Scarred (Lost Series Book 2) (3 page)

River

T
o say I was pissed off was an understatement. I made a mistake, made an ass out of myself, and stayed too long in Stockton because I dreamed I’d get help. I’d thought that Ethan would help me, and I could stay in a city I’d come to love. But, no. I played my cards and came up empty.

Now the streets were dark, I wasn’t home yet, and my emotions were stretched thin.

I don’t know what had made me believe that going to Ethan would help me in my battle with Derrick. To be honest it had been a collection of whispers and fear I overheard in the bar I worked at that led me to research him. I spent hours in a local library looking up what I could. The first time I saw his eyes I knew he did all of what those people said and more.

His eyes were filled with rage, hate, and pain, but the coldness in them was more terrifying. It was that coldness that convinced me he would be strong enough to fix me. I knew what my problem was even if I didn’t want to admit it, or face it. It was the reason Derrick had slipped so easily passed my defenses and fooled me.

I was a woman who enjoyed the control of my partner.

There, I thought it, and acknowledged that sick part of me that loved what Derrick did, even as I hated it. Why? Because I was a fucked up woman who needed to be told what to do, smacked around, and fucked hard to get my rocks off, and Derrick had seen it. Known it. Used it. Until one day my dark needs morphed into a fear that I would eventually want him to kill me, simply to ride the wave. That fear, more than anything, made me run.

Who would I talk to about that? Who would understand how dangerous my needs were and accept me for them? No one except the man who used my pain to enhance his pleasure, and had made me sick. I wasn’t a fool, I knew being submissive could be healthy and loving, but what I needed attracted me to the worst of men. And that same, illogical, horrible need had driven me to Ethan Kendall’s door. I wanted him, his danger, his control, as much as I wanted him to teach me how to break that control and kill the one who flipped my switch. And he turned me away.

“Arrogant, fucking bastard. What the fuck is a wanker anyway?”

If felt better to talk aloud. It made me feel real, grounded me. The angrier Ethan had gotten, the more his accent had come out. Or maybe it was better to say his accents meshed together into some weird lilting sounds that would have been sexy, had he given me what I wanted. I heard him speak Russian and I knew he’d been in England. The British accent tossed over his Russian was an odd mix. Still, as amazing as the prick sounded, he didn't help me.

Now I needed to get out of Stockton.

I tucked my jacket around me tighter and power walked towards my efficiency. I had to clear out tonight and find a bus to get on that would take me to the other side of the U.S.. I had enough money saved up that it shouldn’t be too hard. The extra cash I kept stashed would make sure I had a roof over my head.

One good thing about staying too long was that I had a good amount of experience tending bar and could take that with me anywhere. Systematically, I went over how much money I had, what needed to be packed, what could be left behind, and where I needed to go next. I thought of my favorite places and threw them out. Those would be the first places he’d look.

And then I realized, he would find me anyway. I was with Derrick only a year before I realized everything in my life was going to change. Now, at barely twenty-three, I didn’t know how it felt to have friends anymore, to have family, and be looking forward to my life. Hell, I lost my parents when I was young and the multitude of cousins, aunts, and uncles were spread out enough that it didn’t seem so odd to miss talking to them here and there.

That was how Derrick found me. I was a sophomore in college, thinking the whole world was ahead of me, and happy to be there on a full-ride. He was charismatic, larger than life, and I loved following him. When he led, I went, and I was content. Happy to be told what to do, how to do it, and when. Something was wrong with me, but I couldn’t stop the need to be controlled, even when I did things to define myself as a separate person.

It was why the cops looked at me like I was a fool the first few times I’d gone to them. I went back, right? I let him make me believe he was sorry, and then I ran crying to them when he fucked me up. I was pathetic to them and Derrick’s money made sure I couldn’t do much anyway. A senator’s kid didn’t get into trouble and I was a problem that was easily fixed.

The sooner I understood that, the easier my twisted life went. Until I broke away and realized I didn’t even remember what my life had been before Derrick.

How long had it been since I had charcoal in my hand and created art? How long ago had I stopped caring about my looks and just wanted to be invisible? Derrick hadn’t only given me emotional and physical pain, he destroyed any self-worth I had. And twisted my need to please into impossible tasks I couldn’t complete.

And his memory just lived on.

I didn’t have time for romance or meeting people. I was too terrified of bringing them into the sadistic game Derrick liked to play. But doing so made me realize that he succeeded in one thing: being the last man that I ever let touch my body. There were times I felt his stamp on me, deep inside, and I wanted to carve my womb out just to cut him away.

I put everything into following a man I found on the fucking internet. Was I still the same weak soul that needed to be provided for?

I wasn’t a woman anymore. I was a transient soul that only existed to kill Derrick. Every day I felt like I was in mortal danger. The cops couldn’t and wouldn’t help me. Until he did something more physical, all I did was leave a trail for him to follow. But being careful didn’t seem to help much more anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to see somewhere I always wanted to, see if I can find another gym to workout in, and go from there. Vegas was too close, but Florida wouldn’t be a bad choice. My mind made up, I headed into my room, already planning my trip.

I stopped dead when I saw a man sitting on my bed.

He was in all black, the long sleeved t-shirt and jeans the most expensive things in the cheap room. He didn’t wear a mask or anything to hide his face. When he smiled at me and stood, a lazy glide, I knew he was one of those guys that didn’t worry about anyone telling the cops.

“Derrick says it’s time to come home,” my intruder told me.

I ignored him, slowly backing out of the door.

“Now, that isn’t nice when you have guests.” The second voice said from behind me, right before a hard shove sent me tripping into the room and skidding across the carpet. My knees burned but I ignored the pain as I flipped my hair back so I could see.

Vision was a must in situations like this. The second man was smaller than the first, closer to my height, around five foot nine or so. The first guy was over six feet. He tucked his blond hair behind his ears before he knelt down in front of me.

“You don’t want to make this difficult. Come with us and we won’t hurt you. Fight and, well, you won’t like the gift we give you.”

“Fuck you.”

It was stupid, I knew it, but if I was going down, I was going to do it fighting. I wasn’t going to tuck tail and crawl back to Derrick. He’d only have a beating waiting for me. And then he’d torture me, play with me, and make my life hell for ever daring to run away. Derrick’s money made sure he could come and go as he pleased, and do what he wanted. Judges wouldn’t convict the good old boy when his crackshot lawyers made women look like money hungry bimbos after their All-American son. He told me plenty of times about all the women he did things to, and got off from.

Why had he chosen to keep me?

Very simple. I wasn't smart enough to walk away when I had the chance.

That was it. The simple mistake I made that led to his obsession with always owning me.

“Maybe you will fuck me before I send you home like a good little girl.”

“He don’t want her touched that way,” buffoon number two said.

“Too bad, she looks like a good lay,” his partner replied.

I exploded into motion. I jabbed for the blond’s throat, landing a strike and sending him to the ground, choking. He grabbed his neck, rolling away from me on the floor. One down. I spun and punched, going for the second one’s balls, but the element of surprise only lasted as long as it took the first one to go down. My second assailant was better prepared and dodged the hit. When his fist connected with my cheek, pain blazed over my nerve endings and my eyes watered, but I struck out again, this time toward his diaphragm.

“Help me!” I screamed.

“You bitch. Filthy fucking bitch.”

The angered man swung again, this time catching me in the nose. I fell backward, my head hitting the ground hard. Stars swirled on the edge of my vision as I tried to get my bearings. I couldn’t move before he kicked me viciously in the side. It took my breath away.

“The gift it is,” he hissed at me.

I heard something snap open and felt my shirt being ripped off, but couldn’t fight to stop it. My arms felt laden and my head confused. A stinging slice brought the room into focus. A blade had cut my stomach from one side of my hip up to my ribs. Warm blood drizzled over my side.

I screamed, a tortured soul as the blade cut, again and again. I was going to die here, cut up and beaten by Derrick’s thugs. I was going to die because I made a mistake in who I fell in love with. My hands clawed at my attacker; I bucked when I could, but that failed me. Darkness crept in.

“I’m calling the police!” I heard someone say from outside the room.

Such pretty words. Too bad they won’t be here in time.
I’m going to die, and I didn’t get a chance to kill Derrick.
I guess I couldn’t be mad at Ethan anymore. Even if he had accepted me, I wouldn’t have had the time to prepare for this.

I guess he
is
going to see me on the news.

* * *

There was a sort of fuzziness that came with a cocktail of powerful pain medication and the underlying taste of pain. For a few moments, every time I woke up, I could almost forget who I was, and why I was here.

Then it all came back to me, and I tried my best not to cry.

He found me.

And he got away with it.

The cops were in and out, asking me all sorts of questions about my attack, but I didn’t tell them anything. I wouldn’t have been able to prove Derrick was involved, and the men who did it to me were in the wind. Even with an eye witness, who was afraid to talk to the cops about that night, and only “remembered” calling 9-1-1 because of screams they heard from their room, there was nothing to go on. Derrick paid someone to take me to him.

Maybe I could be glad that, by angering them, I only suffered an attack I somehow managed to survive instead of being taken to Derrick. I couldn’t muster up enough to care. The only thing the cops could do was provide around the clock protection based on the severity of the attack and potential leads they could get.

I knew Derrick wouldn’t be stupid enough to come at me in a hospital, but the protection made me feel better. My thoughts came to a halt when the door opened and the cop on duty came in.

“Do you know a Mr. Ethan Kendall?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered before I even thought about it.

“He would like to see you,” the cop said.

Why would he be here?

“Let him in.”

I heard his voice first, saying something to someone outside. I thought I heard Pavel, but couldn’t be sure. When he walked into the room I felt small. I was hooked up to IVs and monitors. My stomach was bandaged and I could barely move. They stopped the bleeding, but I’d scar horribly from what happened. Now he was here, and I didn’t know what to say.

Was it wrong of me to want to cry because someone, a familiar face, was here?

“Don’t cry,
detenysh
.”

Am I crying?

It was only then that I felt the tears sliding down my face. I didn’t even have the energy to lift my hands and wipe them away. Ethan stepped forward. I could smell the leather of his jacket, the slight scent of his cologne. His shoes clicked on the floor and his black slacks swooshed. My whole world shrank to just him. This man, death incarnate, who came to see me.

He leaned forward, his face just above mine. Strong, calloused fingers framed my face before he used his thumbs to brush away the tears. But I didn’t see tenderness in his gaze. I saw rage and deep seated hatred that was mirrored in my heart.

“Do you want me to kill them for you?” he whispered.

A simple sentence. An easier answer.

“No.”

“Do you want to kill them?”

“No, just him.”

He nodded, wiping the tears away again.

“I will teach you, protect you, provide for you. Then, when you are ready, I will give you the opportunity that you seek.”

“What do you want in return?” He shook his head but I spoke again. “I always pay my debts. I won’t owe you.”

“When you’re well we will decide what my price is.”