by Dylan Allen
My phone rings just as I’m about to head to the dugout to take more pictures.
“Hey, goddess, you should have seen your girl--” I answer, out of breath and excited.
“My mother... she’s gone after him. She left me a note. She says she’s going to kill him. I’m going after her,” she says in a clipped, calm voice.
“Who is he? What are you talking about?”
“Weston. He is Weston. Remember, I told you that my mother was looking into the connection with him and grandfather?”
I remember vaguely from that night, but we haven’t talked about it again.
“Yeah, what happened?”
“She found him.”
“He’s not dead?” A chill runs through me, from toe to tip.
“Not even a little. He’s been hiding in plain sight.” My eyes dart around the field, would I even recognize him if I saw him?
“Where is he?”
“Well, according to her note, he’s at the house in Palestine.”
“Her note? I thought you were running errands.
“We were. I went to take a bath and came down to find a note from her. She said she’s going to kill him.”
“What?” I jump to my feet and move away from Hayes and the kids.
“I know. I’m on my way to try and catch her. She drew me that bath and then left. She gave herself an hourlong head start.”
“Do you know where she went?? I’m on my way.”
“Of course, I have an address. He’s been in that house. You have the kids. So, I’m on my way. I was just calling to let you know. You need to come.”
Like hell. I press mute and run over to Hayes. “Can you take Eva and the boys home with you? I’ll leave their booster seats on top of your car, okay? Emergency.” I add, deliberately making it sound like work calling so that the boys won’t worry.
“Sure.” He gives me a thumbs up and I turn back to the call.
“Regan, give me that address now.” I bark.
She sighs. “Fine. But if you get there first, don’t get any ideas about finishing what you started all those years ago. He is not worth you going to jail. And if anyone is going to have the pleasure of hurting him, it’ll be me. Sending you that address now. I love you.” she says.
I race for my car. My heart is in my throat and rage is nearly choking me. If I get there first, nothing will stop me from finishing what I started.
Finally
Regan
I pull off the exit and break out into a sweat. I checked my rearview mirror compulsively on the drive over and every time a car appeared behind me; my heart raced. But no one is following me. This is not that night and I am not going to be anyone’s victim today.
But telling myself that doesn’t make my pulse any slower and by the time I turn up the long tree lined drive leaving to the house, I am trembling.
I pull up next to my mother’s black Cadillac, breathing so hard I’m practically panting. I need to get out of the car. She’s in danger, and I need to help her. But I can’t move. I drop my forehead onto the steering wheel as a flood of memories, the sound of screaming, the places on my body they hurt, sting now with phantom pain. The crunch of gravel under tires jolts me back to the present and I almost burst into tears of relief when Stone’s silver Ranger Rover pulls in behind me.
“You okay?” he asks when he pulls my door open. He crouches down beside me.
“You don’t have to come in. I’ll go. I called 911 and they’re on their way, okay?” he speaks in a steady, reassuring voice and rubs his big, warm hand down my back.
My breathing grows steadier and I nod.
“I want to go. I need to.” I add when he looks like he’s about to argue with me.
He helps me out of the car. We walk toward the house of horrors. But, with Stone holding my hand, the cloying fear recedes, and vengeful anger takes its place.
A scream from inside smacks into my consciousness like a runaway freight train. It shatters everything, but my need to help my mother. I break into a run and ignore Stone’s shouts for me to stop.
I scream my mother’s name and my voice as loud as a raging wind as I cross the threshold into the house. I run through the living room and down the corridor and burst into the room where the sounds are coming from.
I walk in to find a stark-naked Weston cuffed to the bed, his legs spread eagle, his arms bound above his head. His screams stop when he sees me.
“Oh my God, stop her, she’s going to get me killed.” I look around the room and don’t see my mother, and then I hear the sound of the toilet flushing.
I rush over to the bathroom and see my mother dumping bags of brown powder into the toilet, a satisfied smile on her face.
“Mother?” I call and she shrieks and drops at the bag and turns toward me.
“Oh my God, child. Don’t sneak up on me like that. I didn’t hear you over that man’s wailing. Apparently if all of this heroine goes missing, I won’t have to kill him myself. The Mexican Cartel will.”
I stare slack jawed at her, unable to formulate a response.
“Regan?” Stone bellows my name.
“We’re in the bathroom. She’s fine.” I yell back out to him just as Weston starts shrieking again.
“Oh, Stone is with you. Perfect. I was thinking we could burn this place down before we leave. What do you say?” she asks, as if she’s discussing what we should eat for dinner.
“Mother, the police are on their way. Stop flushing those drugs and why is he naked?” I ask her in exasperation.
She reaches into a bag on the floor beside her and pulls out a bottle of honey and holds it up with a smile. “I was going to pour this on him, leave the door open and let the bugs have at him until the cartel showed up.”
“You fucker!” Weston shrieks and I dash out into the hall and make for the room.
Stone is holding a knife under Weston’s balls and he’s got a hand cuffed around his neck.
“I’m a doctor. I know how to cut this so that not even the best surgeon could make you right,” he says and Weston howls bloody murder. A trickle of blood drops onto the sheet between his thighs.
I grab Stone’s wrist and tug. I might as well be trying to maneuver a mountain.
“No, baby. I want to finish what I started the last time we were all together.” His hand around Weston’s throat tightens and the man’s face turns red, his eyes turn to me pleading for help.
Looking at him is hard. Despite his current predicament, he looks well. Better than Jack did, and certainly better than Rebecca looked last time I saw her. It’s not right that he’s had a moment of comfort. But I don’t want one more entanglement with this man. I don’t want to lose one more person, or minute because I gave him more power than I should have.
“You can’t. It’ll make it easier for him to get off.”
Stone growls and closes his eyes, his jaw clenched, his lips flatten in a grimace. Then he pulls his hand away from his throat and Weston coughs and draws in huge lungfuls of air. “I wish I’d shoved that knife deeper into his back when I had the chance,” Stone says, and I realize the knife is still pressed to his balls.
Weston’s eyes go wide as they dart from my face to Stone’s. “You’re that little shit who stabbed me? You’re all fucking crazy.”
“Remember what happened last time you talked to her. Keep talking and the police be damned, I will slice it off clean.” Stone’s voice is calm but cold as ice.
Weston’s frantic eyes grow wide and he starts bucking like a wild man. “You gotta help me. He’s crazy; you can’t do this,” he shrieks, tears running down his face. I would laugh if I wasn’t starting to twitch the onslaught of memories that are too vivid, and too painful.
I slap Weston, hard and he howls and starts to sob. “God, you are so pathetic. You, who tortured women for years can’t bear to be slapped?”
“He’s gonna cut off my cock,” he sobs, his chest heaving.
“Oh, shut up. He’s not going to cut
off your little prick. He knows you’re not worth it.” I put my hand on Stone’s shoulder and squeeze. He looks up at me, the sinister look in his eyes morphing to worry when he sees the look on my face.
He drops the knife and stands up. “Are you okay?”
“Please, I need to go.” I whisper. I don’t want Weston to know how much being here is affecting me.
He wraps an arm around my waist, and I lean my head on his chest. The thundering of his heart against my ear is soothing and muffles the horror of this place.
The wail of sirens approaching fills the cabin. My mother sticks her head in from the bathroom. “Who called the police? I haven’t even gotten the honey on him, yet.”
“Mom, come on, please let’s get out of here, I just want this over.”
She looks between me and the bed and purses her lips in disgust. “Fine.” She marches out of the bathroom with a big black marker in her hand. “But this time, I’m going to force them to get the story right.”
Love Of My Life
Regan
Today will go down in the record books as one of the worst and best day of my life. Weston was apprehended, dragged out of the house with the words “PIMP” and “RAPIST” drawn in black marker on his chest. Courtesy of my mother and the news cameras she made sure were waiting when he arrived at the Harris County Court House for processing.
I walk through my house, turning off the lights as I go. I’m bone tired and I walk into the bedroom ready to fall straight into bed.
“They’re finally asleep. I’m so—”
My words trail off when Stone stands up. He’s palming the erection pressing against his blue and white striped pajama bottoms. “You’re so…tired? That’s too bad, cause I’m horny as fuck,”
“Oh?” I lean against the door frame, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much today, but I savor the feeling of another one tugging at the corners of my lips.
“But I have a dilemma.” He bites his lip as he pulls his pants down his hips and his erection springs free and stands straight between us. He grabs it with both of his hands and starts stroking himself.
“Are you getting yourself off??” I ask.
“Ah, Captain Obvious is in the building,” he says with a wicked smile so sensual it makes my toes curl.
“Stop talking shit and come over here,” I tease him.
“No can do. I told you, I have a dilemma,” he says and sits back on the bed and keeps stroking himself.
“Yes, and I have the solutions between my legs. “
“Be careful what you wish for… If I stop this …” He nods at his dick. “Then I’ll need to bend your sweet ass over and fuck you. You just said you’re exhausted and so I don’t think you can handle me tonight. I’m pissed; I might be too rough.”
“You are mad at me?”
“Yes. For telling me that you didn’t need me today.”
“Aww, babe. I didn’t mean it like that. I just knew I could handle it by myself.”
He grunts as his hand moves faster. “There is no more by yourself. Don’t ask me to let you go into battle alone. I never will. Never.”
I’ve never watched a man do this before and it’s mesmerizing.
He lets go of his dick long enough to yank off his pants and pull his shirt over his head. And then he stands.
His body is distractingly big, so perfect.
And it’s all mine.
So, I run.
Straight into my lover’s arms.
And right before his lips cover mine, his voice smooth as velvet, he whispers. “You water me, I water you. Together, we win.”
To get a copy of the extended epilogue click here.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
This story is special to me for many reasons. Jezebel, the biblical figure was my inspiration for the title. Her name has become synonymous with vice, treachery and sin.
But, when I started researching the woman behind all the myths and legends, I learned that nearly all of my perceptions about her, and what her name should stand for were misinformed.
Jezebel was a queen. One whose biggest crime was daring to behave just as the men of her time. She was ruthless, unapologetically ambitious, and believed in her right to rule.
I set out to tell the story of a woman who took that name, and turned it into a battle cry.
Traditional historical texts often erase the contributions of women in their recounting of major events.
My study of history in college taught me that if I wanted to know the complete story, I’d have to read beyond the textbooks. And that I’d have to question the premise of every historical fact, I’d been taught.
That exercise made my life so much richer. It’s I hope you’ll walk away from this story feeling empowered and of course, in love.
Happy reading,
Dylan
Acknowledgments
As always, this part feels impossible to write.
There are so many people who are integral to this story making it into the world.
My beta readers are the first line of defense and they helped me shape and elevate the story. Thank you, Chele Walker, Sara Koelsch, Elizarey Reads, Lara Petersen, Marcia Golden Esders, and Amy Jackson - your early feedback and encouragement helped so much!
To the women who shared your stories with me so that I could make my characters as authentic as possible, THANK you for your time, your honesty and your trust.
To my editor, Lauren Clarke - you are a star. Having you as my partner in this process made all the difference and I am so grateful for the care and thoroughness you showed this manuscript.
To my colleagues who walk this very unique path alongside me, I’m glad to have you in my life and am grateful for your constant support.
To my Day Dreamers and my DREAM TEAM I LOVE you guys! You make my day, every single day! You inspire me to keep writing and I am so thankful for the parts of your day that you spend with me.
To all of the blogs who have tirelessly and graciously read and then promoted my work— you are my heroes. I couldn’t do this without you.
To the readers who buy my books, who email, message and tweet me! Thank you SO much for everything. You’re amazing and I write with your wind at my back every day!
Thank you to my family—my parents, my sisters, my brothers-in-law and my cousins—you are my village. Thank you for being wonderful and loving.
Finally, thank you to my husband and children - You are the heartbeats of my life. Thank you for inspiring me, loving me and supporting me. I love you all more than anything else in the universe!
Love,
Me.
About the Author
Dylan Allen is a Texas girl with a serious case of wanderlust.
A self-proclaimed happily ever junkie, she loves creating stories where her characters chase their own happy endings.
When she isn’t writing or reading, eating or cooking, she and her family are planning their next adventure.
I love talking to you guys! Feel free to send me an email at [email protected].
Are you on Facebook? If you are, then PLEASE join my private reader group, Dylan’s Day Dreamer. It’s where I spend most of my time online. My Day Dreamers get exclusive giveaways, sneak peaks, glimpses into my every day, and lots of other fun bookish things! It’s fantastic and my favorite place on the internet. Click here to join and make sure you introduce yourself.
You can find me on all the following social and book related platforms:
Book+Main Bites
Also by Dylan Allen
Loved it and want more? Here are all of my currently published titles.
Rivers Wilde Series of stand alone stories:
The Legacy
The Legend
Symbols of Love Series of stand alone stories:
Rise
Remember
Release
Complete stand alone stories:
The Sun and Her Star
Thicker T
han Water
I love to hear from readers! email me at [email protected]
Are you on Facebook? Come join my private reader group, Dylan’s Day Dreamer. It’s where I spend most of my time online and it’s a lot of fun! Click here.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
This story is special to me for many reasons. Jezebel, the biblical figure was my inspiration for the title. Her name has become synonymous with vice, treachery and sin.
But, when I started researching the woman behind all the myths and legends, I learned that nearly all of my perceptions about her, and what her name should stand for were misinformed.
Jezebel was a queen. One whose biggest crime was daring to behave just as the men of her time. She was ruthless, unapologetically ambitious, and believed in her right to rule.
I set out to tell the story of a woman who took that name, and turned it into a battle cry.
Traditional historical texts often erase the contributions of women in their recounting of major events.
My study of history in college taught me that if I wanted to know the complete story, I’d have to read beyond the textbooks. And that I’d have to question the premise of every historical fact, I’d been taught.
That exercise made my life so much richer. It’s I hope you’ll walk away from this story feeling empowered and of course, in love.
Happy reading,
Dylan
Acknowledgments
As always, this part feels impossible to write.
There are so many people who are integral to this story making it into the world.
My beta readers are the first line of defense and they helped me shape and elevate the story. Thank you, Chele Walker, Sara Koelsch, Elizarey Reads, Lara Petersen, Marcia Golden Esders, and Amy Jackson - your early feedback and encouragement helped so much!