by Vella Day
Now that she’d gotten a good look at him, he’d know she could identify him. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. Just leave me alone.” Her voice wobbled, and she was never more disgusted with herself than at that moment. However, if she acted tough, it might make things worse.
He grinned, showing yellowed pointed teeth.
“You’re right about not telling anyone.” His spittle sprayed over her face when he spoke too close. Vomit rolled up into her mouth. She wanted to wipe off his vile effluent but he was holding her arms too tightly. “When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to say a word.”
The putrid stench from his breath forced her to turn her head. He jerked her injured arm, and her eyes rolled upward for a second. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a squeak came out. He shoved her three feet to the left, past the hedge, and slammed her back against the wall. Pain stabbed her spine, and her legs wobbled.
She held up her hands. “I have money. I’ll give you my credit cards. Take everything. Just don’t hurt me.”
“You are a piece of work, puta.”
His mouth descended on hers. She pressed her lips tight to prevent his tongue from darting in, but his brute force bruised her mouth. Unable even to turn her face, she lifted her knee to strike him in the balls, but he’d anticipated her reaction and blocked her thrust.
“You can’t win, bitch.” He leaned back a few inches and tore at her blouse with nails that more closely resembled animal claws than human fingers. The buttons popped and the material ripped open.
Oh, no. He’s going to rape then kill me. The repulsion of what was to come stole her breath. Tears leaked out. I don’t want to die.
He lifted her chin, exposing her neck. “I’m so going to enjoy this. Scream and I’ll rip out your throat, too.”
Too? Jeffrey’s bloody image surfaced once more, and all she could do was nod. The murderer dragged her bra up over her breasts and the chilly air pebbled her nipples. He grabbed hold of her breast and squeezed. Pain tripped past her ribs.
Do something.
She couldn’t stand there like an accepting lamb while he stuck his cock in her. Thoughts of getting DNA under her fingernails seemed her only option. She glanced to the street and hoped someone would happen by, but the partial fence blocked the view.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered through gritted teeth.
He barked out a laugh. “Like you’re in any position to tell me what to do.” The smack across her face came so fast and hard her knees gave way, and her ass dropped to the ground.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage as the intensity of the pain radiated across her cheek and down her teeth.
The man wasted no time. While he held her wrists in one hand, he knelt and straddled her. She struggled to get free but failed to move at all.
Oh, no. Oh, no. Her mind whirred as she tried to figure out what to do. Do something. Anything.
When his fingers reached up under her skirt and grabbed hold of her panties, she clawed his cheek and snarled. Take that you asshole.
“You fucking puta.” He tore off her underwear with one swift pull, and the expected blow to her face came so hard she blanked out for what she thought was a few seconds.
When she roused, her vision blurred and her jaw ached. He was kneeling on her wrists, making it impossible for her to grab him. She rocked right and left but couldn’t throw him off.
Stupid. Now because of her resistance, her imminent death would be more painful.
Aw, hell. She had nothing to lose. Nothing! Once more, she lifted her knee between his legs, but he deflected the blow once more.
“You want to play hard to get? I’ll show you, chica.” He reached behind his back, withdrew the gun and tossed it to the side. His fingers grappled with his pants button and his tongue lolled out.
She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the sadistic bastard leer at her during the assault. All she could focus on were his zipper lowering and his hard, fast breaths. Spittle dropped to her face, and she worked hard not to gag.
She considered another tactic. Hadn’t she read that a rapist got off on the victim’s fear? Could she act interested instead of showing she was scared to death?
Reality hit. No matter what she did, he would rape and murder her. Not only would she suffer a horrific end to her short life, her poor parents would suffer terribly with the knowledge.
To hell with what she’d read. Let him hurt her—torture her. She wouldn’t die without a fight.
She opened her mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream.
A shout sounded in response. Her pulse spiked.
The repugnant man spurt a string of harsh, foreign-sounding words and jumped up. A sneer filled his face before he looked toward the street and raced away.
She lifted her head then collapsed, too weak to move.
Feet pounded, a gunshot rent the air, and then a car engine started.
As she struggled to sit up, her body rebelled. Pain ripped across her face and up her arm. She dropped to the ground and curled into a fetal position. Her mind emptied as her body gave out.
Then two warm hands lifted her to a seated position. “I got you. You’re safe,” said a deep, vaguely familiar voice.
She almost didn’t want to open her eyes, still overwhelmed with fear that the horrid man would return. Except now the fetid stench was gone, and in its place was something spicy and enticing.
“Chelsea. It’s okay.”
He knew her name.
She opened her eyes and stared into the most beautiful set of amber eyes, and believed she must be hallucinating. Eyes that coincidently belonged to one of the men who’d been in her dreams since her best friend’s Christmas party.
“Drake?”
“Yeah, babe, it’s me.”
He glanced at her ripped, discarded underwear and cupped her chin between his fingers. “Did he rape you?” he growled out his question.
“No.” She choked on a sob. “You got here just in time.”
“We need to get you to a doctor to take care of that gunshot wound and your face.” He nodded to her exposed breasts. “Maybe you want to pull down your bra.”
Heat raced up her face at the realization that he’d seen her almost naked, though right now that should be the least of her worries. Her shirt was beyond repair, but she managed to tug the bra down and at least cover her bare breasts. Trembling and weak, she fumbled to adjust her skirt.
He leaned her against his propped knee, whipped off his shirt, and held out his T-shirt. “Put this on.”
Relief washed through her. “Thank you.” The sight of his rippled abs and muscled chest helped take her mind off her aches and embarrassment. When she tried to lift the shirt over her head, her arm screamed.
“Let me.” He took the shirt from her to help.
She couldn’t wrap her head around how one minute, that evil troll had been about to rape her, and the next, Mr. Wonderful arrived to rescue her.
Drake slid his hands under her knees and gently lifted her. Blood covered her arm and trickled down her skirt.
Tremors snaked through her. “H-how did you know? How did you get here?” she managed to ask. A ton of other questions tumbled around in her brain, but she couldn’t get the rest out of her mouth.
His lips froze for a second as if he was figuring out what she meant. “Kurt’s brother, Jeffrey, called us from the house and said he heard an intruder. A gunshot sounded. I’m afraid Kurt and I arrived too late to save him.” He carried her toward the front of the house.
She clamped a hand over her mouth then lowered it. “I saw Jeffrey.” Her stomach churned. “I didn’t see a gunshot wound.”
“The bullet went through his heart.”
That explained it. Jeffrey was face down. “I can’t imagine how horrifying that must have been.” At the party, Kurt had spoken of Jeffrey with awe and respect. Now his brother was dead. As nice as it was to be in Drake’s arms, the jostling caused more discomfort. “I can walk. Rea
lly.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, just hold me up.”
He set her down and waited until she was stable before he released her. She needed something to focus on besides her near death experience. “Where’s Kurt?”
“Still inside. As you can imagine, he’s really shook up.”
As anyone would be. “The poor man.” Her heart ached for him.
“Come on. We need to get out of here in case that guy comes back.”
Her stomach tumbled at the thought, and a sharp pain stabbed her abdomen. She wrapped an arm around her belly. “Do you think he would?” A piercing ache speared her eye.
“Let’s discuss this someplace else.”
She’d go with him, especially if it meant she could crawl into her bed sooner.
He opened his car door for her. She looked back at the house. “What about Kurt?”
As if he heard her, Kurt marched from the house. Drake stiffened beside her. Kurt’s body was so rigid, she wasn’t sure he was even breathing. His disheveled brown hair, stood at odd angles as if he’d been tearing at it, and his tight blue shirt was stained with blood. Jeffrey’s blood.
When he spotted her, he trotted over and ran his concerned gaze the length of her body. Between wearing Drake’s shirt and the blood drenching her hand, she must look a total mess. Not to mention how red her throbbing face must appear. She palmed her ripped panties in one hand.
“What happened?” He glanced from her to his partner. “Was she…?”
She hiccupped. “No, thank God.” She couldn’t talk about what happened and shook her head. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded.
“Mendez shot her,” Drake said.
He knew the man?
Kurt placed a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Take her to Deland. I’ll meet you at his office as soon as we put Jeffrey to rest.”
From the jostling, her arm began to bleed again, and she held her palm over the hole. “Don’t you have to wait for the coroner to arrive before moving the body?” Or, had she watched too many crime shows on television?
He shook his head. “We take care of our own.” He turned to Drake. “I’ve called Trax, Clay, and Dirk. Once they make sure everything is good, I’ll meet you.” He picked up the heels she’d dropped when she ran and handed them to her.
Drake wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed his fingers. “We really need to go.”
“Aren’t you going to go after that creep? He couldn’t have gone more than a few miles.”
“We’ll get him. Don’t worry. Come on.”
Drake led her to his car and helped her in. She tossed her shoes at her feet. So as not to mess up her savior’s seats, she looked around for something to sop up her blood besides her torn panties.
Drake slipped in on the driver’s side. From behind the seat he pulled out a blue-striped towel. “Use this if you want.”
A small smile tugged on her lips. “Thanks.” She wiped off as much blood as she could, careful not to let it splatter. He pulled into the road, and as he left the neighborhood, she looked in the rearview mirror, not convinced the killer would give up so easily.
She glanced over at Drake. If he shot at the man, he must have known he was evil. “You said his name is Mendez. I’m guessing you know him?”
“I’ll answer your questions later.”
“Fine.” She probably wasn’t ready to learn the truth right now anyway. It was hard enough to deal with what had occurred. She drew in her bottom lip, leaned her head back on the headrest, and closed her eyes.
Suddenly, she sat up and studied Drake. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go the police and report the assault and murder?”
He winced. “We’ll take care of everything. You need medical help first, then we’ll let you tell us what happened.”
The murder, the attack, and the blood loss were taking a toll on her. Maybe she should worry about the cops later.
For the next few minutes, she wasn’t sure of much, other than Drake insisting she see his doctor. He was probably out of network and would cost a mint.
“I should probably go to the health clinic on Linton Street.”
He exhaled. “If you’re concerned about the cost, don’t worry. Besides, you really don’t have a choice. That bullet in your arm isn’t your typical 38 mm.”
Why did he have to complicate matters when she was just beginning to calm down? “What do you mean?”
“The gun the man used is unique to werewolves. Those bullets spread poison throughout your system and only a shifter doctor has the antidote.”
“Werewolves are real?” Sure, her best friend claimed her mates were ones, but Chelsea hadn’t come to grips with what Liz told her. Now Drake confirmed it. Holy shit.
“Yes, they are.”
This insanity had to stop. Nothing made sense. He mentioned werewolves as if the whole world knew about them. “Since when do bullets contain poison?” She’d voiced her concern with amazing calm.
“I know this is a lot to take in. I’m sorry, but you need to understand that werewolves are different from humans.”
No shit, Sherlock. “Besides the obvious, in what way?”
“For one, the only way to kill a werewolf is either to poison them or shoot them in the heart.”
This couldn’t be real. She jiggled the handle to see if he’d locked her in.
“Take it easy.”
He would say that. He was driving.
“All of this creeps me out.”
He shot her a glance and nodded. “I know. I’m sorry to dump this on you. It’s not easy to buy into all this. Once the doctor fixes you up, you’ll be able to think more rationally.”
She wasn’t being irrational. The fear morphed the truth. The car ride didn’t help the pain in her arm either. With every turn and bump, it was like having knives driven into her wound.
Finally, he slowed and pulled in front of a residence.
“I thought we were going to a doctor’s office.” She prayed her trust hadn’t been misplaced.
“The doctor likes to keep a low profile.”
That made sense, but she would have felt safer being around more people. She slipped on her shoes and reached for the door handle. Drake insisted on helping her out and up the walkway. When they stepped inside the lovely old home, a pleasantly plump woman who sat behind a beautiful teak desk smiled. Instead of the usual scrubs, she wore a pretty pink blouse, and her white hair was short and stylish. Behind her was a living room, complete with a painting of a family over the mantel. It now made sense. The low profile doctor must live in the back.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Stanton.” She stood. “Come with me, Ms. Wilson. The doctor is expecting you.”
How had she known they were coming, since Chelsea didn’t even remember Drake calling?
Once inside the examination room, a tall man, looking no more than thirty, with broad shoulders and a nice smile, waltzed in and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Deland.”
He motioned to the exam table. “Hop on up so I can assess the damage. Let Drake help you.”
After she was situated, Drake stepped off to the side. Did he plan to stay throughout the exam? He’d already seen almost everything, and while she normally would have asked him to leave, she found something comforting about having him with her to explain things, should the doctor share more strange tales.
“I need to remove your shirt to see the wound. Are you okay with that after your attack? Because if you want, I can have Melanie supervise.”
Melanie must be the nurse. Chelsea shook her head. “There’s no need.” Drake would make sure the doctor didn’t do anything inappropriate. Her body told her to trust him.
Since she was in an oversized T-shirt and Drake was shirtless, the doctor probably pieced together what happened.
“I’m sorry to bring up the nightmare, but from your torn clothes, I need to ask. Did your attacker rape you?”
Shivers rippled up her spine and
goose bumps emerged at what could have happened. “He didn’t get a chance.” She rubbed her face and winced. “He did hit me, however.”
“I can see that.” The doctor pulled down her lower eyelid and shone a bright light. He repeated on the other side. “He winged you pretty good, too.”
“Yes.” An involuntary shudder sped through her body. The adrenaline was wearing off and had been replaced with shock and fear.
He lifted her wrists. When he lightly pressed on the skin, she jerked. “That’s tender, huh?”
“A little. The bastard knelt on my wrists to hold me down.” Her throat closed up, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The tears she’d held at bay dripped out.
“We’ll get an X-ray of both wrists. Expect the bruising to get worse before it gets better.”
Great. He handed her a tissue, and she wiped her eyes.
Dr. Deland lifted her shirt, but when she raised her arm, she groaned.
Drake stepped forward. “If you don’t mind lending us some scrubs, you can just cut the shirt off.”
“That would make it quicker.”
She was impressed with the easy relationship between these men. Because the doctor had this antidote, she guessed he was a shifter, too. She didn’t ask because, in part, she didn’t want confirmation.
Dr. Deland cut off not only the T-shirt, but also what remained of her torn shirt. “We can leave the bra on.”
“Thanks.” She’d be tossing it as soon as she got home. Little hope existed that she’d get all the blood out, and having it as a reminder wouldn’t be healthy either.
As soon as he cleaned the wounded area, the bleeding from the opening slowed down.
“How’s your stomach feeling?”
That was an odd question. “A bit nauseated, but my cheek hurts worse.” She bet her face would be totally black and blue by tomorrow. “At least, I don’t think that ass broke anything.” Her nose was sore, but he hadn’t loosened any of her teeth when he’d struck her.