How many times did he f**k you?” He pul ed me away from the wal and slammed me against it again. “How many times did he f**k you!” he screamed.

No smooth talk now. No fast-talking, silver tongue.

He was out of control, completely.

“Bil y,” I whispered.

He hit me again, so hard my head and body flew to the side and I went down on my hands and knees. Then he kicked me in the ribs, his boot slamming into my body so hard, it pul ed me off the floor. Then he dropped down and rol ed me over, tore the remains of the sweater off me and forced his thigh between my legs until his h*ps fel between them, his groin pressing against me.

“I should f**k you, right here, in his bed. Leave a present for him on his sheets.”

God, no. Please, God, no, I thought.

I started struggling again, my ribs were burning where he kicked me, my face aching, I could feel the blood there. Bil y didn’t notice my struggles.

“I should do it but we don’t have time,” he said and I had just a second to thank God before Bil y said, “Get dressed.” He got up, jerking me up with him.

“Get dressed! ” he screamed.

Shaking and scared, I got dressed.

* * * * *

I tried to escape. He took me to his car, parked out in the street behind Hank’s 4Runner. He drove, at first, like a madman, silent, crazy.

I left him to his thoughts. Mine were of survival, then escape.

Once we left Denver, he seemed to calm.

I decided it was time to try to speak, maybe reason with him, maybe talk him around. “Bil y, I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.

“Shut your f**kin’ mouth.”

Okay, so I was wrong about him being calm.

He drove, fast.

Close to the Colorado-Nebraska border, we stopped at a gas station.

“Bil y, I have to go to the bathroom, see to my face,” I said quietly.

He turned to me. He didn’t look like my handsome, sweet, dreamer Bil y anymore. I didn’t even know this man.

“You run, I’l catch you. Make no mistake.” I nodded, I believed him. Stil , I was going to try.

He got me the key and I went to the bathroom. There were other cars at the station and the people in them stared at me but gave us a wide berth.

I looked at my face in the cloudy, pocked, gas station mirror. There was blood running down my left cheek and it was smeared along my face. The cuts weren’t bad but they were there bleeding a lot and the bruising and swel ing had already started.

I felt my nostrils burn and I took deep breaths to stop the tears from coming. Tears would leak energy and I needed everything I could get. I forced back the tears, washed my face and stayed in the bathroom as long as I could, hoping someone would cal the cops. Hoping I’d hear sirens.

A fist pounded on the door.

“Get your ass out here!” Bil y yel ed.

I tilted my head back, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then I pushed open the door with al my strength and ran, straight by Bil y, hel bent for leather, no destination in mind, I just wanted attention, to get someone to help. So I ran, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I saw the surprised stares turn to shock, people fil ing up their cars or waiting in them, stunned immobile at the sight of Bil y chasing me. Then, he caught me, dragged me kicking and screaming to the car, shoved me in the driver’s side, got in with me and, somehow, we rocketed from the station even as I was fighting him.

I saw a man run toward us, but he was too late.

Bil y drove wild, fighting me as he drove. I didn’t care if we wrecked, I’d take the damage of an accident to my body far easier than I’d take any more damage from Bil y.

He pul ed over and turned, giving me his ful attention.

He hit me again, so hard, my mind went blank and I slowed to let my brain settle. When I blinked away the unconsciousness that wanted to envelope me, Bil y was tying my hands together with nylon rope.