She Can Hide (She Can #4)(19)

“This is a whole lot better than the horse piss you were drinking last night.” Joe poured an inch of vodka into a glass of ice and handed it to her.

She sipped. The fiery liquid burned a path down her throat and warmed her belly, loosening the knot of shame. Another couple of swallows wiped her disgrace away like an eraser. Her sadness floated, and the pain in her heart eased a little. She finished the shot.

Joe tossed his back and gave his head a shake. He refilled both glasses and tapped his against hers.

The look he gave her was full of expectation and lust and drove the heat simmering inside her lower. Krista drained her glass.

“Hey, babe.” Joe leaned over her neck. His hands came around her body and cupped her breasts.

She didn’t pretend he really liked her or that she felt anything for him. They were using each other. The loneliness of the last six months had eaten away at her until she’d felt hollow inside. She ate, worked, ate, slept, and then got up and did it all over again, day after day. Her life was the same shitty song stuck on repeat.

All she wanted was a little break.

Joe’s hands slid under her shirt. His fingers found her nipples and pinched. If she wasn’t half-numb from alcohol, it probably would’ve hurt. But Krista turned to him.

Yes, he was cruel. She could sense it under the amiable facade. But his body was warm, young, and hard under her hands. For the next hour or so, she could forget the crushing hopelessness that overshadowed every waking moment of her life. Misery was a physical ache, a bone-deep exhaustion no amount of sleep could cure.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs.

Why not?

Derek was next door. A stab of jealousy pierced Krista’s heart. Abby Foster would make a far better mother than Krista. But then, Abby hadn’t gotten pregnant and tossed out of her parents’ house at fifteen. Krista’s parents had been right. She’d ruined her own life just to feel affection for a few hours.

The same as she was likely doing now, minus the affection. She was sliding farther over the edge. Eventually, there’d be no climbing out of the hole she was digging for herself.

Krista followed Joe upstairs. Excitement and fear quickened her pulse. A mean glint shone from his eyes. He ripped off her shirt with rough hands and shoved her pants down. Before Joe, she had no idea that pain and humiliation could be erotic, so satisfying. Being punished was exactly what her soul craved. She’d screwed up her life and Derek’s both so badly. She’d suppressed the secret desire to hurt herself. She’d never had the courage to follow through. It was so easy to let Joe do it for her. Could she get any more fucked up?

“On your knees.” Joe pushed her to the floor, moved behind her, and sank his fingers into her hair. He yanked her head back. Pain roared through her scalp as a moan escaped from her lips. Liquid heat raced deep through her belly.

The thin line between bliss and agony blurred. Pressing against him, she arched her back and welcomed the punishment.




Tires crunched on ice as Abby pulled away from the community mailbox. She pressed a button on her visor to raise her garage door, then turned into the narrow driveway of her one-bedroom unit. Pulling the car forward until the suspended tennis ball touched her windshield, she shifted into park. Good thing she drove a small sedan. The builder had been stingy with garage space.

She tucked her mail under her arm and pushed into her condo. Her hand swiped the wall switch. When light flooded the small laundry room, she reached back and closed the garage door. Stepping out of her low pumps, she left them in the corner and tugged her blouse out of her skirt. Walking barefoot into the kitchen, she rifled through the letters. Junk. Junk. Bill. She opened the cabinet and threw the ads and credit card offers into the paper recycling container. She tossed the electric bill into a basket on the counter.

She opened the freezer and selected a frozen dinner. The school board meeting had run into overtime, as usual. Her stomach rumbled as she popped the plastic film with a fork before sliding it into her microwave. She left the machine humming and headed down the hall to change out of her conservative suit. Hello, pajamas.

She walked into her dark bedroom. Abby turned the switch on the dresser lamp. Nothing happened. The bulb must have blown, but the hair on her nape prickled. She shook it off. She turned to return to the hall. Spare bulbs were in the linen closet.

Fabric rustled. Abby startled. A hand clamped over her mouth, and she was jerked against a large, hard body. Her heart slammed against her sternum. The smell of his leather gloves flooded her sinuses.

He breathed in her ear. “Hello, Abigail.”

No! It was him.

Abby sat up to darkness, both familiar and terrifying. Sweat dripped into her eyes and soaked her yoga pants and sweater. Her heart pumped in her chest like a piston. Her lungs tightened, her breath heaving in and out with an asthmatic wheeze.

Her pupils expanded. The shapes of furniture solidified. She was in her bedroom. Here and now. Not there and then.

She snapped on the bedside lamp. Light flooded the room. A glance at the clock told her she’d slept all afternoon. Darkness had fallen outside. But her house should be bright as day.

Soft voices murmured from the doorway that led into the hall. A scant amount of light eased through the door, ajar barely an inch, and slanted on the wood floor. Abby had left her door wide open. Who had been in her bedroom? Derek? It didn’t seem likely.