by Tara Hart
I reach forward, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear. She leans into my touch before her eyes finally flutter open.
“Callum,” she murmurs softly.
“How are you, sleepy?” I smile at her while running a finger along the bow of her lip.
Before she can answer, I speak again. “I have to leave soon.”
Her face changes, the realization that our time together is ending causes the light to fade from her eyes.
“I don’t want my dad to get suspicious,” I add.
“I understand.”
I miss the playful Leila from earlier, but my impending departure has well and truly dulled her mood.
“When will I see you again?” She flutters her eyelashes as she looks at me.
It’s almost as if she’s toying with my emotions without even knowing it. The tone of her voice alone is enough to make my heart ache at having to leave her alone with my father.
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “Maybe on Tuesday while he’s at work.”
She gasps as she sits upright. “But that’s four days away.”
She’s well and truly awake now.
“I know, but I can’t stop by and visit you during the weekend. My dad will know something’s up if I keep dropping by.”
Her bottom lip sticks out as if she’s pouting.
“Hey.” I grab her hand in mine. “It’s only a few days. I need to work some stuff out.”
I don’t elaborate on what and she doesn’t ask.
She nods her head knowingly. “It’s just hard when you’re not here and I’m alone with…him.”
She looks down at her hands in her lap. Her hair falls forward, creating the perfect frame for her beautiful face.
“I’m sorry,” I say gently. “But I promise I will be back and you won’t have to stay here much longer.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t fool me.
I let out a breath. I’m itching to reach forward and touch her, reassure her, but I stop myself.
“Please be strong, Leila,” I say. “For me.”
She looks up at me from under her lashes and I feel the intensity from her gaze. There is trust in her eyes, but there’s something else as well. Something hidden beyond their depths and I want to know what she is thinking, I want to be invited in.
I watch Leila as she slips out from underneath the covers and takes off the clothes I gave her the night before. It gave me a sense of pride to see her in my old hoodie and track pants, more than I care to admit. Now they sit in a pile on the floor as she slips back into her ridiculous outfit that my father chose especially for her.
I subtly assess the wounds on her back. Her skin is marred by welts that look worse in the light of a new day. I grind my teeth together to stop the curse from tumbling out of my mouth. I can’t save this girl soon enough.
Chapter 12
Callum
“Fuck, Cal, I dunno.” He rakes his fingers through his overgrown hair as he tilts his head to the side.
“Come on, man. It’s not like you’ve never done anything like this before,” I plead, my fingers wrapped tightly around the beer bottle in my hands. I need him to agree to this.
“I’ve never broken a chick out of someone’s basement, dude.”
“So this will be a first,” I try to reason. “Something to add to your repertoire.”
We both chuckle. I don’t know if it’s because of the absurdity of my request or if we’ve had one too many beers. Either way, it helps to lighten the mood.
I just told Eric what I’ve been doing for the past few days, where my minds been at and why I’ve been so distant. On one hand he’s happy it has nothing to do with my separation from Sofia, but at the same time, the situation has him freaked.
“Your dad fucking owns this town. If I go up against him it’s not gonna be good for anyone,” he tells me.
“He’s fucking sick, Eric,” I say a little too loudly. I take a deep, steadying breath before I speak again. “He needs to be stopped.”
I stand and start pacing the length of the room. A pizza box sits on the coffee table from last night and a half empty bottle of Jack sits next to it.
“Please, man,” I plead. I hate the way the words sound coming out of my mouth, but I can’t do this alone. I need Eric. He has the connections that I need to pull this off.
“Dude, you’re sure the breakup with the princess hasn’t turned you batshit crazy?”
I scoff. “I wish.”
Breaking up with Sofia was the sanest thing I’d done in the past four years.
“So this Leila chick is real?” he asks.
He’s still in denial like I was when Leila told me her story. Having attended the party on Friday night made everything more real for me.
“She’s real, Eric.” I swallow roughly. “Since I left, and since my mom died, something has happened to him.”
Eric snorts. “That’s kind of an understatement.”
He looks at me, his eyes wide, and his face full of pity. He’s my only chance at getting Leila out of there, he’s the only person I can trust in this town and I need him on my side.
“Your dad, Cal,” he starts, uncapping the bottle of Jack and taking a swig straight from the bottle. “Your dad is a scary man.”
I shrug my shoulders. “You don’t seem like someone who scares easily.” I raise my eyebrows, challenging him with this one look.
“I live in this town, Cal. I kind of like it too.” His face turns serious. “Your dad could have me fired, have my apartment quarantined and the building destroyed, he can make anything happen. You know all of these things, right?”
I run my fingers along my chin thoughtfully. Everything Eric’s saying is true, but setting Leila free is my number one priority. No risk, no reward.
“He doesn’t need to know you were involved,” I tell him. “I just need a head start, a push in the right direction.”
His foot bounces up and down on the floor nervously. He looks to my face and I stick out my bottom lip in an attempt to sway his answer.
“Okay,” he concedes. “I know a guy…”
One thing about Eric is that he always knows a guy. That’s why I like him. If you need some weed, he knows a guy. If you need to get out of a speeding ticket, he knows a guy. If you need to remove a tracking device from some poor chicks wrist, he knows a guy…
“Okay.” I wait patiently for him to continue.
“He lives in Richmond. He’s been into some heavy shit. Robberies, assaults…he’s done jail time.”
I nod my head and let the information sink in. I was well aware that it would take one criminal to bring down another.
“Cool.”
“He’s done time,” Eric says again as if I didn’t hear him the first time.
“I don’t care. I need someone who won’t fuck this up.”
He shakes his head, his hand wrapping around the neck of the whiskey bottle before downing another mouthful.
“I guess we’re going to Richmond.”
“We?” I question. “I thought you were too much of a pussy to go up against my father.”
He smirks. “Someone has to introduce you to Cruz.”
“Cruz?” I question.
“And that’s exactly why. You’re too prim and proper to approach him. He’ll tell you to fuck off after one look at you. You need me.”
I smile for the first time all day. “I always need you, man.”
Chapter 13
Leila
Callum hasn’t visited in three days. Today I was so sure he would visit. I styled my hair, applied my makeup and even painted my nails with three coats of red polish. I hate the color. It’s cherry red and reminds me of an old woman from a bad eighties movie, but it’s the only color Osborne allows me to wear. Probably because it once belonged to her, his wife and Callum’s mother.
Despite my efforts, there’s still no Callum. I try not to be upset, after all, Callum has a life of his own, but I can’t deny the emptiness I
But Callum…Callum is different. He’s a gentleman without even trying. He looks away when he sees too much skin and he takes care of me without expecting anything in return.
I like having him around and I enjoy talking with him, but sometimes it’s not enough. Sometimes I crave his touch. I want him to wrap his arms around me and tell me everything will be okay. I want to feel his fingertips dance across my skin and his lips—how I want to kiss those curved, pink lips—I let out a sigh when I think of kissing him.
As morning turns to night, I sit in my room in near darkness and wait for something to happen. That’s when I hear the front door unlock. The door squeaks as it opens and then slams shut. The rashness of his movements tells me it’s not Callum. He isn’t so rough, so forceful.
I hear his feet hit each step and his presence fills the room before I see him. I can smell him too, an overwhelming, musky scent that I now associate with pain.
I hear his heavy breathing as he approaches the bed, his shoes making an awful squeaking sound against the hard, concrete floor. I squeeze my eyes closed and wish myself away to another place.
“Emmy,” he coos.
I’m still here.
“Emmy, are you asleep?”
He taps my foot and I instinctively draw my legs against my chest.
I’m alone with him and I know this time my savior won’t be rushing through the door. This time I am alone and I am his.
He lets out a long exhale. “Be a good girl and look at me.”
I sit upright on the bed, my eyes cast low. I hate looking at his face.
“You’re dressed.” He smiles. “You look beautiful.”
I’m in the white outfit that I wore to the party the night Callum saved me.
“What about your lips?” He frowns.
I forgot to paint my lips. What color did he want, pink or red, pink or red? I meet his eyes. I know I’m about to be punished. His face is stern, his lips set in a thin line as his icy gaze focuses on my face.
“Never mind,” he says and I almost choke.
Never mind? I haven’t played by the rules, I didn’t paint my lips rosa or vermelho and he isn’t going to punish me?
“I want to fuck you too badly to worry about the color of your lips.” He leans forward, grabbing both of my feet in his hands. His grip is tight around my ankles as he pulls me to the edge of the bed. My head meets his chest and I squeeze my eyes closed.
He places a long finger underneath my chin and pulls my face up to look at his. I can see the rapid beat of his heart through his shirt, his heavy breath coming out of his nostrils and hitting my face.
“I have been thinking about this moment all day,” he tells me.
He runs his finger along my lips and then up my cheek, stopping at the corner of my eye.
“Actually I’ve been thinking about it since the party.”
My eyes go wide. I try not to react, but when he mentions the party it startles me.
“The man you spent the night with, he’s my son,” he says. Our eyes lock together, and although his gaze is intimidating, I’m too frightened to look away. My chin rests on the slight curve of his belly, my nostrils breathing him in with each inhale.
“I wasn’t happy about it at first,” he says, “but then I thought you may appreciate me more after your time together. There is no way someone like my son, with such little experience, could please you in the ways I can.”
I want to sneer, to tell him he’s delirious and Callum is one hundred times the man he’ll ever be, but he can’t know that I understand every single word he utters.
He pushes me back on the bed, his eyes drinking me in as he unbuckles his belt and forces his pants to the floor. He doesn’t unbutton his shirt, he hardly ever does. He kneels on the bed, one knee wedged between my legs as his eyes linger on my breasts.
He runs his finger underneath the fabric of my top. His fingers stroking my cleavage before he rips the thin piece of material from my body.
“You’re such a fucking slut,” he seethes. “You’re a slut, but I want nothing more than to bury myself inside of you.”
He closes the distance between us, his body over mine, the heat from his form suffocating me, making it impossible to breath.
“Beautiful.” He runs a finger along my cheekbone. “Just beautiful.”
I fight back a shudder as he slips one finger inside of me. I’m dry, dry like the desert. He notices and brings his finger to his mouth, sucks on it and then slips it back inside of me. He pushes in all the way to his knuckle and then he murmurs his delight.
“So tight.”
The sudden invasion feels uncomfortable, but I don’t fight it. I learned long ago that reacting only spurred him on more. A cry from pain would make him fuck me harder. A plea for him to stop would only make him go longer. So I stopped reacting. Now I’m just a warm body that lies lifelessly beneath him.
I let my head fall to the side, focusing on a crack in the wall. It’s getting bigger. It seems to grow in length every single day. I wonder if the room will eventually cave in. I pray for it, for the room to crumble and swallow me up.
“Are you ready for me, Emmy?”
You’re disgusting. Get off of me. I fight the impulse to buck my hips.
His finger slips inside me one last time before he pulls back and guides his cock to meet my entrance. I feel his head dip inside my folds. I bite the corner of my lip as I wait for him to thrust all the way in.
He lets out a long, nauseating grunt as he fills me up, stretching me wide as he pushes deeper.
I’m not here.
I think of the ocean in Maceió. The way the waves lap against the shore and when the water reaches your toes how it feels warm and inviting. When he pushes inside of me, I think of home. I float off to my happy place. When I close my eyes, I see Callum’s face, his gentle blue eyes the same color as the water and his skin the same shade as the sand. I think of Callum…
“Oh Emmy,” Osborne groans. “Fuck, you’re so good.”
His words rip me back to the here and now. My body remains limp and lifeless beneath him as he pumps into me again…
And again…
And again…
He lets out a familiar groan, his teeth grinding together as his cock violates my body one last time. The disgusting sound is always the same when he comes, but it’s what I look forward to. It lets me know it’s over.
I let my body relax as he rolls off of me and onto the other side of the bed. He’s still puffing. His breath coming in short labored gasps. Maybe he’s about to keel over and have a heart attack. I fantasize about this, as I lie motionless on my side of the bed.
“I’ll be out of town on Wednesday night,” he tells me.
I keep my eyes fixed on the crack in the wall.
“Tomorrow will be extra special.”
I notice from the corner of my eye that he’s looking at me, waiting for a reaction, any kind of reaction.
“You know, Emmy, you really need to work on your manners.”
“Yes, sir,” I say in the best deadpan tone I can manage. My voice croaks out of me, little and defenseless. The sound of a dying animal.
“As I was saying, I want the blow job of my life on Tuesday night, wear something that shows off your tits,” he says.
I want to vomit.
“And wear the red lipstick.”
He stands from the bed and looks back at me, his limp dick now hanging between his legs.
“What color lipstick did I say, Emmy?”
“Vermelho,” I whisper.
“That’s right, red. Now go to sleep, I need to get some work done.”
When I hear the door click shut, I finally let the tears fall.
Chapter 14
Callum
Eric pulls his heap of shit car up at the curb and kills the ignition. I’m too weary to look at our surroundings, my head still resting against the passenger window.
“This is it.” Eric turns to me. When I don’t react he shakes my shoulder. “Wake up, Mathers.”
“I’m awake, jackass.” I tilt my sunglasses down my nose and glare at him.
We spent the majority of the drive in silence. I was thinking about Leila mostly. Wondering if I’ve made the right decision to try and help her, doubtful I could live my life without even attempting to save her.
“That’s the place.”
Eric points to the house on the corner of the street. It has a shabby fence, overgrown grass and a sofa on the porch. Apart from the car in the driveway the house looks abandoned.
“Seriously?”
“We’re not in Merling anymore, Toto.” Eric smiles at me. “Cal, this guy is good. Real good.”
“I trust your judgment,” I say and I mean it. I trust Eric with my life and if he says this guy will help us, I believe him.
I undo my seatbelt as I wiggle my toes. The two-hour drive numbed my body, but not my mind as I hoped it would.
We walk down the rickety path, surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds. It seems Cruz has no time for gardening.
“I don’t want to know how you know this guy,” I whisper to Eric.
His mouth lifts at the side. “You’re right, you probably don’t.”
When we approach the two steps that lead to the porch, a gruff voice barks at us. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing on my property?”
We halt immediately. I can only make out the outline of a man hidden behind the hazy screen door. I imagine Cruz standing there, cradling a shotgun and waiting to offload a few rounds.
“Cruz, Cruz…” Eric holds his hands in the air as if he imagined the same gun. “It’s me, Eric.”
The man otherwise known as Cruz pushes through the screen door and steps onto the porch.
“Who’s your bitch?”
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