Pulled Beneath

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Pulled Beneath Page 26

by Marni Mann


  “Are you crazy? That water is—”

  “I think we both know that I am.” He glanced over his shoulder, giving me one of the looks that he usually reserved for when he was taking my clothes off. “Now, would you please unzip me?”

  I tugged the zipper, and he slipped his arms out of the suit, pulling it down until it reached his waist. He left the rest on, letting the top hang over his thighs.

  “I want my ink to be in the shot,” he said.

  “Your cages.”

  “Yeah…my cages.”

  His toes curled around the edge of the rock. I held the view finder up to my eye, my finger pressed on the shutter release. The camera fit perfectly against me. It felt right in my hands.

  I had really missed that.

  My eye followed as he bent his knees and stretched his arms over his head. I clicked the release as his feet left the peninsula. His body curved around the air, the muscles in his back and shoulders constricted and tightened from the movement. I continued to snap, capturing his tattoos as they broke the water, the waves on his arms as they matched the sea around them.

  As he surfaced, I lifted the camera off my face and placed it on the rock next to Bella. “How do you feel?”

  He leaned against the rock. “It was easier than I thought,” he said.

  I kneeled down and ran my fingers through his wet hair. “For me, too.”

  He kissed the pad of my thumb as I dragged it over his lips. “These cages have an entirely different meaning now, you know.”

  “Yes,“ I replied. “I know.”

  Saint had never been able to promise me what would happen between us. But I wasn’t afraid of that anymore. I had survived one of the most devastating incidents, navigated my way through a maze of lies and gained three people in my life who I now couldn’t imagine living without. One of them was still missing, but we held out hope that he’d return to us soon.

  A smile tugged at my lips as I remembered our conversation on my first day in Bar Harbor, and Saint’s reply when I told him I would be selling the house. “Does it look like I’d make it as a Mainer now?”

  He laughed as he remembered it, too. “Closer…much, much closer.” His fingers wrapped around my toes. “Are you ready to add your new memories to this swim?”

  Bella whined. Swim. She knew its meaning as well as I did.

  “It’s too cold for her,” I said, crushing any thoughts he had of calling her in. “And me too, for that matter. We’re not Mainers quite yet.”

  He smirked. “And you never will be if you don’t just hold your breath and jump in.”

  So that was exactly what we did.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I truly have the best team any writer could ever hope for. They believe in my words, they drive my passion, they allow my voice to be heard. Katherine Sears, Kenneth Shear, Steven Luna, Samantha March, Heather Ludviksson, Tracey Frazier, Jen Gilbert, and Susan Fye, I will never be able to thank you all enough. You all play such a monumental role in my work and my life, and I cherish and admire each of your talents. Steven and Heather, this book wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for the both of you. For every second of your time, for every pep talk, for every brainstorming session, I thank you. I’m so grateful for everything that you both do for me.

  Jesse Freeman and Tess Thompson, I love you two. So much. Tacos and onion ring towers and…you know. That kind of stuff.

  Mom and Brian, there are no words. But with you two, there doesn’t have to be. You love me when I’m too drained to say another thing, you love me unshowered with writer’s hair and stained sweats…you just love me. And I love you.

  Michele Esterkes, Melissa Mann, Jamie White, Chris Minnick, Teri Smitsky, thanks for the unconditional support and for always being there for me.

  To all the bloggers who have given me their time, attention, love, who have shared my words and reviewed my work, I’m so thankful for all of you. You rock my world every single day and I wouldn’t be here without you.

  To my readers, thank you for reading my books, thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, for being so supportive, and for always asking for more. You amaze me.

  And to Bella, the best, most loving, craziest yellow Lab—who is snoring on her back as I type this with all four paws up in the air, I promise I’ll take you swimming tonight. Love you, little lady.

  Continue the Bar Harbor Series journey with Rae’s story in…

  PULLED WITHIN

  (COMING SUMMER 2014)

  Preview Sample

  Please note: The following is not final

  and may differ from the published book

  DREW…THAT BITCH. After seeing her and Gianna at the bar tonight, I couldn’t get my mind off her. Pacing Brady’s bedroom wasn’t helping me forget that confident grin that spread across her mug when we had made eye contact, neither was scrolling through the names and numbers in my phone. There were only two people I wanted to talk to. But Brady was gone, he’d skipped town a month ago and I hadn’t heard from him. And because of Drew, Saint wanted nothing to do with me.

  I placed my phone on the dresser and crawled onto the bed. Before I sat, I pulled out the bag of weed from my back pocket. The two little buds that were packaged inside were darker than the last batch I’d bought. The tips were whiter, too. It was just a dime bag; I couldn’t afford anything larger. And I hated to waste it…on thoughts of Drew, especially since I couldn’t afford to buy any more because I’d gotten fired from my job.

  Another reason I hated her.

  Had she not messed with the only two guys I actually cared about, I probably would have liked her. She was nice enough; she didn’t even stare at the scar on my cheek. But I couldn’t like anyone who stole from me—not when I’d been robbed my whole life.

  I packed the bowl with just enough for a few hits, my lips wrapping around the end of the glass pipe. Just as the fire sprouted through the tip of the lighter, my phone rang. I had no idea who would call me this late. Brady’s boys didn’t phone, they sent text messages. Except for my uncle, there wasn’t anyone else who would reach out to me.

  I knew I probably had enough time to sneak in a quick hit before the call went to voicemail. I was too curious to risk it. Rushing to the other side of the room, I grabbed the phone off the dresser. It wasn’t a number I recognized. “Hello?” As I waited for the caller to respond, I returned to the bed, tucked my legs underneath me and leaned against the wall. Balancing the bowl on my thigh, I used it to trace the stitching on my jeans. “Hello?” I repeated.

  “Rae…”

  My back flew off the wall, and my eyes widened. “Brady?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  Brady had two different voices: sober and wasted. I knew both so well and this was his fucked-up tone. But I could tell he was on more than just booze. He had mixed something else in, something much stronger than the bud I held in my hand.

  “I’m…”

  I could picture him as he spoke, running his fingers through his shaggy hair, lids half opened, trying to figure out where he was. He had a tendency of blacking out. I didn’t know if he was waking up out of his high or if he was in the middle of one.

  “Brady, you’ve been gone a whole month and I’ve been freaking out. You need to tell me where you are.”

  “I think. I think…Bangor.”

  “Bangor?” I moved to the end of the bed, my feet falling to the dirty floor. It didn’t matter how many times I mopped it, I still couldn’t get the stickiness off. Brady hadn’t ever been a neat freak, but his mess only got worse when he started using again. “What are you doing in Bangor, Brady?”

  Bangor was about forty-five minutes from Bar Harbor. I didn’t know how he’d gotten there; he’d left his truck here and shut off his cell phone. Before he left, he had told me he didn’t want to be found so someone must have helped him. It wasn’t any of his boys from around here. They’d all checked in with their connections in Bangor and no on
e knew where he was.

  “I’m in trouble,” he breathed. The words sounded like they had to be forced out of his mouth.

  “How much trouble?”

  “It’s bad.” He sighed. “Really…fucking…bad.”

  I moved over to the dresser, hiding the bowl in one of the drawers. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get to smoke tonight. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Come get me. Now.”

  “Should I bring any of the guys with me?”

  “Hell no, they can’t help me. I’ll get you the address, hang on.” There was rustling in the background. Banging. A shout that didn’t come from Brady…or maybe it had. “Wake the fuck up,” he whispered. I wondered who he was talking to and if they were as wasted as him. “What’s the address to this place?” There was some mumbling before Brady came back on the phone. “Write this down,” he finally said to me.

  I knew there wasn’t anything to write with on his dresser, so I sprinted over to the nightstand. There was a box of cards inside, which I grabbed, along with my eyeliner that was resting on top. “I’m ready.”

  Once he gave me the address and we hung up, I threw on a jacket and went straight to my car. Since it was three in the morning, the ride to Bangor wouldn’t take as long. There was nothing but silence and blackness on the road. I didn’t want either to eat at me—they had been since I was a kid. Not just eating. They had scarred me, too. So to keep from focusing on them, I blasted tunes. I sang as loud as I could. I counted the streetlights and when I got to a hundred I started over.

  I didn’t know what kind of trouble Brady had gotten into, but I needed him back in my life. Drugs had taken him to some dark places in the past and I’d cleaned him up each time. I could do that again. Things couldn’t really be as bad as he had said.

  Or maybe they could.

  As I pulled up to the duplex, I saw him stretched across the edge of the front steps. His body was limp. He was missing a shoe, and he wasn’t wearing a jacket. I parked and ran toward him. But once I reached his side, I stood frozen. I was too afraid to wake him, too afraid to even touch him.

  I could taste the tears that dripped from my eyes. Tears for my best friend…or what was left of him.

  Dried blood was caked at the corners of his mouth and across each lip. Both of his eyes were black and swollen, his cheeks were double the normal size, his arms were marred with scratches. His hands were crossed over his chest, gripping his T-shirt like he was using it to bear some of the pain.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  I jumped from the sound of his voice. “I thought you were sleeping…”

  “My eyes are swollen, they’re not shut.”

  I squatted onto the bottom step and slid my fingers through his greasy hair. It was the only part of him that wasn’t covered in blood. I didn’t know if the massaging would make him feel better, but I had to try something. I’d never seen him like this, not this messy and bruised. Not this broken. “What happened to you?”

  He reached for my free hand, using it to slowly pull himself up. Once he got into a seated position, he released me and pressed his fingers over his forehead. Even though his face was so swollen and hairy, I could tell he’d lost weight.

  He looked hollow.

  And he smelled like something wicked. A nasty combination of chemicals and weeks of unwashed skin and soiled clothes.

  With a queasy stomach, my eyes bounced between him and my car. I had no idea how I was going to get him into the passenger seat. He was too big for me to carry and by the way he was wobbling it seemed like that would be the only way I could get him there.

  He winced each time his fingers circled his forehead. It sounded as if it was more than just a physical ache. He was battered, for sure, but this went even deeper than that.

  My heel slipped on the dew-covered step and I stood to regain my balance. Brady responded so fast, wrapping his arms around my leg, pressing his cheek against my thigh. “No,” he cried. “You can’t leave me.”

  My shoulders melted from his sounds. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He turned his head to look up at me. His grip strengthened. His lids were so black and swollen I couldn’t tell if he was staring at me. But he was. I could feel his gaze, his tears soaking through my jeans. This was the first time I’d ever seen him cry. “Help me,” he begged. “Help me, Rae. I hurt so fucking much.”

  ALSO BY MARNI MANN

  Memoirs Aren't Fairytales

  Scars from a Memoir

  Seductive Shadows

  Seductive Secrecy

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