Badlands (17 page)

“What is?”

Shame rose up, threatening to choke him.

“I’ve seen the way you avoid women. How you react to touch.”

He didn’t bother to point out that he avoided men also. She was talking about dating and sexual relationships, which intimidated him more than casual male contact.

“Were you that way before prison?”

“No. I was sketchy and cautious, but not like this.”

“Did you have girlfriends?”

“Just hookups.” Drunk, fumbling encounters with girls as troubled as he was. Shane used to take him to Slab City, a huge parking lot full of squatters and vagrants who flocked to the Salton Sea every winter. “Ass City,” he’d called it.

When he didn’t offer more information, she finished bathing and sat up. “I should get out before I wrinkle.”

“Do you still want to rinse off?”

“No, it’s too much of a hassle with these handcuffs on.”

He grabbed the towel from the sink and unfolded it, glad he no longer had an embarrassing erection to deal with. They both stood at the same time. He managed to keep his eyes above her neck as she pushed aside the glass door and stepped out of the stall. She couldn’t get the towel wrapped around her body, so she just held it to her front.

“I need both arms free to put on the clean dress,” she said, frowning. “I didn’t think of that until now.”

“Here,” he said, taking off the T-shirt he’d donned at his mother’s house. It dangled on the cuffs between them, inside out. He moved the sleeve up her arm and put the collar over her head. She let go of the towel, slipping her hand through the opposite sleeve. The hem was long enough to cover the important parts.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Her gaze traveled up his bare chest. “You have blood on your neck.”

He glanced at his reflection, spotting the dried rivulet that snaked down into the hollow of his throat. Dark bruises arced over his rib cage, there were cuts on his back, and his knuckles were swollen. His face was all stubble and scrapes and sharp angles.

She wanted this beat-up, tattooed miscreant to touch her?

An ugly voice whispered that his low-class persona was part of the draw: Daddy would
never
approve.

“Maybe I’ll brush my teeth before you shower,” she said.

“Be my guest.”

They stood side by side in front of the sink while she applied a dollop of toothpaste to the small toothbrush. She cleaned her teeth with practiced motions. His gaze was drawn to her jiggling breasts, soft and round beneath the worn cotton. When she was finished, she leaned forward to rinse her mouth. The hem of the T-shirt rode up in back, revealing the fleshy undersides of her bottom.

“Do you want to?”

Owen jerked his gaze up. “What?”

She straightened and readied the toothbrush for him, leaving it on top of the sink. He used his left hand, glancing sideways at her while he brushed. She watched him spit and rinse, her eyes gleaming.

There must be something wrong with him, to find this sexy. He didn’t know if it was the enclosed space or the handcuffs or the charming domesticity of the scene. Maybe it was the way she looked in a man’s T-shirt, her long legs bare. Suddenly he was desperate for a taste of her. Like this, with him dirty and her clean. He wanted to give in to every animal instinct, take her in every filthy way he could imagine.

She wanted it, too. She’d said as much, and desire radiated from her. He could see it in her trembling lips and the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. Rich or not, none of those Ivy League boys made her feel like this. They hadn’t fought for her, hadn’t killed for her. Right or not, he had, and he would.

Maybe she was excited by the idea of him being rough and uncivilized. He faced her, resting his hip against the edge of the sink.

“You have a little toothpaste,” she said, touching the corner of his mouth.

“Did you get it?”

She leaned closer, as if she might lick the spot. He didn’t give her a chance. Burying his hand in her damp, tangled hair, he covered her mouth with his. No chaste kiss would satiate the beast inside him. It roared for a deep plunge and total possession. She parted her pretty lips, and he delved inside.

He groaned at the sensation. She was so sweet and hot and fresh, so ripe. Her breasts settled against his chest as his tongue explored the silky depths of her mouth. All of the blood in his body rushed south, swelling him to full arousal in seconds. He tried to reach beneath the hem of the T-shirt, intent on filling his hands with her gorgeous ass, but the cuffs got in the way, tugging on his wrist.

And that was all it took to trigger him.

He broke contact with her mouth, traveling back to that horrible moment. Facedown on the shower floor, his wrists trapped in a cruel grip. Fists pummeling him, smacking his wet flesh. Nose bloody, cheek crushed against the tile, legs forced apart.

Then he snapped out of it, returning to the present. Penny was watching him in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck,” he said, stepping away from her. Avoiding her gaze.

“Is it me?”

“No.”

She flinched at his sharp tone.

“It’s not you,” he said, hating himself for snapping at her. “It’s definitely not you.”

“Is it...something that happened to you in prison?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer. A few seconds ago, he’d been shaking with the need to touch her. Now he was just shaking.

“Have you tried to work through it? With a woman, I mean?”

Dragging his left hand through his dirty hair, which still had flecks of gunk in it, he leaned against the sink. He couldn’t avoid this conversation forever. “I went out with one of Janelle’s friends once.”

Her brows drew together. “When?”

“About a year ago.”

“What happened?”

“Not much,” he said ruefully.

“Was she pretty?”

“Yes.”

“And willing?”

He nodded, flushing at the memory. They’d had a few drinks at the bar to break the ice. She’d been sweet, but not too sweet to take him home. “We went back to her place. One thing led to another, and we...almost had sex.”

“What went wrong?”

“I froze up, just like this.”

“So you stopped?”

“Of course.”

“How did she react?”

“She was pretty nice about it.”

“Did you tell her why?”

“No. I think she understood.”

“Then what?”

He didn’t want to go into specifics.

“Did you try again?”

“Not really.”

“Did she touch you?”

“No.”

“Did you touch her?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“She touched herself while I watched.”

Her eyes searched his face, not judging. “And you liked that?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see her again?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he said, fumbling for an answer. “I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to lead her on. I felt...nothing for her.”

She fell silent for a moment. “Is that why you went out with her?”

“Probably.”

“Is it the same reason you avoid me?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “She didn’t matter to me. You do. I can’t stand the thought of failing with you. Of being weak and helpless in front of you.”

“I’d never see you as weak, Owen.”

“But that’s how I feel when I have a flashback. I can’t move. I have no control. I’m powerless.”

“Have you ever told anyone what happened?”

“No.”

“Talking about it might help.”

He knew she was right. The conversation had already sucked all of the sexual energy from the room. If he tried to touch her again, he might have another episode. Either way, no one was getting laid.

Story of his fucking life.

She sat down on the edge of the tub, pulling the plug to drain it. He took a seat opposite her, on the closed toilet lid.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything, or just a little bit. Whatever you feel like sharing.”

“The first few weeks were tough,” he said, thinking back. “I’d already spent several months in jail, but I wasn’t prepared for prison. I thought no one would notice me if I kept my head down and my mouth shut. I was wrong.”

She grasped his hand and held it tight.

“I was only eighteen when I got arrested, and the older guys prey on young men. I was smaller then. Skin and bones, from doing drugs. I couldn’t defend myself. During my second week, a group of guys...” He broke off, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Just say it. Get it out, get it over with.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You can tell me.”

“A group of guys caught me in the shower. The guard didn’t come to help me, so maybe he’d been bribed.” He paused for a minute, pressure building behind his eyelids. He couldn’t look at Penny, couldn’t bear to see her reaction. His heart thudded with panic, like the attack was happening in real time. “I refused to perform oral sex. I don’t know if that made any difference. They wanted me to fight. They held me down and...took turns...raping me.”

“How many?”

“Three. I sort of blacked out, or just faded away. It was like I was watching from a distance. I woke up in the infirmary.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“They already knew.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking.

He nodded bleakly. “It happened more than once. I didn’t fight as hard the second time. I thought it might hurt less if I cooperated. It didn’t.”

She made a funny sound, like a strangled sob.

“I went to the Aryan Brotherhood for protection. I didn’t give a fuck about racial equality or anything else at that point. I wanted to look as tough and ugly as possible. I’d have put a swastika on my forehead to prevent another attack.”

She wept for him, maybe because he couldn’t weep for himself. He watched her cry, feeling totally disconnected from his emotions. “I’m not proud of what I did for the gang, but I can’t say I was a reluctant participant. I channeled my anger into violence. I felt stronger every time I won a fight. Once I...acted as lookout while they raped someone else. He screamed for help, and I ignored it. As long as it wasn’t me, I didn’t care.”

Her face was red and crumpled, her cheeks wet with tears. He grabbed some toilet paper off the roll and handed it to her.

She dabbed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m glad you told me.”

“You don’t look glad,” he said uncharitably.

“Do you feel better?”

He felt nothing. “I think I’ll shower now.”

“Don’t,” she choked.

“Don’t what?”

She closed the distance between them. Taking a seat on his thigh, she framed his chin with her right hand and forced him to meet her gaze. “Don’t shut me out.”

“There’s nothing you can say to make it better, Penny.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He stared at her for a moment, pinned by her empathy. Tears he hadn’t known he was holding back came rising to the surface. He brushed them away impatiently, pushing her aside. With their wrists cuffed together, he couldn’t get away from her. Kicking off his shoes, he stepped into the shower with his pants on, retreating the only way he could. He wondered if he’d ever be clean again. His chest ached like he was drowning.

As he stood under the spray, letting it wash over him, he hung his head and cried.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

P
ENNY
’
S
HEART
BROKE
for Owen.

She stood by the shower door, her left arm getting wet from the spray as he crouched down with his back to her. He rested his forehead on the shower wall, his body shaking uncontrollably. He hadn’t taken off his pants, but they’d needed washing, anyway. The water streaming toward the drain ran reddish-brown from all of the dirt and blood the fabric had accumulated over the past few days.

She couldn’t give him the privacy he seemed desperate for. Nor could she fail to offer him comfort while he was hurting. She studied the green clover tattoo on his right shoulder, watching droplets accumulate on his skin. After a moment, she shut off the faucet and stepped inside the stall.

He flinched as she slipped past him, her cuffed hand grasping his. Sitting down in the tub, she wrapped her free arm around him. He didn’t push her away, perhaps because the damage was already done. His level of vulnerability couldn’t go any higher. So he just gave in. Burying his face in her neck, he let it out. All of the tears he’d kept bottled up inside, all these years. All of the rage and anguish and shame.

She stroked his wet hair, murmuring words of comfort. He cried for a long time, his shoulders shuddering from the force of his sorrow. He’d endured so much, holding in the pain as if releasing it would unleash ugliness on the world.

Finally, his sobs quieted. He seemed embarrassed by the loss of control, even though it had to be cathartic. This wasn’t the shower activity she’d fantasized about, either, but she was glad to be here for him.

“Feel better now?” she asked.

“No,” he said, sniffling. He sounded stuffed up, the way everyone did after a good cry. “I need a juice box and a nap.”

She smiled at his self-deprecating humor, even though there was nothing weak or childish about his display of emotion. On the contrary, it revealed his inner strength. He’d had the guts to tell her about a horrific experience. He might not have wanted to cry in front of her, but he’d accepted her embrace rather than shut her out again.

“Maybe finishing your shower will help.”

He lifted his head from her shoulder, staring at the damp fabric. “I got you all wet.”

“It’s not the first time.”

His bleary gaze met hers and narrowed. “Are you trying to be suggestive?”

“Too soon?”

He didn’t answer. If he thought his story had cooled her desire for him, he was wrong. Sharing it had brought them closer together.

“What happened doesn’t make you less of man.”

“That’s the way it made me feel.”

“Why?”

“Because...men are supposed to be strong.”

“You were just a teenager, and outnumbered three to one. Would you blame a woman for her own assault?”

“Of course not.”

“Because women are supposed to be weak?”

“They aren’t expected to defeat a group of assailants.”

“Men are?”

“Yes.”

“Says who?”

“Bruce Willis.”

She laughed softly, stroking his wet hair. He could still make fun of himself and challenge his own preconceptions. If that wasn’t strength, she didn’t know what was. He was the bravest person she’d ever met. Not because of the abuse he’d suffered, but because of the actions he’d taken to survive and the hardships he’d overcome.

She rose to her feet with him and stepped out of the stall. He shut the door partway, leaving space for their wrists. Turning the faucet back on, he removed his pants and boxer shorts. From this side of the glass, she could see the blur of his tattoos, a dark shadow of pubic hair and the outline of his penis.

A flush rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, giving him the same courtesy he’d shown her earlier.

The air-conditioning kicked off as the room temperature stabilized. She heard the noisy banter of a news program. In an unprecedented move, her father had stepped down as the GOP nominee. The reporters didn’t mention the kidnapping or Cruz.

Penny had seen the article at Owen’s mother’s house. She still couldn’t believe her father had dropped out of the race. His lifetime goal, shattered in one fell swoop. Even though she hadn’t wanted him to win, losing this way wasn’t fair.

Owen shampooed his hair and washed up quickly, not lingering over the task. When he turned off the water, she passed him a towel. Like her, he couldn’t wrap it around his body with one hand, so he held it to his front as he slid the door open. Their eyes met, and her breath caught in her throat.

The view through the beveled glass hadn’t done him justice. Even with the towel covering his male parts, he was a delicious combination of sculpted muscles and wet skin. His stomach was flat and tight, his biceps hard and his chest well-defined. Lightly tanned above the waist, his pale hip gleamed like marble.

While she watched, mesmerized, he fumbled with the towel. Her knuckles brushed the narrow strip of hair on his lower abdomen as he secured the fabric around his waist. The terry cloth was thin and damp, leaving little to the imagination. His penis jutted forth, not fully erect, but not soft either.

She was a puddle of womanly longing, eyes half-lidded. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her mind turned to mush.

“I’m getting out now,” he said, giving her a strange look.

She realized she was blocking his exit and moved aside. Although she could happily ogle his lovely physique for the duration of their entrapment, she didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. She’d already broadcast her desires, loud and clear.

Her cheeks heated at the memory of her brazen behavior. Telling him he got her wet,
como atrevida!

She searched for something else to occupy her thoughts. And her hands. “I’ll bandage your wounds,” she offered, picking up the first-aid supplies.

“Let’s do yours first.”

She perched on the edge of the sink while he took a seat on the lid of the commode, soothing her skinned knees and sore feet with antibiotic ointment.

“Your legs are smooth,” he commented.

“I had them waxed before the convention.”

His hand stilled on her ankle, his gaze traveling up her thighs. She’d tucked the hem of the T-shirt between her legs. If he’d peeked at her through the shower door, he already knew she wasn’t completely bare down there. His neck turned red, and his hand shook as he applied bandages to the raw spots.

When he was done, they switched places, and she returned the favor, dabbing ointment on his various injuries. His knuckles were bruised, his palms blistered from the wheelbarrow. There were cuts all over his back. His elbows were in bad shape. She bandaged the worst of the wounds, wrapping his forearm up tight.

The air conditioner came back on, rattling noisily.

She lifted her gaze to his face. He was leaning against the sink, his left hand gripping the towel at his waist, as if he didn’t trust it to stay put. He had a raw-looking scrape on his cheekbone and his lips were chapped. She smoothed ointment on the affected areas, watching his blue eyes darken. “I thought Shane had killed you this morning. I put my arms around Cruz and covered his ears, turning away from the sight. When I heard the blast, I assumed you were dead. I felt like I’d been shot.”

He stared back at her, absorbing her words.

“That’s the second time I thought he killed you in as many days. I’m afraid he’s going to shoot you tomorrow.”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t, so he fell silent.

She changed the subject to something slightly less disturbing. “Was that girl you went out with a stripper, like Janelle?”

“What difference does it make?”

Penny wasn’t sure. Maybe because she’d been raised by staunch Catholics and led a sheltered life, she resented the rules of decorum. The idea of a woman being so free with her body both attracted her and repelled her. “None, I guess.”

“I hardly knew her.”

“What happened before the flashback?”

“Just kissing, mostly.”

“Did you touch her?”

He seemed reluctant to say. “Yes.”

“What triggered you?”

“Penetration, maybe. I thought I’d be okay if I touched her and she didn’t touch me. It worked at first. But then I put my fingers inside her and...that was it.”

She smothered a wave of jealousy as she pictured him with another woman, sliding his long fingers in and out of her body. If he only knew how many times she’d fantasized about him doing the same to her, stroking her with his fingertips, parting her slippery flesh.

“You can do everything else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Penetration isn’t that important.”

“For men, it is.”

“It was all Tyler wanted,” she said.

“He wasn’t much on foreplay?”

“No.”

“Did he ever...satisfy you?”

“Not even close.”

He made a sound of commiseration. “Most teenage boys are clueless.”

“Were you?”

“I was drunk
and
clueless.”

Tyler didn’t have that excuse. He’d been careless, rather than clueless, taking what he wanted after a token effort to please her.

“Has there been anyone since?”

She shook her head. “I’ve gone out with a few guys, but none of them held my interest.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t make me feel the way you do,” she said simply. He still didn’t seem to believe she really wanted him, despite her blatant come-ons. If only he could see himself through her eyes. “You’re brave and smart and
hot...
” She swallowed hard, glancing at his chest. “You have a good heart. You’re kind to my son.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“No,” she said, flattening her belly against his. “It’s about us.”

He wanted to kiss her. She could feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the heat of his swelling erection. Their linked hands were braced against the edge of the sink. “I might not be able to...”

She tilted her head back. “I don’t care.”

He slid his free arm around her waist, moving slowly. She felt the cool air on her buttocks as the hem rode up. A moan escaped her lips, drawing him in. He brushed his mouth over hers, just once.

She pressed her breasts to his chest, letting him feel her nipples through the worn cotton. “Is this okay?”

“Unh,”
he said, licking the corner of her mouth. She parted her lips, encouraging him to come inside. He touched his tongue to hers, tentative. Instead of delving deeper, he retreated after a shallow taste.

She let out a little huff of frustration, wanting more. More of his tongue, his hands, his throbbing erection. Trying not to push him too far, she threaded her fingers through the short hair at his nape and nibbled on his lower lip, biting gently. He responded with a groan, tracing her open mouth with the tip of his tongue.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

He smoothed his palm over the curve of her bottom. “Like this?”

“Yes.”

His cuffed hand followed, cupping her other cheek. She bent her left arm behind her back to accommodate him. He held her against his erection, seeming to revel in the sensation. She certainly was. Her breasts felt full and heavy, her skin hot. She’d been aroused for hours, aching for him. Panting, she rubbed her lips back and forth across his.

Penetration was important, she realized. She couldn’t wait for him to plunge his tongue into her mouth. She knew he wouldn’t be cured by one kiss, one conversation, or even one night of perfect sex, but every little bit helped.

“I want to see you,” he said hoarsely.

She raised her arms so he could tug the T-shirt over her head. Instead, he fisted his hands in the fabric and tore it down the middle, making her gasp. He tossed the ruined garment aside and stared at her breasts for a few seconds. His hungry gaze lowered to the apex of her thighs, stroking her like a caress.

“Jesus,” he said, shuddering.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to come, just looking at you.”

She smiled at the flattery, wondering if he was serious. Then his towel fell open, revealing a rampant erection. Passion-flushed, it looked painfully hard and swollen, encircled with veins. He was much bigger than Tyler. She had an overwhelming urge to drop to her knees and soothe the plumlike tip with her tongue, to stroke his shaft and kiss away the discomfort. But when she reached out to touch him, moistening her lips, he caught her hand and held it, preventing her from exploring.

“You first,” he rasped. “Please.”

She glanced at the closed bathroom door, aware that his brother could remove the barricade and barge in on them at any moment. “Let’s go in the shower stall.”

His throat worked with agitation. “Okay.”

She stepped over the edge of the tub, self-conscious. He followed her inside and closed the beveled glass doors behind them. Instead of standing face-to-face, he turned her around in a dance-style maneuver, with their linked hands crossing the front of her body. His erection nestled against her buttocks, hard and hot. She leaned back into him, her heart racing with excitement. He cupped her breasts and squeezed them together, panting on her neck. Her nipples tingled in the center of his palms. Kissing her shoulder, he brushed his thumbs over the stiff tips, making her stomach quiver.