Home for Christmas: New Adult Holiday Dark Suspense Romance (10 page)

“Don’t answer the door,” he insisted. “Lock it behind you. Don’t answer the phone either.”

She nodded in agreement.

“You can watch TV,” he told her, and then grinned. “Eat whatever you want, my little piglet.”

She laughed and made a grunting noise. That made him laugh too and hug her close, burying his face in her hair.

“We’ll work this out,” he murmured against her hear. “We’ll work something out.”

“Okay.” She agreed, even if she didn’t quite believe it.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he assured her, that concerned look back in his eyes. “Just… stay put.”

“I will, I will!” she agreed, laughing, waving him out the door.

She peeked out the window, saw him get into his car—a navy blue Impala, not his squad car—and watched him drive away, a sinking feeling in her belly. This was impossible. Just impossible. He said they would work it out, but how? There was no working this out, and she knew it.

She went upstairs, looking at the bed where they’d spent the night, the memory making her feel both warm and sad. He’d asked her to stay, and she would. For now. But she couldn’t stay forever. She couldn’t possibly do what he wanted her to do. Giving him that SD card would not only put her and her family in jeopardy—it would hurt him too. Maybe someday he would find out the kind of man his father really was, but she didn’t want to be the one who revealed that to him. She didn’t want him to know what they’d done to her. It was too awful, too humiliating.

Ginny decided to take a shower and maybe another little nap after that. When she got dressed again, it was just one layer of clothes for the first time in a long time, which felt so strange. She was used to being bundled up against the cold. She stopped to check her backpack again, sitting on the bed and pulling out her sketch book. She considered working on her drawings—the coloring books she was making for the boys were almost done—but she didn’t feel quite up to it.

Her stomach was in knots. She decided to warm up some milk—that always made her feel sleepy. She left the pad on the night table, and on the way to the stairs, she passed Nick’s bedroom, just glancing in on the way by. The view stunned her, and she found herself drawn to his window. She stood there until she could see her breath appearing on the glass.

It was still snowing heavily outside, a good foot of snow covering the ground, a truly magical sight, but that wasn’t what astonished her now. From this vantage point, she could see into the video store lobby. She was staring at the corner she had slept in for weeks.

He’d known she was sleeping there. He was Mr. Peanut Butter. Mr. Scrunchie. She’d been so thrilled, at the time, to find them, thinking someone had just thrown them away, but the truth was, he’d left them for her. He’d been watching over her, the whole time.

And what, exactly, did he see?

Ginny swallowed, remembering how fast he’d been on the scene the night before.

But she hadn’t been there in a week. She hadn’t gone back to the video store on purpose, not after the robbery, too afraid they would be there, waiting.

Had he seen that, too? Did he know she’d taken the money?

The thought filled her with a cold sort of dread, a horrible shame. She had to tell him the truth. Oh God, she had to tell him all of it. If she wasn’t going to leave—and she promised him she wouldn’t, and meant it, at least for now—she was going to have to tell him. Everything.

That night last year around this time, the night Brody let his buddies take her, use her, had just been the first. The first of many. As guilty as she felt for taking the money, she was far more ashamed of how she’d let it all happen. That night under the Christmas tree last year had been awful, but she didn’t leave. Maybe she’d expected it all along, after what had happened to Maggie.

She didn’t fight Brody—she didn’t fight any of them. She just floated away while it happened and cleaned up afterward like it hadn’t. It was the last time—the time caught on tape, preserved on the SD memory card in her backpack—that had finally broken her. They had raped her, all three of them—Maggie’s husband, Tim, included—in all that blood.

Ginny remembered cleaning up that night. There was blood all over—blood in her hair, on her face, everywhere. She’d washed it away, but this time, she couldn’t wash away the feelings, like she usually did. Maybe it was Tim’s face, her sister’s own husband, poised above hers in a grim snarl, that finally did it. Maybe it was overhearing them talking about her, the way Brody laughed when the other cop, Steve, talked about getting rid of her, along with the body.

“She’s not going to say anything,” Brody insisted as Ginny stood at the top of the stairs, scrubbed clean and listening. “Trust me.”

Had it only been a few weeks ago? Had it really? It felt like a million years. She’d packed her bag in the middle of the night, had checked the video camera—they never even noticed it—and removed the SD card. In the morning, after Brody went to work, she’d left a note, telling him if he ever tried to find her, she would tell. That she had evidence, and it was damning.

Then she’d gone to Maggie’s. Their house was just a mile away, and it would be the first place Brody would look, but she needed money. Tim’s car wasn’t there, and she took a chance, knocking on Maggie’s door, only to find her sobbing. Their bank account was empty. Tim was gone. And Ginny knew why. The dead man, the rape. He’d skipped town because he wasn’t a cop—but the other two were. They could easily pin a crime like that on a known addict.

But she couldn’t tell her sister that.

She wouldn’t have even known about the shelter if it wasn’t for Mr. Spencer. He had told her about it, back in seventh grade, when Maggie had gotten pregnant. He’d pulled Ginny aside and told her there was a place in Lewisonville where Maggie could go—no one would know. They were anonymous, he said. Invisible. Even Brody didn’t need to know, he’d told her with a knowing look.

He’d suspected, she thought, but he hadn’t known.

Maggie didn’t go, though. She didn’t want to leave her little sister. Instead, she had given birth to her stepfather’s baby, pretending it was Tim’s. And Tim pretended too. Everyone pretended it was all okay. Even Ginny pretended, when Maggie moved out, and Brody started coming into her room at night, now that Maggie was gone, that it was all okay.

Except she was sick of pretending. She was sick of lying and hiding the truth. She wanted to tell someone, she wanted to, finally, once and for all.

Downstairs, the sound of the door filled her with both relief and dread.

“Nick?” she called, her voice shaking.

She would tell Nick the truth, the whole truth, and he would know what to do. Somehow she believed him when he said they would work it out. She smiled through her tears, taking the stairs down two at a time, and for the first time in a long time, maybe in forever, she felt really happy.

Steven Santos was a big man, but he wasn’t fast. Ginny would have escaped him, coming casually through the front door, using a key pulled from under the mat, if the damned back screen door hadn’t stuck in the snow. There was a good foot out back and Nick hadn’t shoveled his back porch. Nick’s father caught her by a length of her still-wet hair, yanking her back from the door and slamming it closed.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he snapped. Her feet scrambled on the tile, but she couldn’t go anywhere. Her scalp burned where he had a fist full of her hair. “You’ve led us on a merry little goose chase, haven’t you? And you were under my damned nose the whole time.”

“Please,” Ginny whispered, but she knew it was useless. “Nick will be home any time.”

“No he won’t.” The old cop chuckled, his teeth stained with tobacco as he flashed her a knowing smile. “I know, because I had dispatch call him in.”

Of course he had. Ginny’s whole body was going cold. Already, she felt numb. Resigned.

“Where’s the tape?” He jerked her head back so she had to look into his eyes. His face was round, puffy, lines deep around his eyes.

“In my bag. Upstairs.” Tears filled her eyes, but not from the pain in her mouth when his crushed her own, her bruised lips aching, but because she realized she wasn’t ever going to see Nick or Maggie or the boys, ever again.

“Let’s get it, slut.” He pushed her and she sprawled, face first, on the kitchen tile. The air went out of her lungs so fast and hard, she didn’t even have enough left to gasp.

He had her by the hair again before she could take a breath, shoving her up the stairs. He knew the way, of course—it was his son’s house. Ginny pointed to the guest room when Steve went to turn into Nick’s.

“He didn’t even fuck you?” The old cop chuckled. “Fucking pansy-ass bitch. Dudley goddamned Do-Right.”

Ginny didn’t say anything to this. She still couldn’t speak. She just pointed to the backpack she’d left on the floor beside the bed. Her sketch book was still sitting there on the night stand where she’d left it.

“Get it, whore.” He shoved her forward and she fell against the bed, hitting her chin on the edge of the night stand. She didn’t even cry out, although it hurt like hell. It was just one more bruise. What did it matter now?

Ginny dug into her bag, wondering if he was going to shoot her, once he had the evidence? Would he kill her right here, in Nick’s house? She didn’t think so. He would take her somewhere, she realized. And Nick—Nick would believe she had just left. There was no breaking and entry, the man had used a key. No signs of a struggle. She would just be gone.

No! I promised him!
Her fingers found the compartment in her backpack lining and she unzipped it. Even if she died today—and she had a horrible feeling she would—she couldn’t let Nick believe she’d just left him. Her fingers brushed the SD memory cards—one big one, two small. She knew exactly which was which, and suddenly, she had an idea.

“Here,” she croaked, pulling one of them out and showing him.

“Good girl.” He gave her a slow smile, taking the card and slipping it into his front pocket. “That’s a start.”

A start?
She stared up at him from the floor, filled with both hate and dread.

“You’re going to have to be taught a lesson.” He grabbed her again by the hair, bringing her head close to his crotch and grinding his erection against her cheek. She wanted to cry, to scream, to kick and bite him, but it was no use. Fighting would only make things worse, cause more pain.

That’s what Maggie had said to her, when Ginny got up the nerve to ask her once, why she didn’t fight Brody when he went into her room at night.

Fighting just makes it worse.

She was trapped, and she knew it.

“Come on, I’m not the only one looking forward to teaching you a lesson.” The cop yanked her to her feet and she whimpered at the pain. Her head hurt already.

“Get your stuff,” he instructed, nodding at her backpack. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” She nodded miserably, reaching for her bag, but she was brought up short by the hand in her hair.

“Get it!” he growled, shoving her again.

She fell again, this time to her knees on the floor. The tears welled up and, even though she willed them away, they fell onto her shaking hands as she struggled with the zipper. She hoped her body hid the way her hand dipped back into that little compartment—still unzipped—

and took out the largest SD memory card. She hid it in her palm as she pulled the main zipper closed.

“Okay.” She stood, wobbly, putting the backpack over her shoulder.

“You got a coat?” He scowled at the tears making their way down her cheeks.

“Downstairs.” She adjusted the backpack straps, glancing over her shoulder, seeing her sketch book still sitting there. “Are we going somewhere?”

She knew where they were going—or at least, she had a good idea. But she wanted to distract him while she adjusted and pulled at her straps, reaching back as if she was moving the weight of the bag. The SD memory card in her palm was so tiny. Would Nick find it? She knew the only hope she had was to get it into her sketch book.

He would never believe she’d just left her sketch book behind.

“Come on.” The cop grabbed her arm, but thankfully it was the other arm. She was holding the SD memory card in the other hand.

“Ow!” She complained, shaking her arm away from him, using the motion to slip the SD memory card in between the pages.

Please don’t let it fall out. Please don’t let Steve see it. Please let Nick find it. Please…

“Stupid bitch.” He grabbed a pair of handcuffs off his belt, turning her around and slapping them on, first one wrist, then the other. “Get going.”

More shoving. Down the stairs, toward the front door. Steve grabbed her coat and shoes—she pointed them out near the door. She was handcuffed and couldn’t put them on. He kept her in front of him, her stocking feet freezing in the snow as they made their way to the squad car parked out front. Ginny glanced around, hoping, praying someone would see them, but she didn’t see anyone. The snow was still falling and everyone was tucked away inside, bracing for the storm Nick had said was coming.

Steve pushed her into the back of the squad car and Ginny toppled over. She had no balance at all, her hands behind her, the backpack heavy on her shoulders. The car took off down the street as she struggled to right herself. Maybe she would see someone she knew? Maybe they’d even run into Nick? But Steve took back roads, all the way to the highway, and once they were on their way, she knew her suspicions had been right.

He was taking her home.

* * * *

Ginny had missed the target but hit the tree with her guess. They ended up in Millsberg, but he didn’t take her home. The house he pulled into was on the edge of town, at the end of a dirt road, and by the time they got there, it was growing dark. There were no neighbors, not even any other houses Ginny could see, but Steve parked the cruiser out back anyway, behind the house.

Everything ached. She was really feeling it, the attack in the vestibule, the way Steve had manhandled her, and she knew it was just the beginning. The beginning of the end. She couldn’t help thinking of Maggie and the boys as she stumbled out of the car, her stocking feet getting wet again in her walk up to the house.

And she thought of Nick.

She had a glimmer of hope that he might, he just might, discover her sketch pad. He just might open it up and find the SD card inside. But would he find it in time? She looked up at Brody’s face, sneering at her from the back door as the other cop shoved her forward, and knew it wasn’t likely. Whatever happened between now and then would break her, once and for all, one way or another.

“Welcome home, Ginny.” Brody opened the door wide and she had no other choice.

* * * *

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The voice was faint. Ginny lifted her aching head from the mattress where they’d left her. It smelled like alcohol, urine, and vomit. She didn’t want to know what had happened on that mattress—and she didn’t want to know what was going to happen on it.

She was already floating by the time they’d handcuffed her to the bedpost. Her backpack was gone. So were most of her clothes. At least she wasn’t wearing wet socks anymore, she thought, shivering on the bed as Brody stripped her down to her t-shirt. She thought she knew what was coming, but it didn’t happen. At least, not right away.

The handcuffed her and left her, cold, alone, shivering, to wait her fate.

To think about things. About everything. She thought about Maggie and the boys. It was only a few more days until Christmas. She’d promised she’d be there on Christmas day. She wanted to see the boys’ faces when they saw what Aunt Ginny had made for them, but she knew she wouldn’t be. She thought about Nick. She’d been so wrong about him. He was the opposite of his father, of Brody, she realized. All along, he’d just been trying to help her.

Now it was too late for that.

She might have slept. She couldn’t remember. Mostly, she floated. She was far away, flying through the spaces in between snowflakes. Her world was upside down and she was inside that strange snow globe, tumbling around in the darkness. There was no bottom here, but there was no anchor either. She was lost, to everyone and everything.

“Get her up!” It was Brody’s voice.

Rough hands grabbed her. Her wrists were raw and aching from the cuffs and she rubbed them when Steve unlocked them both.

“Where is it?” Brody slapped her so hard it rocked her backwards onto the bed. Her face stung and her ears rang so loud she couldn’t even hear him yelling at her.

She knew what he wanted, but she wasn’t going to tell him. She didn’t dare.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brody snapped.

Ginny only saw them all in shadow—the room was still dark—but there was a third man. She was almost sure of it. It wasn’t Steve’s beefy hands who put something around her neck. She didn’t know what it was until it tightened, yanked hard, and she choked. It was a dog chain, she realized, as she was pulled from the bed.

“Teaching her a lesson!”

Tim.

She knew his voice. It was Maggie’s husband.

“Please,” she gagged, crawling on hands and knees as Tim yanked the chain, dragging her out of the darkened room. The tile was filthy but she crawled forward, following him. Brody and Steve brought up the rear. She knew she shouldn’t speak, shouldn’t beg or plead.

It only makes things worse.

“Where is it, goddamnit?” Brody’s boot landed squarely on her behind and Ginny found herself sprawled on the dirty tile at their feet. “Where’s that fucking memory card, you little bitch?”

So they did know. Ginny cried out when another boot landed in her ribs and she closed her eyes, praying now for an end. It would come, she knew, but not soon enough. Not nearly soon enough.
Float, float.
That’s what she needed to do. She needed to fly away. Far away. And never come back.

The gunshot rang out over her head and she screamed, brought back from the comforting darkness. The chain around her neck tightened and she choked, seeing Brody’s face as she rolled to her back. He was holding the end of the leash now.

“What the fuck?” Brody yelled. He was ducking down, near her, and she saw Steve standing over his shoulder, a frown on his fat face.

Ginny strained, looking around, trying to see what was happening. Tim had his gun drawn and it flashed in his hand. He was pointing it down a dark hallway.

“Let her go!”

Nick.

Oh my God, it was Nick! Ginny’s heart soared and then sank. He could be killed. He
would
be killed. It was three against one. Oh, what had she done?

“Listen, son,” Steve’s voice rang out, calling down the darkened hall. “You don’t want to do this now. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t think so.” There was steel in Nick’s voice. “I’ve called in both the state cops and internal affairs. We can do this stand-off until then, or you can let the girl go.”

“Nick, listen to me!” Steve’s voice rose as he called to his son. “This isn’t what you think!”

“No?” The anger in Nick’s voice was almost palpable. “Because I have a recording of you raping that girl, Dad, in a pool of blood. I’m pretty sure this is exactly what it looks like.”

Ginny felt the chain around her neck tighten so much she could barely breathe. Brody had her up on her knees, her fingers digging into her own throat, trying to relieve the pressure.

“You better come out here, boy.” Brody let the chain go slightly and Ginny gasped for breath. “Or I’m going to shoot this bitch in the fucking head. I have no problem with that.”

“Nick!” she croaked. “Go! Just go!”

The chain tightened again and she gagged, pulled hard against Brody’s thigh. He had a gun in his hand and it was pointing, like Tim’s, down that dark hall.

“Ginny, are you okay?” His voice was pained.

She couldn’t answer him. The choker chain was tight again and she was seeing stars. She saw Steve creeping forward out of the corner of her eye.