Rock Chick Redemption by Kristen Ashley
“Christ, don’t go to the Haunted Houses with Ally and Indy. A few years ago, Indy went berserk and broke through the hay bales they had set up to make the haunted trail and headed into the cornfields. All the employees chased after her but since they were dressed like monsters, Indy lost her mind. They had to call the cops to settle her down.”
I lost him at “cornfields”.
“Cornfields?” I whispered.
“Yeah.”
“They have a haunted trail through cornfields?”
“Yeah, up in Thornton. Best Haunted House in Denver. Indy and Ally go every year. Why?”
“Cornfields freak me out,” I admitted.
Hank was silent.
Then, he said, “You’re from Indiana. How in the fuck can cornfields freak you out?”
“Cornfields don’t freak me out. Cornfields at night freak me out. Haunted cornfields at night freak me out.”
“You been to many haunted cornfields?”
“Dude,” I said low. “All cornfields are haunted. Trust me. I know.” Then I came up on my elbows so I was closer to him and I said quietly, “They whisper to you.” Then I gave a shiver because, well, the memory of whispering cornfields freaked me out, indeed, whispering cornfields should freak anybody out.
His arms came around me and he pulled me fully up and pressed my torso against his. I knew he was laughing. I didn’t hear it I felt it. After his body quit shaking he said, “Did you just call me ‘dude’?”
“Yeah. So?”
His hand went into my hair at the side of my head, his fingers sliding through it. This made my scalp tingle pleasantly. He watched his hand move, then his eyes came back to me.
“What’s wrong with ‘dude’?” I asked when he didn’t answer.
“We don’t have enough time to get into all that’s wrong with ‘dude’, especially when we have more important shit to talk about. And if I stay here any longer, I’m gonna want my exercise in an entirely different way, a way that isn’t going to help Shamus keep fit.” He gave me a light kiss, which made my lips tingle even more pleasantly than my scalp. “There’s coffee beans in the freezer, grinder in the cabinet over the coffee maker. Help yourself but I’m takin’ you to Dozens for breakfast so don’t eat anything that’ll spoil your appetite.”
“Okay,” I said, staring at his lower lip, fascinated with watching it move while he talked.
“Roxie?”
“Hmm?” I was kind of not paying attention. What could I say? His lower lip was fine.
“You keep lookin’ at my mouth like that, after I’m through with you, and since I’ve been doin’ most of the work, you’re gonna have to take Shamus for a run.”
My eyes moved to his and then they narrowed.
“You’ve been doing most of the work?”
He grinned but didn’t answer.
“Well! Do I have to remind you, Hank Nightingale, that you wouldn’t let me touch you the first time and the second time I tried to climb on top but you flipped me over –”
He kissed me quiet.
“You don’t have to remind me,” he said softly when he was done kissing me. “I remember every second.”
That shut me up, mainly because it took my breath away.
He went on, “I’ll be back in forty five minutes, an hour at the most. Wait for me, we’ll shower together.”
I nodded my head. Although somewhere in my psyche it was registering that he was being supremely bossy, I didn’t care, not even a little bit.
“I think I might go back to sleep for a while,” I told him. “Wake me up when you get home.”
At my words, his eyes got lazy and his arms tightened, bringing my body deeper into his. I got the feeling he was losing his motivation for the run. I looked to the side of the bed and saw Shamus sitting there, impatiently, tongue lolling out, tail starting to wag when he caught my gaze. I looked back to Hank.
“Whisky, Shamus is waiting.”
Hank kept looking at me, just that, looking at me, his face close, his eyes staring into mine. I felt my breath turn shallow as his lazy eyes got that intense look behind them.
“What?” I asked.
His hand ran up my side.
“Just thinking of you sleepin’ in my bed,” he said. “It’s a good thought.”
My throat closed and feelings of panic and happiness surged through me. It was strangely thrilling and frightening at the same time. I swallowed to open my throat, then I put my arms around him and pressed my face in his neck.
“Hank,” I whispered against his skin. “What I have to say at breakfast I know you aren’t going to like. Please, for me, or for the person you think I am right now, don’t –”
He interrupted me.
“Are you tellin’ me you’re a different person?”
I shook my head, pulled away from his neck and looked into his eyes. “But once you hear what I have to say, you might think I am.”
He stared at me a beat, then, all of a sudden, he pulled me completely out from under the covers and slid my naked body across his lap. He yanked the covers over me, wrapping them around me to keep me warm and then his hands went into my hair on either side of my head and held me, facing him.
“Sweetheart, I’m thirty-five years old and I’ve had a fuck of a lot more lovers than you counted on your one hand last night. I’ve come to the point, with women, that I know what I want when I see it and I haven’t seen anything in a long time that interests me as much as you.”
Holy cow.
I was trying to process that (and struggling with it) when he continued.
“Not only that, but I’ve seen a lot of shit in my job and I deal, day to day, with the filthy crust eating away at the edge of good civilization. I know good people, I know bad people, I know good people who do bad things and bad people who do good.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed, fascinated and speechless as his face dipped closer to mine.
“I know what kind of person you are and nothing you say over breakfast is gonna change the fact that, while I’m runnin’, I’m gonna think about your fucking fantastic body naked and asleep in my bed.”
A shiver slid through me.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“So you can stop worrying,” he finished.
I nodded.
He watched me for a beat and then his hands went from my head, to my shoulders and then around my back.
“One more thing, Roxanne.”
I nodded again, still speechless, still processing and, even though I nodded, I was not entirely sure I could take “one more thing”.
“I meant what I said last night, about you and me. I know you’re scared –”
“I’m not scared,” I lied, automatically and in self-defense.
His arms tightened. “Quiet,” he ordered.
I shut up.
“You think we’re going too fast.”
“That, I’ll agree with,” I broke in again.
He shook his head and smiled. “What you need to get is that it’s done. The minute I slid inside you last night, it was done.”
That got a belly quiver.
“You said that last night,” I reminded him.
“I have to know you get it.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause whatever it is you’re gonna tell me in a couple of hours is gonna make me involved.”
“I’m not sure it means that.”
“I am.”
“Whisky –”
“I’m already involved.”
“I don’t think so.”
He frowned. “You don’t get it.”
“You have to let me sort it out myself.”
“Been there, done that… I was a bystander the other times and it sure as fuck isn’t gonna happen with you and me.”
He was talking about Indy and Jet and all their problems.
“You’re being very nice but I have to take care of this my way.”
“I’m not being nice, I’m protecting what’s
My body jerked in shock at his words, I blinked and my back straightened. “I’m not yours,” I said.
“You’re welcome to think that but it doesn’t change the fact that you are.”
This was familiar, too familiar, annoyingly familiar.
Men!
“I’m not yours!” I said and my voice was so much louder, Shamus gave a woof.
“I get it, Roxie, you’re tryin’ to be independent and strong –”
Oh no, now he was patronizing me. I wasn’t a big fan of being patronized. “Don’t you dare patronize me, Hank Nightingale. I am independent,” I said, not claiming to be strong. I knew I wasn’t that. “And I’m sick to death of men who think they can…”
I stopped. I didn’t want to go too far, too soon.
“What?” Hank asked. When I didn’t answer he pushed. “Men who think they can what?”
I scowled at him and burst out in a flurry of (loud) words, “Possess me! Trap me! Make me be where I don’t want to be or go where I don’t want to go or feel what I don’t want to feel!”
After I was done talking, he twisted, my back hit the bed and before I knew it, he was on top of me, staring down at me, his eyes intense.
“Belonging to me doesn’t mean I’ll make you do anything, it just means I consider you mine for as long as this lasts. It means I protect you, it means I take care of you. For another man, it might mean something different.”
His eyes changed, they went funny, the intensity strengthening to something that was mesmerizing.
Then he said, “Don’t confuse me with another man.”
His words dealt my defenses a destructive blow.
Doggedly, I carried on, trying to be philosophical, trying to hold up the ragged remains of what was left of the shield I had around me, protecting me from Hank.
“They say, if you care about something, you have to set it free and if it comes back to you, it was meant to be.”
“They’re full of shit.”
Obviously, I failed spectacularly at being philosophical.
I gave up on that and went for annoyed. “Hank!” I snapped.
He smiled, effectively breaking the moment, and gave me a light kiss.
“We’ll talk about it over breakfast. I’ll promise to listen to you and you have to promise to listen to me. We’ll figure it out.”
If I could have put my hands on my hips, I would have.
“You’re as stubborn as Uncle Tex.”
The smile deepened.
“That means you’re in trouble,” he said.
“I already know that,” I grumbled.
He rolled completely on top of me, his body pressing into mine, taking my breath away.
“The minute I saw you walk into Fortnum’s, I knew I’d do whatever it took to get you right where you are now. And I’m gonna do whatever it takes to keep you here for as long as both of us get something good out of it.”
I bit my lip. What could I say? He was getting to me.
No, if I was honest, he’d already gotten to me.
I couldn’t let him know it.
“And you think I’m crazy?” I asked.
“Yeah, I do, if you keep pretendin’ you don’t want to be here, you’re definitely crazy and you’re lyin’ to yourself,” He kissed my nose and grinned at me. “Don’t worry, I’m patient.”
Shit.
He got up, twisted me around until I was right in the bed and bent low to kiss my temple.
Then, without waiting for me to come up with an answer (which I was finding difficult) he was gone.
* * * * *
I heard him leave and didn’t sleep. How could I? My mind was a flurry, I was dizzy and Hank wasn’t even in the house.
I mentally tugged at my protective shield but I knew it was useless.
Oh well, whatever. So, I had to factor Hank into my plan. It wouldn’t be hard, considering I had the feeling that Hank was probably just going to take over the plan and do it his way.
There were worse things, right?
Anyhoo.
I heard a knock on the door while I was burrowing into Hank’s pillow and I smiled.
He’d come home, way early.
Poor Shamus. Maybe I’d take him out to play Frisbee later. I didn’t know if Shamus actually played Frisbee but he seemed to be a super-smart dog, he’d learn.
I thought that Hank probably didn’t take his keys because he knew I’d be here.
I got up, found my panties and tugged them on and grabbed his turtleneck off the floor and pulled that on too.
I left his bedroom and entered another room, a big room that ran the length of the house and had two couches running down the sides, a wood-burning stove sitting on a stone hearth at the end and a television. I walked through the side door, through the kitchen to the front door. Without looking to see who it was, I opened it, a smile still playing on my mouth.
The minute I saw who was on the threshold, my smile died.
Billy stood there.
Chapter Eight
Billy and My Wild Ride
That was the end of Hank and me.
Even though I thought it was the beginning, what happened next would keep Hank further away from me than any flimsy shield I could throw up.
* * * * *
Now, I’m sitting curled under a sink in a filthy hotel, gagged and handcuffed to the drainpipe. I hurt, everywhere. I’d never hurt so much, my body hurts, my face hurts, my heart hurts.
Everything hurts.
I hurt but I wasn’t scared.
Billy’s gone; the men took him away. I don’t know who they were, I don’t know where they were going and I don’t care. Someone would find me, the maid (if they had one in this fucking place) or the manager when we don’t check out. I just have to wait. I wasn’t going to die cuffed to a sink.
Though, it was debatable if something important, something deep inside me, something precious, hadn’t already died.
* * * * *
Billy kidnapped me. There was no other way to put it.
It wasn’t an easy kidnapping for him; I fought it.
It was violent, it was destructive and it was ugly.
After I opened the door and the smile died on my face, he surged into Hank’s living room, hands on me.
We went back… back… and then he slammed me into the wall. My skull cracked against it and I hit with such force, one of the New Belgium Brewery prints (the Fat Tire one) fell, crashing down, glass flying everywhere.
“Hank fucking Nightingale,” Billy spat in my face, telling me how he found me. He’d looked up Hank.
Shit.
I couldn’t talk, Billy’s hand was at my throat and it was squeezing.
“I saw him running with his fuckin’ dog. A fucking cop. Detective Hank fuckin’ Nightingale,” Billy snarled.
I pushed hard, kicked harder and somehow got him off me.
We wrestled standing. I broke away, starting to run. Billy caught me, whipping me around. More wrestling. a lamp fell, crashing to the floor, tables overturned. Billy got me on the floor, rolled on top of me, his angry face in mine.
“You fuck 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 fuck him?” Billy shouted in my face when I didn’t answer and then he moved.
Then I heard the snap of a switchblade and he rolled off me, and before I knew it, the blade went into Hank’s sweater, slicing through it. I pushed away, Billy caught hold of me by the sweater and it tore more, hanging on me in tatters. I pulled free, got up, tried to run but Billy 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 b
“He fuck you here?” he demanded, pulling me up, slamming me against a wall, pushing his body against mine. “Did he fuck you?” he repeated, pushing my face to the side, pressing my bleeding cheek against the wall. “Did he make you come? How many times did he fuck you?” He pulled me away from the wall and slammed me against it again. “How many times did he fuck you!” he screamed.
No smooth talk now. No fast-talking, silver tongue.
He was out of control, completely.
“Billy,” 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 pulled me off the floor. Then he dropped down and rolled me over, tore the remains of the sweater off me and forced his thigh between my legs until his hips fell between them, his groin pressing against me.
“I should fuck 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. Billy 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 Billy 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. “Billy, I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.
“Shut your fuckin’ 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.
“Billy, I have to go to the bathroom, see to my face,” I said quietly.