Bound to be Tempted: Emergence, Book 4 (21 page)

She chose to ignore him in favor of smiling as warmly as she could conjure at her aunt and uncle. She hadn’t seen them in months either, not since the last holiday function. Even at twenty-seven years old, she felt as though they smiled back at her condescendingly, with some sort of misguided disapproval.

It unnerved her, but she stuffed it to the back of her mind.

Her uncle spoke first, even before her father. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Work is good.”

“Are you still with that accounting firm?”

“I am. I love it there.”

Her father cleared his throat. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

Margaret fought to keep her face straight and her body from quivering.
Don’t
let him get to you.
She took a seat in the armchair next to the couch, crossing her legs and tucking her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting.

“Can I get you something to drink, dear?” her mother asked.

“I’m fine, Mom. Thank you.”

Luckily, everyone’s attention was diverted to Robbie when he began to ramble on about his latest accomplishments in advertising. The man was thirty-four years old and he still needed to steal the limelight to prove himself worthy of his parents’ respect.

Margaret’s mother spoke again when Robbie finished his discourse. “Margaret, why don’t you and Barbara come out back with me? It’s such a nice day. We can sit on the patio.”

Somewhat relieved, Margaret followed her mother through the kitchen and out the back door. Barbara copied her, right on her heels.

It was pleasant outside. Plus, something about the open air eliminated some of the tension that filled the inside of the house like a gaseous substance waiting for the right moment to explode.

They chatted pleasantly for several minutes, and Barbara and her mother took turns questioning her about her job. Pointedly, neither one of them asked her about her love life. And thank God for that.

Margaret’s mother glanced at her watch. “Oh. The roast should be about done. Margaret, would you please go give your father a fifteen-minute warning?”

Margaret tried not to roll her eyes. After all, this had been her mother’s way ever since Margaret could remember. She’d always let her husband know at precisely what moment dinner would be served. The man hated when his food wasn’t ready on time.

Margaret nodded and turned to enter the house, thinking this day wasn’t going as badly as she’d expected. Of course, with her aunt, uncle and Robbie in attendance, she had no intention of confronting her parents about anything. That alone had lifted a huge weight off her shoulders. At least for today.

Margaret held her hands out to ease the screen door shut without letting it slam. It was one of her father’s pet peeves. There was no need to encourage the man to snap at her as though she were a five-year-old today.

She could hear the men talking. They were no longer in the living room. They had moved to the study, so she turned down the hall toward her father’s favorite room. Before she reached the entrance, however, she stopped dead in her tracks. Their voices were off. Not quite loud enough. And their tone was combative. And then she heard her name mentioned and couldn’t move another inch. She held her breath.

“Do you really think Margaret has turned over a new leaf?” her uncle asked.

Robbie chuckled sardonically. “You would think after the way Petey, Ross and I roughed her up twelve years ago she would’ve straightened herself out. But I don’t think so.”

What the fuck?
She set a hand on the wall to keep from falling. Her legs threatened to give out.

“You’re still following her, right?” This question came from her father.

“Of course. Just like you requested. She hasn’t been staying at her apartment. At least this time she’s fornicating with a man. It’s an improvement over that lesbian bitch she was with for over a year. But this guy ain’t right either. He takes her to the same club she went to with that rug muncher. It’s a fetish club.”

“That could be good though, right?” her father asked. “I mean, at least it’s a man.”

Uncle Rocky laughed. “I hate to tell you this, brother, but that girl ain’t right. If my boys couldn’t scare her straight back when she was a teenager, I don’t think there’s hope.”

Robbie chuckled also. “I’ve even left her a few threatening notes to shake her up. But nothing has caused her to change her ways.”

“Well, she better get on the straight and narrow and stay there soon. If I’m going to become a deacon next month, I need my family by my side. It won’t look good if my own daughter is sowing her wild oats. She needs to come back into the fold and start going to church again.”

Margaret was too stunned to breathe or move. She knew she needed to, and fast. But the shock was overwhelming. What the fuck was she listening to? She lifted her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear but found herself shaking so violently she couldn’t even accomplish that simple task.

Her feet seemed to be stuck in quicksand.

She glanced around. The voices in her father’s study continued, but she could no longer hear them. She’d heard enough. More than enough. She had to get out of there.
Now
.

Commanding her body to move, she turned silently, made her way to the front door, grabbed her purse and managed to slip out without making a sound. Even the front door snicked shut on a breath. At least something went in her favor.

Without looking in any direction except straight ahead, Margaret headed for her car and didn’t pause until she was in the seat, holding the keys up to the ignition. She dropped them and had to fish them off the floor, panic crawling up her spine for fear someone would come out of the house before she made her escape.

Shaking, she finally managed to start the car and peel away from the curb.

Tears filled her eyes when the shock wore off. She gripped the steering wheel so tight her hands hurt. When the tears fell, she had trouble seeing. She kept driving. No way would she risk pulling over.

She drove for several miles before she realized where she was headed. Suddenly, her apartment was right in front of her. She pulled over, shut off the car and heaved giant sobs, unable to open the door. She sat there for a long time, sucking oxygen in over and over—the true meaning of the ugly cry.

When she finally wiped her face and glanced around, she was relieved to find no one had noticed her. And no one seemed to have followed her. She gathered up the strength to grab her purse and head for her apartment. The moment she got inside and shut the door, she leaned against the wall, slunk down to the floor, buried her face in her hands and cried again.

She cried for the child raised by such a heinous family. She cried for the teenager viciously attacked and beaten by her own cousins. She cried for the mother who might or might not have known any of that happened to her daughter, but was just as guilty by association.

Most of all Margaret cried for herself, for her loss, for the loneliness that crept into her and wouldn’t abate. She wasn’t sure at first why she’d come home to her own place. She hadn’t been there for over a week. But now, as she eased herself to completely lie on the floor, she knew. She needed to be alone. She needed to process everything that had happened.

She couldn’t face Carlton. Not now. This was her fucked-up battle, an inner war of sorts. She didn’t want to see his face or deal with his reaction yet. And the last thing she could manage at that point was submission.

Her submission actually scared the fuck out of her. She’d submitted to her father her entire life, doing what he said, being who he wanted her to be. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had never been the daughter he wanted. But she’d exerted a tremendous amount of energy faking she was someone she wasn’t, for his sake.

And all that time she’d never known he’d actually hired her own cousins to fucking track her down and beat her up in a dark alley?
Fuck
! And he was still having them trail her around town to make sure she was toeing the line? Goddamn, that was fucked up.

Even more fucked up than she ever imagined.

Suddenly she winced. Holy shit. Her cousins were the ones following her. They were the ones who left the notes on her car. She’d been so stunned since running out of her parents’ house, she hadn’t stopped to realize her stalkers were in fact her cousins. Damn them. Fuck them. Fuck all of them. She heaved back new tears.

She needed to call the cops. But she couldn’t bring herself to sit up yet.

It grew dark. She lay on the hardwood floor, her face pressed against the dark wood, the coolness a refuge that grounded her to the earth. The only thing she knew was the wood against her cheek. She spread her fingers on the slats, thinking perhaps she could also grip the floor with them and not disappear.

Her cell rang many times. She didn’t move to answer it. It sat in her purse next to her body and she left it there. She didn’t care who was calling. She wanted to talk to no one. She didn’t have the energy to speak to Carlton yet, and she’d rather die than answer a call from her mother or father.

She had no idea how much time passed. It grew dark. Hours. Her face had dried, but it felt tight from the streaks of tears. She didn’t even sleep. She just lay there almost dead inside.

She didn’t flinch when a knock sounded at the door. She’d known it would happen eventually. She’d never entered past the foyer and she hadn’t turned on a light, but anyone who came looking would know she was there by her car out front.

“Maggie? Are you in there?” Carlton. She’d know his voice anywhere, and he was the only person alive who called her by that nickname. “Maggie. Please. Open the door.” He was persistent. She knew that about him. He wouldn’t leave. And if she were honest with herself, she wouldn’t love him as much as she had grown to if he were the kind of man who would give up on her.

But he wasn’t. If she didn’t open the door, he would break it down.

Pulling herself from the floor, she reached up and turned the handle enough to unlock the door and allow him to get through.

He pushed it open slowly. “Maggie?” He stepped inside, glancing around the dim room for a second before he spotted her on the floor. He pushed the door shut behind him as he gasped. “Maggie? What the hell? What happened? Are you all right?” While he fired all the right questions she’d known he would ask, he bent down, grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm’s length to assess her for injury.

“Baby, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. Tears fell with renewed force, shocking her that there was enough moisture left in her body to produce them.

Carlton hauled her into his arms and lifted her off the ground. He cradled her against his body and carried her to the couch.

She cried harder at how caring he was, her tears mixed with her runny nose, soaking his T-shirt.

“Baby. Talk to me.” He smoothed her hair back as he sat with her in his lap. He tipped her face up to meet his gaze, but she saw nothing through the haze of her tears.

“Maggie.” His voice was sharper that time. He shook her shoulders a bit. “Do I need to call the police? Did someone attack you?”

She shook her head, perhaps too violently as she realized what a mess this was and how her situation must have appeared to him. “No. I mean, yes. Someone did attack me, but not today. Twelve years ago. We need to call the cops, but not yet. I need to pull myself together.”

He flinched. “I’m confused. Talk to me, baby.” Whatever the hell had happened with her parents, it was bad. He’d never seen her like this before. Agonizingly distraught.

Even when she and Lori broke up, he’d never seen her this upset.

He’d been out of his mind when she hadn’t returned home. He’d called her several times and then driven to her parents’ house. When he didn’t find her car, he didn’t go to the door. Instead he drove to her apartment. He’d sat in his car for a full minute, hyperventilating, when he realized she had to be inside.

His fear of cars was irrational. He knew that. And he needed to get a grip on himself before he let his fear manifest as anger. It wasn’t her fault he hated her driving around.

“Maggie, open up to me. This isn’t fair. You scared the shit out of me. Do you know how worried I’ve been looking for you?”

She squirmed off his body with enough sudden energy to face him head-on. She stood next to the couch and pointed at him. “You?
You
were worried. Fuck you, Carlton. This is so not about you and your concern for my safety. This is about
me
.” She jerked her finger to point at herself.

He opened his mouth, but then he sat there stunned, saying nothing.

She continued, backing up and then pacing around the room. Stomping really. She dug her hands into her hair and pulled them through the long locks, yanking hard enough to wince. “My parents are fucking freaks, Carlton. I’m in a state of crisis here. So don’t fucking talk to me about your concerns right now. I can’t take it after what I’ve been through today.”

“Okay,” he managed to mumble.

Maggie paced the room for several minutes. He watched as she got her breathing under control and then finally turned to face him.

Carlton leaned forward, afraid to do anything else. “Talk to me, baby. What happened? Did you confront your parents?”

She lifted her gaze to meet his and took a deep breath. “I never even got a chance. My aunt and uncle were there. And their oldest son, Robbie.”

“Okay.”

“I went outside with my mom and aunt to sit on the porch. When it was time for lunch, my mom sent me in to give the men a head’s up.”

Carlton pursed his lips, fear climbing its way up his spine. He pressed his palms together and leaned his elbows on his knees.

Maggie picked at invisible lint on her shirt. “They were talking in my dad’s study. I heard my name from the hall, so I stopped in my tracks and listened.” She licked her lips. She didn’t speak again, her gaze focused on something across the room Carlton was sure she didn’t actually see.

She didn’t move until a tear ran down her cheek, and she flinched and reached to wipe it away.