Beaten (Broken Book 1)

by Rue, Rebekah

  “Is there someone we can call for you? We have some phenomenal grief counselors on staff if you need someone to talk to. Day or night, don’t hesitate.” Detective Cimorelli slides a yellow cheery business card my way. Kindly the officers leave, and just like that, I’m alone. Not a blood relative around to simply confide in.

  I try to make sense of all the facts, but the last conversation I had with my dad keeps replaying in a loop in my head. “You will be the death of me! You will be the death of me! I love you and you will always be our baby girl.”

  The newspaper reports the same information the officers delivered, adding the part where witnesses stated they heard screams coming from the vehicles. I could have done without knowing that. That sends me overboard again.

  I become a recluse after that, never leaving my bed. I can’t even find the energy to open my bloodshot eyes. I don’t want to eat, and I cry hours on end to the point I’m so dehydrated tears won’t even fall. If only I had gone with my parents or not been so selfish to stake my independence, they might still be here. Guilt and abandonment darken my perceptions of daily living and fester with every day that passes. Essentially, life takes a shit on me.

  My only godsend is Maggie. She received word of the accident and immediately dropped everything and flew back to Texas. She stays several weeks. She is my rock, my shoulder to cry on, my pain in the ass, my best friend, and my hero. Maybe not right away, but slowly Maggie coaxes me out of my depression and gets me functioning with society again.

  Planning the small funeral is one of the hardest things ever. There are no bodies to bury. Maggie barely leaves my side as several people gather to pay tribute to my parents. I had blown up several pictures and placed them on the church’s altar. I stop taking Heath’s phone calls, even though he’s very persistent. I can’t. In my heart, a tiny part of me feels he’s to blame for their deaths. He’s tried leaving notes on my doorstep, but no words can fix us at this point. Each letter as it arrives is thrown in a box beneath my bed.

  Christmas comes and goes, but I barely notice. The holiday will forever be tainted with blackness as far as I’m concerned.

  Since Maggie has flown back, I live as a shell of my former self for two months. Maggie and I decide it will be best to pack my things and move in with her. Too many memories linger here and it hurts too much. Using the money from my parents’ life insurance, I pack up and start the process of moving to Florida where I’ll start a new life. I have no family in Texas, no ties or reasons for me to stay. Plus, my dream was to always attend UCF with Maggie. This is my time to find me, make a difference, and grow strong. I have one mission, and this time, no tatted-up, smooth-talking bad boy is going to detour me.

  Chapter 3

  Lo

  My three-hour flight from Austin, Texas, to Orlando, Florida, is the flight from hell. From the smelly oversized man spilling from his seat into mine, to the chorus of agitated babies scattered throughout the plane, my nerves are shot! Maggie is picking me up from the airport. I feel like I can’t get to the baggage claim fast enough and am getting anxious. I’ve missed her so much! Turning the corner, I immediately spot her dirty blond hair, and as if they have a mind of their own, my leopard Michael Kors flip-flops pick up the pace, double time. In a storm of blond hair and squeals, we collide, wrapping each other tight in our arms. It feels amazing having her around, like breathing fresh air again. Taking a step back from our embrace, I glance down to see a cardboard sign dangling from her hand. Maggie notices where I’m looking, and a huge smile spreads across her face, emphasizing her perfect cheek bones. Proudly, she raises the sign so I can take in its full effect.

  Welcome home, sweet tits!

  Congrats on

  Getting all your dildos past security.

  My mouth drops open; I’m thoroughly embarrassed and one hundred percent sure I’m an unattractive shade of red. In a flash, I grab Maggie’s hand and dash us out of the airport, letting her crummy sign fall near the trash where it belongs.

  To my surprise, we don’t head home. One of Maggie’s clients called right before I landed, begging her to come over and fix her hair crisis. Evidently, the lady urgently needs to leave town, and Maggie, with her heart of gold, won’t let her leave in a mess. I drop her off at an impressive high-rise condo in downtown Orlando. Maggie informs me that the fix is going to take some time and will catch a ride home. She feels bad and apologizes profusely for ditching me seconds after I got there, but I’m fine. I need to get a few things done anyway.

  I’m driving around in Maggie’s red Jeep Wrangler, tapping my fingers to the beat of the music on the steering wheel, searching for a store to pick up some much-needed odds and ends. I have no idea where I’m going. Maggie had tried to give quick directions, but after the third left-left-right, she’d lost me. I’ve been driving for nearly thirty minutes when, purely by the grace of God, I pull up to the next stop light, and there it is . . . Walmart. Quickly checking in my mirror, I jerk the wheel to the right and perform a three-lane sweep across, only to encounter a heavy blasting horn coming at me from all angles. Every muscle in my body tightens as the driver of a large SVT Ford Raptor slams on his brakes and impressively swerves to miss my bumper. “SHIT!” It all happened so fast that it looked like a royal blue blur with a very distinctive large middle finger welcoming me to Florida.

  Stumbling into my new condo with bags overflowing from my arms and my bank account two hundred dollars lighter, I’m greeted by Maggie. Right on her heels is a black-white-and-orange-striped tabby cat. “Who’s that little tiger?” I ask, motioning with my head. Maggie immediately starts taking bags and unloading them.

  “This is your other new roommate; his name is Diddy.”

  Diddy jumps up on the counter and inspects all the new goods, sticking his furry paws in the plastic bags.

  “Why are you wasting your money on this?” Maggie says, handing me my at-home body-waxing kit. I quickly snatch it from her and put it to the side. I, unlike Maggie, prefer to keep strangers away from my private parts. I wax them myself. She isn’t shy, never worries about anything, and is the most beautiful person I know. Girls envy her long, shiny, dirty-blond hair, ivory skin, and strange mixed gray-green eyes, adorned with the longest set of lashes I’ve ever seen. She’s a little taller than I am at 5’5”, but we have the same body shape, making it easy for us to swap clothes.

  “This is the way it should have been since day one: you and me living together. I’m so pumped.” She practically bounces in place. “Do you remember some of that freaky shit we did?”

  Walking over to the fridge, I pull out a bottle of water and take a soothing gulp. Leaning my hip up against the counter, I nod, remembering all too well.

  Maggie comes over, grabs her own water, and sits on the opposite counter top. “Like the time we snuck over to Roger and Ryan’s house. You got stuck with nerdy Roger while I got to have my way with that tight piece of ass Ryan. All the chicks wanted a slice of dat. Twins! Hell, I should have taken them both. You’re a lucky little bitch. I like you enough to share my toys.”

  Diddy loses interest in my box of tampons and stalks over to me, purring loudly. He grazes his body across my back over and over, sideswiping me. I reach over and pet him. “You had to bring that up, like you were really doing me a favor. He went on and on all night how the newest Call of Duty had the best graphics yet.”

  Maggie tosses her water bottle cap at my face. “Did you know I asked Ryan to put it in my butt that night?” Her face goes painfully priceless as she shakes her head. “I know. I know. I watched some freaky porn earlier that day; I was curious.”

  “So you hated it.”

  “You stick a baseball bat in a tiny hole that doesn’t make lubrication and tell me how it feels.”

  In one breath, I burst into laughter, and in the next, I’m grabbing my chest, choking. Diddy freaks out and takes off down the hall.

  Maggie doesn’t try moving her ass cheeks, which I now know have been fully probed. No, sh
e stares at me, bored, her tone dry. “You feel better? Did you get that lung up?”

  I give her an evil smirk, and a short laugh escapes her. “So . . . I know you’re probably tired, but everyone is getting together tonight at Wrecker’s Field.”

  “What goes down there?” I barely say, my nose and throat burning.

  “Oh, you know, the usual. It’s social hour. We just all kind of hang out. You are gonna love everyone. We should start getting ready so we can do dinner first.” I watch as she swings her legs, popping herself off the counter and sashaying towards her bedroom door. Before walking in, she stops and turns around. “Oh, Lo, make sure you look hot as fuck tonight. Serious man candy will be there, and I feel a cavity coming on.” With such sass, she snaps two fingers and is off.

  What have I gotten myself into? All I can do is laugh.

  The scene at Wrecker’s Field, when we pull up, is nothing like I envisioned. The place looks like trouble and gives me eerie goose bumps. It’s completely dark outside with only a few working streetlamps to light the area. We enter through a large gate that’s propped open with a brick, and razor wire hangs haphazardly from pieces of fence that are still standing. A crumbling old brick building sits in one of the far corners of the field, and parked in a row are several rusted clunkers that are being covered by the overgrown grass. As we drive closer, I can see tons of brightly painted cars parked strategically so that the headlights light up a large area. The smell of burning gasoline and the ear-splitting roar of racing cars churns my stomach and evokes bad memories I try so hard to forget. When a wave of nausea rolls through me, I place a firm hand on my midsection and beg my body to calm down. Oh no, hold it together, Lo. I don’t know if I can do this.

  As the Jeep comes to a stop, Maggie notices how tense I am and silently places a supportive hand in mine, holding it tightly while I fight the urge to bolt. “You okay? We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” Her reassuring smile helps. Holding very still, I take slow deep breaths and focus, feeling a little better with every lungful. I think I can do this, for her.

  People are all over. Some are hanging around their cars, leaning against the hoods, or in the bed of their trucks, while others flitter around from group to group, mingling. Now the women are a species all their own. Skanks, bimbos, floozies, harlot, tramps, hussies, whatever you want to call them, this place is ground zero.

  I feel incredibly out of place with my long blond hair hanging straight to the middle of my back, except for my bangs which I’d braided to the side. My jeans fit just right with a white tank top and a pair of cowboy boots. I am from Texas after all.

  We park next to this intimidatingly beefed-up black Mustang. It sports a hood scoop and shiny black rims that have a thin ribbon of neon green lining the edges. Creeping up the body of the beast is a neon green smiling phantom, circling over both hips. And topping off the trunk is a sleek thin spoiler. This car fills me with dread and churns my stomach. A car like this had taken everything away from me. It makes me want to run.

  We meet up with a group of Maggie’s friends. Each set of eyes surveys me as we approach. I’m the new girl; it’s daunting. A beautiful raven-haired biker chick speaks up first. “Is this her?”

  Maggie throws her arm around me and takes over. “Sosh, this is my best friend from back home, Lo Knight.”

  Sasha’s eyebrows lift and a smug smile appears. “She’s quite the southern belle,” she says, eyeing me like I don’t fit. Then she fixes her demeanor and extends a hand. “I’m sorry; that was rude. Nice to meet you, Lo. Maggie hasn’t stopped talking about you. You’re just not what I expected.”

  We shake hands while I try to give her a smile, analyzing what her little comment means. “Lovely to meet you as well, do you race?” I gesture to the area where it’s taking place.

  She laughs. “Hell no, I own an auto garage called Lady Parts down on Central, and all the goons you see here go there to either hang out or work on their rides. My specialty is motorcycles.”

  “Please, her specialty is keeping all those horny dicks in line,” Maggie says. “When Sasha first opened the garage, every one of these guys tried to tap that ass. They would hang out there for hours, even if they didn’t care two shits about cars, but they aren’t what she’s into.”

  “Oh, stop, they did not. They come around because they view me as one of the guys, the stress of having to impress a chick is gone, and they don’t have to hold their tongues. For the most part, they do what they want and bring me in business.” Yeah, one of the guys, my ass. Sasha seems to move Maggie away a few steps, but I can still hear them talking. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done bringing her here? You’re just asking for trouble. She’s going to be a problem, you know this.”

  Hello, I can still hear you.

  “Don’t say that. Believe me. I’ve already thought of it and hopefully have fixed that problem.”

  “You’re delusional. You know we don’t run with a gentle crowd.” Sasha catches me listening and pins me with her stare. “Keep your nose clean and try not to get mixed up with any of the guys out here. We’ve got some real doozies that will want to mess you up just for fun. You got me?” I nod, not understanding why she’s being all territorial. Plus, I can guarantee there will be no mixing. I learned that lesson the hard way.

  Maggie’s phone chirps in her hand, and she looks down, taking a moment to read it. “Well, guess what girls? I just got a text from Stone, and he’s invited us over to his place. What do you say we get out of here?”

  Sasha rolls her eyes and says she’ll catch us later. Everyone must have gotten that text because the crowds of people begin to thin. Twenty minutes later we pull up to a modest two-story brick house taking up the end of a cul-de-sac. We park in the driveway, get out, and zig zag our way through the mass of cars parked everywhere. Right before Maggie turns the knob, I reach out and stop her. “Wait. We’re not just going to walk in, are we?”

  She smirks at me, coolness written all over her face as she waves me off. “Yeah, Stone is cool as fuck. Plus, we bumped uglies last year so that gives me some rights, right?

  She is so matter-of-fact it throws me off. Don’t people believe in love anymore? Does sharing bodily fluids with a stranger automatically get you a key to his front door? I surely don’t know the etiquette for one-night stands, nor do I want to. I’ll never understand how people find that normal.

  The inside of Stone’s house is like the set of an American Pie movie during one of Stiffler’s parties. The intimidating number of people makes it difficult to move, and if Maggie hadn’t been holding my hand, my feet wouldn’t have moved from the front door. Red cups hang from almost everyone’s hands, and in the dining room, a noisy game of beer pong is taking place.

  Maggie hooks elbows with me and weaves us through the crowd, bumping anyone in the way. The kitchen counters hold a forest of alcohol. Maggie pours something clear in a tiny glass and passes it to me. “Here. Down this. You need to loosen up.” I hesitate briefly then choke down the violent flavor that packs a fierce punch. My throat spasms, and I set down the cup, feeling the warmth travel down with the blood in my arms. Maggie follows suit, downing a double like a champ, and pulls me in another direction.

  We are walking through the living room when a short brown-haired girl sitting on the couch calls Maggie over. Maggie sits in the middle, and I squeeze in on the side like the third wheel, scoping out the people dancing. The lights are barely a glow in this room. Two guys in particular catch my eye. They’re “dancing” with a pretty redhead pressed in between them. Her head and back are leaning casually against the chest of the guy who is behind her. His hands hold her pelvis tightly to his groin, as he kisses down her throat. The guy “dancing” in front is just as close, playing with a sneaky hand up her skirt. Involuntarily, her body shakes; she can’t seem to keep still. Her head rolls to the side and her mouth drifts open. They’re so gentle with her. This strange tingle starts between my thighs, and I can’t take my eyes off
them. Apart from being in public, it looks like it feels amazing. Half-drugged, she opens her eyes, mouth parted slightly, and her gaze falls on mine. Oh no! I glance away, turning my attention to Maggie’s conversation. All the tingles I felt moments ago are quickly wiped away with embarrassment, knowing I just got caught watching such an intimate moment.

  Talon

  Fuck, I love my life and wouldn’t change one damn thing about it. Standing in the bathroom of the pool house, my back is resting against the palm tree wallpaper while I look at nothing in particular across the room. Dropping my vision down past the plane of my ripped abs, I see two brown irises peering up at me, except right now they’re blue from the contacts covering them. Vicky’s lips are right where they belong—around a cock.

  Maybe that’s why she had them filled with collagen. They feel like a lush set of tits I’m fucking. With her right hand, she tugs on my nuts. A sharp pain stabs the right one, making me flinch, and my dick shrinks fractionally. Fuck, what does she think they are? Balls of Play-Doh? Cut that shit out; it fucking hurts. Trying to redirect her, I remove my hand from the back of her bobbing head and give the side of her face a pat, feeling my dick moving through her malnourished cheek.

  Skinny-ass bitches. It’s just nasty. Vicky takes the hint, removes her mouth with a pop, and reaches up, gripping my dick with more force than motherfucking necessary. She strokes her tongue on the underside of my shaft, over and over like a cat drinking water. The fuck? I bend slightly to see what the hell she’s doing. “Yeah . . . you like that, Daddy. Purr. You like this hungry little pussy.”