I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2) (23 page)

I don’t answer. I just turn away and run out of the heavy door marked
exit
. I trip a little, right myself, and spill out into a smelly alley. I’m in the back of the Anchor Inn, and everything reeks of urine and God-knows-what else. I hold my nose until I’m around the corner and at my parked car.

I hurriedly jump in and turn the key in the ignition. Before I pull away I think about all that has happened. I’m surprised and disturbed by what I’ve learned about Missy tonight. Again, it worries me that she and Chase behave so uncomfortably around one another. Every time I bring one’s name up to the other there’s always this weird tension. Despite Missy’s denial earlier, I resolve, once I get up enough nerve, to flat-out ask Chase if they’re hiding something.

But right now all I want to do is go home. Nothing has gone right today, and I am more than ready to just go to sleep and start fresh tomorrow.

Unfortunately, a short while later, when I pull into the apartment lot and park, I sense things are about to get a whole lot worse. Fireplug and his friends from the other morning are blocking the entrance to the building. They’re standing around in a loose circle smoking something out of a pipe.

When I get out of the car, a chemical-like odor—like burning plastic, maybe—wafts in my direction. The junkies are not smoking weed, that’s for sure.
Meth or crack, then
, I think.
Shit, the tweaked addicts are the worst
.

I try to hurry past their huddled bodies, clutching my big hobo bag to my body like a protective shield, but Fireplug stops me by stepping into my path. “Whatcha got in the bag?” he asks, his eyes dark and his words slurred.

Unlike the other day, he’s not leering. He just appears desperate and strung out. I try to shoulder past.

“Where’re you going in such a hurry?” Fireplug grabs for my bag and his two friends chuckle. “Don’t you know you gotta pay a toll first? It’s a new rule, just started tonight.”

One of the other junkies, skinny and gaunt, adds, “Yeah, we be the trolls under the bridge from your bedtime stories, little girl.”

“More like my nightmares,” I mumble under my breath.

It’s a mistake to engage them, but my comment slips out before I can stop myself.

Fireplug immediately gets in my face, his breath fetid as it washes over me. “You think you’re better than us? Is that why you’re giving us attitude, bitch?”

I just want to get into the building, so I mumble, “No.”

His grip on my bag tightens, but I hold on to it with everything I’ve got. I’m tired of being frightened. “Get out of my way,” I grind out.

I try again to slip past the junkies, but Fireplug won’t let go of my bag. I yank harder. He stumbles a little, and that’s when he reacts. He raises his arm and hits me in the face. He uses an open palm, but it’s still a hard slap. I gasp as my cheek stings and my eyes water. I’m reminded of the time my own mother hit me. Tears well up, like some sort of automatic reaction. Fireplug laughs sinisterly and plucks my bag out of my now-lax hands. I offer no resistance, but he pushes me so hard that I fall on my ass. He calls me a filthy word and spits in my direction. His saliva misses me, but barely.

I’ve made so many mistakes today. I should have pressed Chase to talk to me, I should have declined the offer to go out. And I should have left the bar without searching for Missy. Then, I wouldn’t have heard a guy I used to date—and his cousin—getting it on with my sort-of friend in some gross stairwell. But most of all, I wouldn’t be here now, sitting on my ass, at the mercy of three men who are drugged out of their minds.

The enormity of it all prevents me from moving. I sit and watch as Fireplug goes through my purse. He laughs as he throws my life all over the ground. His pals watch and cackle; they do nothing to stop him. And neither do I—I am powerless, like I’ve been so, so many times before.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Fireplug laughs as Peetie, Sarah’s stuffed bunny, flies past my head. I close my eyes and something that feels like my makeup bag hits me in the shoulder.

When I dare to open my eyes, the sunglasses Chase fixed the day we met are falling to the ground. Fireplug lifts his foot to step on them. I glance up and his dilated eyes dare me to try to stop him. I look away and hear sickly crunching as Fireplug stomps on the sunglasses with his heavy, black boot. They are beyond repair now, even Chase’s talented hands can’t fix this shit.

Finally, my empty bag hits my lap.

But Fireplug hasn’t thrown everything out; he holds my wallet and my keys in his grasp. He takes money out of my wallet and drops everything else. Holding up two twenties, he growls, “This all you got?”

I nod lifelessly and he kicks my thigh, hard. I cry out. “Well, that’s not going to be enough, I’m afraid,” he tells me.

I don’t know what he has planned, but the other two junkies quickly take off. My thigh aches and my cheek feels tender, but I decide I am not going down without a fight. Not tonight. Maybe there’s rage in me like there is in Chase, because I suddenly wish I had my badass boy’s strength to beat the shit out of this asshole.

Fireplug leans down like he’s going to try to scare me some more, and I snap. From somewhere deep inside me I find the courage to lift my sandaled foot and kick this loser right in his chin. He doesn’t cry out, but he’s stunned enough that he steps back. I have time to right myself. Unfortunately, I am not fast enough.

I am on my knees, reaching for my keys, when I feel Fireplug grab hold of my ankles. I fall forward as he starts to drag me away. My new blouse’s chiffon fabric snags and tears from the gravel in the lot. I scream and struggle but no one comes to my aid.

I’m too frightened to even consider what may happen next, but suddenly Fireplug lets go of me. He takes off just as a police cruiser flies by. A second one follows. But the cops aren’t even stopping here—they continue westward. I guess the lights and sirens were just enough to scare off my assailant. Thank God for small favors.

I crawl back to where my stuff lies on the ground. Tears blur my vision as I gather what I can find in the dimly lit lot. I jam everything in my bag—pray that I haven’t missed anything—and then using the keys I retrieved, hands shaking, I let myself in the building.

I can’t stop trembling. I keep telling myself I’ll be okay once I’m safely locked in my apartment. But all that happens when I step through the door to my home are more panic attacks. I double over and breathe through my mouth, taking in big gasps of air. I eventually calm enough to realize I can’t stay here any longer. In fact, once I leave tonight, I know I’ll never step through that door ever again.

I begin to toss everything I own—which, sadly, isn’t a hell of a lot—into one old suitcase and a beat-up, old oversized duffel bag. I think about where I should go. A hotel, no. The church, I think not.

There’s really only one place in this world where I know I’ll truly be safe, only one man whose arms have the ability to hold me and make everything better.

So once I finish packing, I haul my bags out to the car and drive straight to Chase’s house.

I stand on the porch of the old farmhouse on Cold Springs Lane. I know how I must look. My jeans are dirty, and there’s a muddy boot print on one leg. My blouse is snagged and torn, my hair is knotted, and my cheek is red and swollen. I touch it lightly and wince. It’s obvious I’ve been struck; Chase will surely see this when he opens the door.

I know he won’t stand for this—the junkie
will
pay. A part of me is counting on it, to be honest. My guy will do what I could not. With that thought in mind, I sit my bags down and ring the doorbell.

A few minutes pass, and then I hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs inside. Chase opens the door. His eyes are bleary, like he just woke up from a dead sleep. I’m sure he was sleeping; it’s after midnight now.

My boy has on nothing but a pair of basketball shorts riding low at his waist. Usually I’d be gawking, but, instead, I keep my eyes on his bare feet. “Hi,” I whisper.

I glance up and Chase sucks in a sharp breath. His fists clench. “Fuck, Kay…Who fucking touched you?” His voice is low and calm, but his gunmetal blues are shooting bullets.

“I’ll tell you everything in a minute, but first”—I gesture to my bags—“is that apartment still available?”

Chapter Nine

Chase

One thing is clear: someone is going to pay for putting their hands on my girl. While I get Kay and her shit into my house, she gives me a recap of what happened an hour ago in the apartment lot of her building.

“I am going to lay that motherfucker out,” I say when she tells me what the junkie did to her.

She asks me not to exact revenge—tells me I shouldn’t—but her eyes say something completely different. Kay doesn’t fool me. She wants fucking vengeance as much as I do. I never would have thought it before, but, as time goes on, I see more of me in my girl. She’s not all sweet and shy, not all the time. Maybe we aren’t so very different after all. There’s good and bad in both of us, and that’s what binds us together, for better or worse.

Kay waits in the hall when I go into the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the freezer. I wrap the frozen bag up in an extra-soft tea towel, and hold it to my injured girl’s cheek as I guide her up the stairs. I’ll be able to see her injuries, the damage done to her, more clearly under the bright lighting in the bathroom.

But as Kay gently takes the ice pack from my hand and moves to walk in front of me at the top of the steps, I get a preview—a good glimpse of her clothes. Her jeans and shirt are absolutely ruined.

No doubt, these articles of clothing were once very nice, tight little jeans and a billowy yellow shirt with embroidered flowers. But now the fragile-looking fabric of the shirt is snagged and torn to hell, and the jeans, streaked with dirt, are in equally terrible condition. I spot what looks like a boot print on the thigh area of the dark denim and almost lose my shit.
Fucking cocksucker junkie.
I strive to keep my rage in check, though, since I don’t want to get too fired up and scare Kay.

She obviously dressed in this nice outfit for some reason, so, out of curiosity, I ask, “Where were you before all this happened? Did you go out somewhere?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles tiredly as we start down the hall. “I went to the Anchor Inn.”

Shit, that place. I’m glad the lights are dim so Kay can’t see my
what-the-fuck
expression.

“You didn’t go alone, did you?” I ask, holding my breath and praying she did no such thing.

She stops and turns to me in the hallway. “No, of course not, Chase. I went with Missy”—
Christ
—“but I, uh, left early.”

Hmm, something happened, causing Kay to leave early, and she certainly looks all evasive at the moment. Wonder what went down? I’m curious as hell, but I ask nothing more. I’ll worry about digging out those details later.

We go into the bathroom, and Kay leans back against the vanity counter. I need her more at eye level to better assess the damage to her cheek, so I lift her up so she can just sit on top of the damn thing. Sweet girl scoots back a little and I step between her knees. As she lowers the ice bag, I take it from her and set it on the counter.

The fluorescent lighting in the small space shows me everything I need to see.

“Motherfucker,” I swear under my breath.

There’s an angry red mark on Kay’s cheek and her flesh is slightly swollen. She winces when I touch her there.

“Who did this to you?” I ask. “Who do I have to fuck up? Give me a name.”

When she shrugs and says she doesn’t know the guy’s name, I say, “Then, give me a description.”

I lift the ice pack and place it back against her cheek—as gently as possible—and she tells me what I need to know.

A junkie, built like a fireplug—short and stocky, not as skinny as the others. He’s wearing black pants and heavy boots, also black. He has on an orange plaid shirt, but it’s faded and soiled. “Got it,” I say when she’s done.

She touches the hand that holds the ice. “What are you going to do, Chase? Don’t get into trouble. Please. And don’t get hurt.”

At this last, I scoff. I tell her not to worry, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve taken out far tougher and crazier motherfuckers than this asshole. And I still remember how to lay low and stay under the radar. I won’t get caught.

When I finish speaking, she gasps. “God, Chase, don’t kill him or anything. He’s not worth that.”

I laugh and push hair back from her face. I kiss the cheek that’s not hurting. “I’m not going to kill anyone, baby. But this loser has to pay for what he’s done to you. No one—and I mean
no one
—raises a hand to my girl and gets away with it.”

She makes me put down the ice and urges me to come closer. I am there in an instant, parting her sweet lips with my own. My tongue touches hers and I taste my girl, all sugar and honey. I position my body between her legs, and she scoots forward. Sweet girl pressing up against me, denim and the light material of my basketball shorts the only barriers separating us. I get hard in an instant, I can’t help it. Adrenaline and lust fuel my libido. I suspect Kay feels similar emotions. After what happened to her, she’s surely pumped on adrenaline—and now, lust—as well.

So I am not the least bit surprised when she moans into my mouth and wraps her legs around me. I try to hold her in place, but she moves nonetheless, roughly, desperately. She grinds her hot little center against my cock as our mouths move together. I groan and try to behave, but I can’t help but push farther into her, feeling her heat since the fabrics separating us are so damn thin.

Our hips keep moving together, even when our mouths break apart. My amped-up girl leans back on one arm and watches my eyes. I see something primal in hers. The hand not holding her upright is in my hair. She licks her lips, and tugs and pulls with her fingers, making my head jerk back a little. It hurts like fuck and I wince in pain, but also in pleasure. I let baby girl take this aggression out on me. She needs to feel back in control. And, hell, it’s not like I don’t like it. Frankly, it’s turning me on even more. But when her hand leaves my hair and travels down my chest, and she reaches into the waistband of my shorts, I stop her.

“Why not?” she asks, her quickened breaths making her voice waver.

Kay’s been through a traumatic experience and what she’s feeling is tension turned into something sexual; her body is seeking release. Under any other circumstances I’d roll with it, but not when all we’ve ever done up to this point is make out. Besides, I have an asshole to take care of. Later, I’ll take care of Kay.

She keeps pushing, grinding, and all-out pleading with her eyes. “You really want our first time to be on the counter?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. She slows her movements, smiles, and shakes her head.

I kiss her some more, just nice and gently. Her hips rock a little with mine, but far less frantically. We move in slow and gentle motions, just savoring the reactions we’re able to elicit from each other.

This is what Kay really needs right now, soft touching and caring. When we’re together, I want to love her just like this.

Soon everything slows, and then stops completely. Kay asks me to just hold her. I do, and we stay wrapped up in each other’s arms for several minutes. I console and try to help my girl find all the fortitude she needs to start to heal.

“I’ll always be here for you,” I whisper in her ear. And it’s true—I don’t plan on ever leaving this woman’s side.

She pulls back slightly, caramel-browns searching mine. “Really?” she asks, doubt and hope and about a hundred other fucking emotions I can’t begin to figure out in her gaze.

My slaughtered and abused heart beats harder and stronger. Kay heals me. I marvel at how hard I’ve fucking fallen for this girl. “Yes, really,” I say back.

“Why?”

“Do you really need to ask?” My voice is soft and choked on emotion.

“Tell me, Chase. Tell me what I think I already know. Tell me what you’re feeling. I feel it too, I do.”

My slaughtered heart stitches back together, more solid than ever.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you so fucking much, baby girl.”

Kay kisses me lightly on the lips, and when I tighten my arms around her she gives me her heart too.

“I love you, Chase Gartner,” she whispers. “I love your trouble, I love your kindness. I love all your good, and all your bad…I just love
you
.”

Kay takes a shower and I wait for her in my bedroom. I’m seated on the edge of my just-slept-in, still-unmade bed. When she comes to the doorway—dressed in barely there shorts and a baggy T-shirt she must have gotten out of her suitcase or bag—she has her purse in her hand. And she looks panicked.

I am up in a heartbeat. “What is it, baby?” I take her face in my hands, carefully since her cheek is still red, though less swollen thanks to the ice. My eyes search hers.

“It’s Peetie, Chase.” She pulls away and stares at the floor dejectedly. “I left him. He was in my purse, and I thought I picked everything up that that asshole threw on the ground, but I must have somehow missed him.” Her voice grows more panicked, all while I am wondering: who the fuck is Peetie? “I can’t lose him, Chase. I just can’t lose him too. He belonged to Sarah.”

Ah, now I understand. Kay showed me one day after lunch the stuffed rabbit she’s been carrying around in her purse, she explained it had once belonged to her sister. Now that I think about it, I remember her calling it Peetie. She also told me she’d intended on leaving the stuffed rabbit at Sarah’s grave, but just couldn’t do it. So she put Peetie back in her bag, and that’s where he’s stayed since then. Close to my girl every day since.

“I’ll get him back,” I promise, hoping none of those punk-ass junkies picked him up or kicked him somewhere where I won’t be able to find him.

I get Kay calmed and situated in my bed. I ask her if she wants fresh sheets but she tells me the ones on the mattress smell like me and that makes her feel better. It kind of wows me that I have that effect. But, shit, I can go with that. I kiss sweet girl’s forehead and promise to be back soon. She tells me again to be careful. I promise to watch my step and to be discreet in what I’m about to do, but she really needn’t worry. Who I become when I fight is no one Kay would even recognize.

Five minutes later, I slowly become that unrecognizable man.

I am now fully dressed—jeans, work boots, a tight shirt that can’t be easily grabbed—and in the bathroom, staring at the mirror, looking at someone else and seeing a version of me I don’t often unleash. This is the darkest side of me, beyond selfish. This is me guided by rage, by base instinct. I want only to dominate and inflict pain. And, tonight, I want justice.

I think about what happened to Kay—every detail she told me before I left the bedroom. However, I know there’s more to her story of the time spent with Missy at the fucking Anchor Inn. She said that guy she went out on a few dates with last fall, Nick-whoever, showed up with his cousin, and the two of them seemed to hit it off with Missy.

I bet.

I can only imagine what sort of spectacle ensued, obviously something that upset my girl enough to make her leave the bar early.

But I can’t worry about that stupid shit now, it’s irrelevant. None of those people hurt my girl. Maybe they upset her a little, but nothing like what the junkie in the parking lot did. That piece of shit laid hands where they didn’t belong. We’ll see how much he enjoys
my
hands on
him
.

I crack my knuckles, make a fist. Yeah, I have more for him than some lame-ass smack across the cheek. Fuck, do I ever.

I’ve been kind and gentle with my girl, but in front of the mirror I am a different man. My eyes are hard, my muscles flex. Shit, I know I am strong, but rage makes me swell bigger. And soon I’ll be using all this strength at something I’m good at—fucking motherfuckers up. My adrenaline pumps. The dark craving to beat the fuck out of someone rises in my veins. My blood runs hot, my temper hotter. I look down at my hands. I
want
these fists to spill blood, to break fucking bones. This is part of who I am; this is the trouble I warned Kay of.

When I see the ice pack on the counter, reminding me of what happened and where I’m going, it takes everything I have not to punch the fucking mirror right before my eyes. But I’ll hold it together for as long as I’m in this house, this house with Kay down the hall. She’s had enough scares for one night. She doesn’t need to see me like this, nor does she need to hear my destruction. Hell, I’m so amped at the moment that if she walked in here and came on to me right now, like she did earlier, I’d not be able to stop. I’d fuck my girl hard and fast. Our first time would, in fact, be on the counter. And it would not be gentle. No, not at all.

Fuck.
I clearly need to get out of here.

By the time I’m outside and getting into my truck, my lust has tapered. All my testosterone has only one focus—hunting down the fucker who hurt Kay…and making him pay dearly.

I pull away from the house, leaving the woman who gives me reason to believe salvation is possible lying in my bed. I speed past the church, turning away from the cross on the top. Tomorrow I’ll think about repentance, for where I’m going, for what I’m about to do.

It’s late and there’s no traffic so I close in on my destination in no time—this dirty part of town where I once bathed in sin, immersed myself in it really. And where, tonight, I will sin again. Because vengeance belongs only to God, but tonight it motherfucking belongs to me.

I find Peetie first, lying on the ground near the apartment entrance. Next to him are the sunglasses I fixed for Kay the day we first met. Only now her fake-designers are annihilated, crushed beyond repair. I step over them and pick up Peetie. He’s a little dusty, but basically unscathed. I brush the stuffed rabbit off and throw him in the truck. I turn back and assess the area.

Most of the building is dark, the tenants either fast asleep or out. But that doesn’t mean there’s no activity. Orange lighter flames flicker from an alley snaking back the side of the structure. I walk closer, not to partake as I once might have considered, no. I have only one mission tonight—find the junkie who messed with my girl. And that mission is about to be accomplished.