The silence filling the room enables me to hear the sheer exertion of his breathing, the sounds he’s making are like he’s been running a marathon. Drops of water suddenly land close to my head and I realize it’s sweat.
Repulsed, I shrink back and at the reaction, his hands grab my shoulders and he jerks me forward. I scream. The sound ear splitting as agony ricochets through me. My tethered arms are dragged upwards with his movement and sobs soon take the place of my scream as he lets me go, only to slap me a second later. A ring on his hand grazes my lips, the stone or motif on it tugging at the flesh and tearing. It’s a drop in the ocean of pain juddering through my system.
He leaps off me and the freedom from his weight is a relief. That is until I have time to wonder what he’s doing… I don’t have to ponder it for long, because the comforter is ripped off the bed.
The brush of cold air over my body reminds me of my nudity and I cringe inside, knowing that this bastard is looking at me. Seeing parts that only men I choose should see.
I try not to focus on that, try to withhold my inner, feminine rage at being so exposed and concentrate on the positive. I can kick now, at least.
Knowing that’s my sole defense, I try and shore up my strength but it’s hard. I don’t think I’ve ever known pain like this. Agony, soul-tearing torment that has every muscle cringing and wincing with the sheer torture of it.
I hear the sound of a zipper and even though it hurts, I clench my swollen eyes shut at the idea of what’s about to happen.
I didn’t think it could get any worse. I was wrong.
A knee nudging the mattress has my body jostling to the side, and I feel the bed quiver as he crawls over to me. His hands paw at my breasts, the fingers cruel and malicious in their clasp of tender flesh and he spits, “You whore. You fucking slut. Two men? You greedy fucking bitch. One just isn’t enough for you. One decent, hard-working man just doesn’t do it for you, greedy whore.”
“Why are you doing this?” I grit out, and the instant I open my mouth, blood oozes into it from the cut on my lip. “I’ve never done anything to you.”
He froze, hands wrapped around his penis. He looks almost shocked at my question. “You exist. Sluts like you shouldn’t sully the Earth. You don’t deserve to live. You corrupt decent people, make them do things they’d never normally do.”
“So you’re going to beat me to death? Why? Because I’m in love?” My words are impassioned, so much so that I don’t know where the energy came from to even utter them. I don’t care that I might be riling him, adding to his anger, my genuine confusion prods me to ask and demand an answer.
“Whores like you don’t even know what love is.”
“I know what love is. I’m not a whore.”
He backhands me. That ring of his slicing into my cheek this time. “I’m going to fuck the slut out of you.”
The stupidity of the man’s reply has me wondering how I’m going to come out of this alive. I’d like to say the bastard’s insane. But he isn’t. He’s very much sane. And that’s what makes it worse. This can’t be explained away, he’s planned this. Aware of what he’s doing. He’s had the wherewithal to craft this ridiculous excuse, the reasoning as to why he can do this to me.
The piece of shit has been staring at me, gawking at me whenever I walk into the building. At first, I’d thought it was with disapproval. But now, and only at this moment, do I realize it was with a skewed form of attraction. Filled with bitter jealousy, spiteful desire, he wanted me and couldn’t have me, and this is the result of that.
What had he just said?
That one decent hard-working man isn’t enough for me…
Because I haven’t leapt on him, begging him for his attentions, the bastard has come up with an excuse of his own, and a reason to justify this attack.
I never thought this would happen to me. I guess no woman does. I hate my docility. I want to fight him, need to hurt him and punish him for this sick attack. But I’m weak. Pain is acting like a drug. Slowing down my movements, making me sluggish.
I want to curl on my side and weep. Shell-shocked is the only way to describe the mass of horror ricocheting through my brain. And then, it gets worse. I knew it would, but I’d hoped for rescue. Hoped that Jake and Zane would be back by now. But they aren’t.
Henry grabs my legs and I know he’s going to spread them. Even though weakness throbs through my muscles, I kick out, keeping my thighs locked together. Rather than cause him damage, I’m the one doing the shrieking. He ducks out of my way, but his hands grab my feet and his fingers bite into the small bones of my toes. A few of them feel inches away from being ripped off.
“You fucking whore. Take your goddamn punishment. Atone!” he cries out.
I flinch, expecting more of his violence, but he shocks me by punching the headboard. His hand comes back, reddened and bloodied, and the hatred in his eyes makes me wish he’d hit me instead. He reaches out and grips my throat in his meaty paw.
My knees rear up of their own accord this time as my body tries to acclimate to the pain. But I try to force them back down, try to remain still. If he strangles me, unconsciousness won’t be too far away. If he’s going to do it, if he’s going to rape me, then I don’t want to be awake for it.
Last night was so special, so unique and perfect… and this… I don’t want the memory of it to supersede that one. Big ask, but it can’t be ruined. I won’t let it. I can’t let it.
I’m almost disappointed when he lets go of my throat. I suck in air, then blow out in short, sharp staccatos in an attempt to control my breathing.
When he grabs my knees and tries to part them, I let him. Even though every part of me screams in rejection, I let him part them and as they’re halfway to being fully spread, I kick out again. This time, hitting him in the stomach. Unfortunately, not enough to incapacitate him, as he had me.
He comes at me again and just before his fist connects with my temple, I manage to scream. The sound warbles out, gradually growing stronger until his punch ends it. My head feels as though it isn’t connected to my neck. It flies backward at an awkward angle and lands against the soft cushion of the pillow.
Dazed by the strength of that hit, I feel something brushing my pubic hairs and in the distance, I hear a door open. Feeling lost, uncertain if I can even emit a croak, I shore my defenses and gather all my strength for one last scream.
It’s pathetic.
A tiny cry where I needed a huge shriek.
But pounding footsteps seem to echo in my head and they do so, because I’m focusing on them. I need to hear them.
And then, the bedroom door opens. The hand or cock or whatever the hell the motherfucker was using to touch me disappears, and the heavy weight of Henry’s body does too.
It’s hard to pull my eyelids open, to look up and watch Zane and Jake laying into Henry, but I force myself to endure the pain. Seeing the punishment being meted out will cleanse this hideousness from my psyche. And Christ, I feel like I need heavy-duty bleach.
I roll on to my side, my knees coming up to my chest in a protective ball, regardless of the ache, it causes my still-tethered shoulders. Even as agony wades down my spinal column, I watch, reveling in the sight of my men protecting me. Hard fists, even harder kicks have Henry crying out in pain. Blood flies, droplets painting the floorboards and to that, to the vision of my almost-rapist’s lifeblood decorating my bedroom, I pass out.
My men can take care of this bastard. They can ensure vengeance is properly meted out. And I can rest and escape this nightmare. Even if it is only for a short while.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Three weeks later
“You’re only buying this for me, Zane. I know you don’t like it.”
“It’s a house and you and Jake do like it, which in itself is a miracle. You two are a hell of a lot fussier than I am.”
“Since when?” Jake chides, his arms crossed as he stares down at his partner.
The thre
e of us have long since stopped treading on eggshells with each other. Thank God.
When I awoke in a hospital, the two of them sitting at my side as though I was on my deathbed and not just a stretcher in ER, I knew immediately I was in for a tough time.
Not with my own demons, but with theirs.
Their guilt shouted at me and that guilt existed, because they’d popped out to the local bakery for more of the maple syrup-glazed, bacon-crusted donuts that I’d feasted on the day before.
I’d been too tired to combat their distress then. Too weary and in too much pain. And considering I could see about half an inch through my swollen eyes, that distress had been screaming at me.
Both of them were white as a sheet, although, that was nothing in comparison to the bloodshot eyes and red-rimmed eyelids. The pair of them had been crying. Each man held one of my hands and a quick glance spoke of the level of damage they’d done to that fucking bastard. Their fingers were wrapped in gauze, Jake’s wrist had a cast on it, and Zane had a few splints.
It was strange to awaken dazed, distressed but not weak in the emotional sense. The physical, hell yeah, but not inwardly. I’d felt strong. Because these two men were here. Because I was alive. Because I hadn’t been raped. Because the bastard who had made every single inch of me sore was suffering a lot more than I was.
Bloodthirsty, I reveled in knowing that and while it got me through the next few days, it didn’t help my guys. They were everywhere at once. Helping me, tending to me, feeding me. Generally treating me like I was spun glass.
They didn’t touch me unless I touched them, and if I did, they flinched.
They whispered around me, careful not to speak too loudly, and when I spoke at a normal tone, they winced.
After three days, enough was enough.
Sore, stiff, bruised, battered, I might have been, but I sure as hell was not broken.
No fucking rapist would ever break me.
He tied me up, hit me, but he didn’t beat my soul. Henry even accused Zane and Jake of assault, which technically is true, but our lawyers managed to throw out the charges. Because they wouldn’t have been assaulting him, if he hadn’t been trying to rape me. Henry was at fault. Nobody else. Just him and that’s all I have revolving around my brain.
I have too much to live for, too much happiness in my future to let some sick pervert ruin it. And I told Zane and Jake that. I told them and made them listen. Ever since, they’ve been careful, but gradually as my mobility returned, they went back to their usual selves.
In fact, the only aspect of my life that has been affected is my sleep. Just as I predicted during the attack, it’s difficult to drop off and I wake up with nightmares. I soon settle back to sleep, when I realize the pair of them are there.
And it has to be the pair of them.
I don’t know why. But if I go for a nap with them both and wake up without one of them being there, I wake up panicked. I won’t call them what the counselor—who I’ve seen twice and refuse to see again—calls them. Mona Barranquet does not have panic attacks. Let’s just say, I don’t like the term.
The three of us haven’t been apart for longer than a few hours at any given time since that morning. One of them shops for groceries and then returns, and then one of them runs an errand and then comes home. I’m never alone and I think that has been my salvation. With their presence, I’ve healed.
It’s only this week that I’ve decided to get on with life again.
Mostly, because my sprained toes have eased up a little and I can hobble about.
I wanted out of the apartment. When I was released from hospital, Zane and Jake wanted to book us into a hotel. But I refused. Ever stubborn, I wanted to confront the place it happened. I wanted to sleep in the bed, where I was attacked.
Crazy?
Yeah.
Now, I know that.
But I had to confront it. Had to. The only part of this, the aftermath, that I can’t control, is my sleep and with time, I’ll come to grips with it too.
I will not be beaten. My life will not tumble around me, because of this.
I think the sheer majesty of what happened the night before the attack has been what’s kept me going. In my lowest moments, when the darkness has settled and I’m in bed, I force myself to think of the sheer beauty of our coming together. I think of Jake taking me, as Zane makes love to him. I think of the heavy burden my body withstood as all three of us united as one. Where thoughts of Henry could make me feel ill, memories of that night purge my soul of the violence dealt to me by a sick, sick man.
That togetherness we all shared has permeated into our days, and after being with each other, almost constantly, we’re far more than just a unit. I thought we were close before, but it’s nothing to what we are now. We’ve knitted a weave so tight and so fine, that there are no holes and there never will be.
I’ll make damned sure of that.
So now, we’re in Chesapeake Bay, looking at the farmhouse I’ve fallen for. I’m finally out of the apartment and, I won’t admit this to either of them, I’m tired and ready to go back to the hotel we’re staying in. My energy levels are not what they were, but I’ll get there. Time heals all aches, does it not?
Zane’s upper lip curls at Jake’s earlier question. He compounds it with a snort. “Since when? You’ve always been fussy. Before Bayling Cove, we looked at thirty properties, Mona. Does that sound like he’s easy to please?”
Grinning at Zane, I shake my head. “I’m not getting into this with either of you, so you can bicker about it later on. But I don’t want to get this house unless you want it too, Zane.”
“You know I like it,” he answers gruffly.
“Well, yeah, what’s not to like?” I ask, turning my back on him to look at the farmhouse. Complete with woods, a small sandy inlet that I like to think of as a private beach, a two-storied property with views of the bay and the huge body of glinting water… what isn’t there to love? “But do you want to live here?”
Ten minutes from the closest town, we’ve the freedom to do what we want without causing anyone else distress. Perfect.
“Yeah.”
The sheepishness of his answer has me frowning at him but Jake snorting. “He’s playing hard to get, Mona.” He strides over to me and tugs me into his side. The days have long gone when I’d flinch at such a gesture. I refuse, point-blank, to hurt either of them. I trust them implicitly. They know that now.
“Why?” I ask Jake, not Zane.
“Because he doesn’t want to love it, but he does.” Jake grins at Zane’s curse.
“Isn’t it good that he wants to live here?” Even though Jake’s amused, I’m confused.
“Well, yeah, but he likes to think he’s a city-boy. But we both know what it means, don’t we?”
“We do?” I’m still lost.
“Yeah. Zane’s ready to settle down. The city doesn’t hold the joy it once did, and he’s feeling his age.”
“You make me sound like I’m ready for a wheelchair. You’re only two years younger than I am.”
“Yeah, and I’ve been ready to settle down since we married.” His stare is pointed. “You haven’t.”
Surprised at the insight, my eyes dart over to glance at Zane’s red cheeks. “I think you’re right,” I muse. “Zane’s the one who showed me this house, you know, Jake? We split up the brochures we’d collected and were going through them. He didn’t have to point this property out.”
“More proof.”
Jake’s comment has me shrugging away from his hold and walking over toward Zane. I should feel like an idiot. I’m still hobbling, almost waddling and my stride isn’t all that strong or fast as I head toward Zane. In fact, it’s telling that he meets me halfway.
I stare up at him, looking into those espresso eyes and whisper the question that Jake can’t ask. “Is he right?”
Before our relationship, Zane had used the endless need to travel as an excuse to find that part of him, which Jak
e didn’t satisfy.
Jake, without words, was urging me to ask Zane if he was finally satisfied.
Zane’s eyes dart over my face and toward Jake. With their gazes connected, he nods. Just the once. I hear Jake suck in a breath but my own is swept away as Zane’s hands come up to cup my face and his mouth lowers to bestow a kiss upon my lips.
There could be no more proof that Zane had changed, that the sacrifices Jake had made, the unorthodox path he’d chosen had all been for the good.
That part of Zane that was forever hungry, looking elsewhere for fulfillment is at peace.
It’s over. The hurt, the pain at the knowledge that Zane was seeking something Jake couldn’t provide, is no more. He has his man. As well as his woman.
The three of us now fulfill different aspects of the other. Satisfying every need, every craving, because we’re bound in ways that an ordinary couple can’t understand. Everything we’ve been through has brought us together. It hasn’t separated us, or broken us apart. We’re stronger than ever.
I hear the crunching of leaves behind me and Jake is there, scorching my back with his body heat. I look up and see the sky and sunlight filtered through the canopy of russet leaves and Jake’s face is bathed in a small golden pool of light. His eyes are calm, serene, and he leans down and presses a kiss to my lips. I watch as he moves to join his mouth to Zane’s and know that each kiss is a declaration. A silent signature on the ethereal contract between us all.
Love.
I’ve finally found it, something I hadn’t even known I was seeking. And where was it? In a place I least expected. And that isn’t to say I expect our life together to be a bunch of roses. Because I know, it won’t be. There are three personalities to clash, three people’s issues to be dealt with. It’ll be harder, but oh, so worth it.
Here, my upbringing can’t touch me. Embraced by these two men, I’m safe. I’ve worked hard to correct the teachings of my father. I’m no longer an introvert. I no longer feel safe away from the crowds, hidden within myself and keeping my thoughts and feelings tucked away so as not to incite a reaction. I no longer live like a tortoise, ducking into my shell to avoid life.
Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I Page 39