Stain (Stain #1)(31)



“I…” Don’t let me leave. “Thank you, again.” I remember to grab both my canvas bag and my backpack before I jump out of his truck and close the door behind me. I’m about halfway between the house and the truck before I give into temptation and look over my shoulder. Maddox is looking back, gaze focused on me. I falter in my next step like my body is trying to turn in the opposite direction. Toward the white pickup. Toward Maddox. Toward something unknown and yet so beguiling. But I don’t. I do nothing. The chance to do or say anything has passed. My cowardice is in control now, and it won’t contemplate any sort of defiance. Meek, weak, and regulated, I walk toward the house, toward Tim, toward a misery that I know, one I’ve been conditioned to never stray away from. My subconscious crawls further inside that dark place in my head, while reinforcing walls I’ve built so long ago, preparing for the worse.

The worse is a strong hand at the nape of my neck when I get close enough for Tim to grab me. It’s a viselike grip he uses to guide me the rest of the way to the house. I pray Maddox has driven away by now. I pray he doesn’t stay to see this.





Chapter 11


Maddox


It’s not your motherf*cking problem.

She’s not your motherf*cking problem.

Mind your own motherf*cking business and keep driving, *.

This is the annoying-ass banter taking place inside my head while I’m white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel. I’m rolling down the street of this Pleasantville nightmare, my usual lead foot barely skimming the gas. In my neighborhood, if you’re driving this slow, you’re either going to shoot up the place or you’re looking for drive-thru ass. It sure as f*ck wouldn’t be because you’re seldom-working conscious decides to take this particular time to fire on all cylinders.

“Fuck!” A hard punch to the steering wheel does nothing to take away my irritation. Telling myself I want nothing to do with this chick seems like a moot f*cking point as I make a U-ey at the stop sign and double back to her house.

Aylee Bennett has ‘clingy virgin’ written all over her, and after Grace, I’m not in the market for another sycophant. It would be smart of me to continue down the road, hop on the interstate, and drive my ass back to the slums. Light a blunt, maybe hit up Bria, and forget all about the scared little mouse and the fear I saw in her doe, mismatched eyes. That sort of fear is ingrained. It’s the sort of fear that comes with some pretty heavy shit, and from what I saw of her arms, she was trying to kill monsters on the inside by cutting herself on the outside. Somebody put those monsters there. And I would bet my left nut that it was her old man. The way he’d grabbed her just now set off old warning signals I’ve recognized since I was a child.

But honestly, I shouldn’t f*cking care. Jesus, I don’t even know the girl. What the f*ck is she going to do for me? What the hell am I going to gain if I f*ck around and get involved? Not a goddamn thing, that’s what. She sure as hell doesn’t look like the type to give up her * without tacking on some emotional baggage to it. I have all this running through my head, and I know getting involved is one of the stupidest things I could possibly do, but trying to convince myself to do otherwise is pointless right now.

I come up to the front curb of her house, park the truck, and jump out. From here on, I’m running on autopilot, because if I let myself think about this anymore, it’s more than likely I’ll say ‘f*ck it,’ and leave. I get to the porch. I’m standing in front of her door when I hear the crash. I’m not dumb enough to make excuses for what that sound could be. I already know. I raise my fisted hand and pound at the door.





Chapter 12


Aylee


I forget all about Maddox and his touch and my furtive sexual awakening when I’m shoved inside the foyer. The door slamming shut coincides with my stumble over the blue-and-brown, patterned carpet in the entryway. Losing my grip on the bags, I catch myself before I fall, but Tim is there, wrenching my arm back so hard that it feels like he pulled it out of its socket. I cry out, tears forming in my eyes as he shoves me against the wall.

“You f*cking lying to us now?” He’s pressed up against me, a large mass of rage and evil intent stuffed into a man’s body. His hand is at my throat, fingers curling around my neck as he forces me to look at him. His gin-soaked breath wafts across my face like fumes from an exhaust pipe, while black, glazed eyes spear right through me. “Where the f*ck were you?”

A small whimper escapes my mouth as my mind scrambles to come up with an answer. “With…with Mallory…”

The back of his hand smashes across my cheek even before I can finish the lie. The impact of the blow is hard enough that the side of my head whips to the other side and smacks into the wall. Dizziness washes over me, but it’s nothing compared to the scorching blaze firing up and down my cheek.

“Are you f*cking guys now? Letting their disgusting dicks in you? You still a f*cking virgin?” This he asks very close and very quietly to my ear. He wouldn’t dare say it above a furious whisper. He reaches for the collar of my shirt and yanks it down hard enough to tear.

“Tim?” It’s Rachel’s distressed and quiet call that stops him.

“Lie to me again and I’ll rip your tongue out of your filthy lying mouth!” His spittle splashes against the side of my face as he beats me down with his fury.

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