Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) (13 page)

MELISSA

It’s amazing what you can persuade yourself is true, if you put your mind to it.

For example, after almost a week, I convinced myself that I was back to normal.  I
did my laundry.  I ate lunch with my mom.  I cozied up in the evening to watch chick flicks with Shelby.  I went to Danny’s baseball game and cheered when he pitched a no-hitter.  I kissed him on the lips.  It didn’t quite make me cringe.  I celebrated our engagement with his teammates, and toasted it with champagne.  I let Danny wrap me in his game jersey and cart me around the restaurant, telling every person there we were getting married, and buying them each dessert.  I was arm candy, just like I’d always been.  I was cheerful and pretty and un-opinionated.  I was
perfect
.

Go ahead
and jump on a judgment bandwagon and accuse me of being a liar and a cheater.  I’d already worked my way through it.  Rationalized my behavior.  Cutter was an experienced manipulator and he’d taken advantage of my vulnerability.  He’d as much as admitted it, and I’d just been ignoring the facts.  It didn’t even matter that he didn’t know the details of my circumstances.  My state of mind when he found me, covered in dirt and obviously damaged, was a red flag, and he’d picked up on it right away.

I was a victim, no doubt about it.

I didn’t feel like I was hiding something I’d
done.  I was just protecting myself from something that had been done to me.

So when Saturday rolled around, and my fiancé – yes, I was starting to be able to stomach the term – dropped by mine and Shelby’s apartment to whisk me away for a romantic surprise, I was able to tell myself I was happy to see him.

He gave me a once over and a light kiss as I climbed into his car.

“You look nice,” he said.

I beat down the voice in my head that wanted to reply,
Nice? Thank you, but I was going for Goddess.

I glanced down at my peasant-style blouse.  It was cream-colored and dotted with embroidered flowers in the exact – not even a hair off - shade of my eyes.  Elegant ribbons, half the size of my pinky finger, laced up the top, revealing just enough cleavage.  Even though the shirt was nearly sheer, I’d forgone a camisole in favor of a lacy bra, and the cap sleeves showed off my toned upper arms.  I’d paired the top with designer jeans that shimmered in the
light when I walked.  Even my face was perfect.  I lined my eyes with the deepest navy kohl, thickest around the edges and fanning out to a smoky grey in the creases of my lids.

And Danny thought I looked
nice
.

Still…I shot him a dazzling and appreciative smile as I shrugged into my jacket.

“Thank you,” was all I said.

As we pulled out of the driveway
, he handed me an envelope.

“Open it,” Danny encourage
d.

I obliged, and push
ed down a nagging suspicion that this would always be the case.  I wouldn’t always be doing what Danny asked me to do with an indulgent smile plastered on my face, would I? Then I pushed down the idea that the suspicion bothered me.

When I sliced my finger on the envelope and pressed a bloody fingerprint into the creamy paper as I opened it, I shoved aside a feeling of trepidation and surveyed the contents.  There was nothing inside the envelope but a plastic card, smoky grey and dotted with stars.  I gave it - and Danny - a puzzled frown.

He laughed at my expression but didn’t offer an explanation.  He just turned up the radio, and kept driving.  It wasn’t until we pulled into an unfamiliar parking lot that he finally turned my way again.

“Happy anniversary, babe,” Danny said.

“Babe?”

He never called me anything but Mel.  My heart thumped, and
not in a good, Barry White kind of way.

“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

“Forget?”

“Three years.”

Three years. 

His words jogged loose a
memory, and their significance came flooding back. 

We were at our senior Spring Fling.  We’d been planning on going as a threesome, but Shelby got the flu, and Danny and I wound up on our first date.  He brought a flask, full of watered down Southern Comfort, and I teased him about turning into a heathen.  A few sips in, and I was tipsy.  We finished off the liquor and made fun of the other couples who cut out early to shack up in the sleazy motel around the corner. 

I pointed at a girl in a pink dress. “Too frilly for sex.”

He pointed at her boyfriend. “Too drunk to get it up anyway.”

“Ew, Danny!”

“Just stating a fact.”

Somehow, the conversation turned more serious.

“You can’t get to know someone well enough in high school to sleep with them,” I said.

“Well…Guys have to be careful or our peak just passes us by. If we take the time to know the girls we sleep with…”

“Oh, c’mon,” I replied, giving him a playful slap. “You agree. I know you do. If you wanted, you could be doing half the girls in the school, and you’re sitting here with me.”

“All right, all right. Sometimes, the right girl is worth waiting for.”

“Three years,” I stated with eight ounces of liquid confidence on my breath.

“What?”

“That’s how long I’d make him wait.”

He laughed. “Not many guys would wait around that long.”

“Exactly,” I agreed drunkenly.

Then he stole a kiss.  I mean that literally.  He took it without asking my permission, and my reaction was something damned near offended.  I fought to keep from shoving him away by telling myself it was right and good and supposed to happen.  I sat still, letting him explore my mouth with his tongue, waiting for the explosion of fireworks that never came.  He finished, and seemed satisfied by what he’d accomplished, and I finally clued in that he had meant me.  I was the girl he was waiting for.

Shit.

We’d been together ever since.  As I met Danny’s eyes, I knew that if I checked the date, I would find out it had been exactly three years since that day.

“You ready to get some dinner?” he asked.

When I nodded, Danny hopped out of the car and came around to open my door.  Then he reached across my lap, and I leaned back to allow him to undo my seatbelt.  The closeness felt wrong.  Especially when Danny pressed his chest into mine, hard.  I prepared myself for an onslaught of affection, but he just gave me a squeeze, then helped me out.

My relief was short-lived.  As soon as we were checked into the hotel, Danny pulled me against him again.

“Did I mention that I ordered room service?” he said into my neck.

I laughed nervously as he dragged me to the elevator.  Did he really think it was going to be so easy
to seduce me?

Maybe he doesn’t think it’s been easy,
said a small, annoying voice in my head.
Maybe he thinks he’s been really fucking patient and after three years wants more than a goodnight kiss.

I didn’t like the voice because it
made me think of Cutter and his accusation that day in his apartment.  What were his exact words?  Right.  He’d said I was nothing more than an everyday, run-of-the-mill cock-tease.

Danny kept his hands to himself until we were right in front our room.  As he grabbed my wrists in one hand and pushed me against the wall with the other, panic set in.

This is really happening,
I thought.

Danny’s hand rested on my thigh, uncomfortably close to my crotch, and I closed my eyes and prayed he was going to back off.  Instead, his hand crept up further.

“Danny!” I gasped, hoping he’d stop.

But he took it as encouragement and thrust his fingers just under the waistband of my jeans, fumbling with the button.  The zipper on his jacket scraped against me, and I gasped again as the metal dug through the thin cotton of blouse and into my skin.

When the hell did he get so aggressive?
I wondered.

His lips moved up the side of my neck, soggy with enthusiasm.  The button on my pants came loose.  I gripped the
doorframe, and silently willed him to stop on his own without noticing I didn’t return his ardor.

At last he pulled away.  My relief was short-lived once again, because he was just trying to get a better angle.  And then I caught a break.  As he tried to reach further into my pants, his jacket stuck to my shirt, and he had to pause to get it loose.  One of the tiny flowers woven into my blouse was caught between the teeth of his zipper.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed with relief, I might’ve laughed at his inability to work the zipper free.  He was so meticulous about everything, but
this
he couldn’t manage.  He gave a final, firm yank, and we came apart.  Unfortunately, so did my shirt.

I looked down
.  A large rip gaped in the front, exposing my chest.

Thank God.

“I have to go home and get changed,” I announced.

“What?”

“I can’t walk around like this.”

Danny frowned. “We’re not going to be walking around.”

I forced a laugh. “You want to spend the
whole
night in the room?”

My fiancé sighed and slid the key card into the door.

“Mel, I know you’re nervous. I am, too.”

I followed him into the room. “I’m not nervous, I’m – “

Whatever I’d been about to say stuck in my throat as I caught sight of the set up.  Rose petals leading from the door to the bed.  A bottle of Southern Comfort nestled between two heart-shaped pillows on the bed.  Through the bathroom door, I glimpsed a huge tub, filled with bubbles and humming softly with the sound of jets below the surface.  The room was exploding with romance.

“You’re what, Mel?”
Danny prodded.

What had I been going to say?

I couldn’t remember.  I felt like I was going to puke.

Danny didn’t notice my sickly expression.  He grabbed the liquor, cracked it open, and poured two glasses.  He shot back one and handed me the other.  I took a tentative sip.  It burned as it went down, but it warmed my stomach and took the edge of the nausea.  Quickly, I sucked back the rest.  Danny gave me an encouraging smile.
  I covered my cup as he tried to refill it, and he shrugged, then took a drink straight from the bottle.

“Maybe you should slow down,” I suggested softly.

His eyes were already bright. “I don’t think so.”

In all our time together, I hadn’t ever seen him drunk.  He didn’t really drink. 
We
didn’t drink.

“Danny –“

He cut me off abruptly. “That day you got assaulted…Why didn’t you call the police?”

I gulped as I floundered for an explanation.

The truth,
encouraged a small voice in my head.

“Shelby made me take a bath,” I said instead.

Another swig of liquor. “So you washed him off.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like?”

“It was broad daylight, Danny, what do you think it was like?” I begged him mentally to drop it.

“The first time.”

“What?”

“It was broad daylight the first time it happened. But the second time you saw him, it wasn’t even dawn yet.”

“I –“

He put up his hand, fingers clasped tightly around the bottle, and waved it in my direction.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Again and again. And you were pissed off, not hurt. Not
scared. Not even ashamed, in a misguided way.”

I tried again. “Danny, it –“

“It didn’t happen,” he interrupted, and took three more sips of the Southern Comfort. “Not the way you said, anyway. And for some reason…I think you know the guy who did this to you. Who is he, Mel?”

“Nobody.”

Not anymore.

“
I don’t believe you. But you know what? In an hour, I’ll have wiped any trace of him from your mind, and we can go back to the way things were before. Why don’t you hop in the bath now?” he suggested with a sloppy grin that I guessed was supposed to pass for sexy. “I’ll wait.”

I seized on the opportunity
and bolted for the bathroom.

CUTTER

At ten in the morning, Galini had called to tell me he was switching off the ankle monitor.

“The GPS will be on,” my probation officer
warned. “But the alarm will be off. So be good.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He sighed. “You think I don’t know you, Cutter, but I do. If you get into trouble –“

“I’m a big boy, Galini. I’ve had a long time to get over the past.”

“Alcohol.”

“What about it?”

“It’s a go. But take it easy.”

“All right.
”

“
Over and out.”

I watched as the little light on my police-issue jewelry, which was green when I stayed where I was supposed to be and blinked an angry red if I went somewhere I shouldn’t, shut off completely.  For the first time in almost two years, I was free
.  And I was using that freedom to spend time with the family I’d been avoiding for half a decade. 

Although…W
hat I’d said to Galini was almost true.  After Judge Stover’s oh-so-kind visit, the days passed in slow motion, and I had a lot of time to dwell on the past.  Particularly since I needed something to help me avoid thinking about Melissa.  Instead, I’d focused on my dad.

When I was a kid, he was the man.  I
didn’t just love him, I wanted to
be
him.  Tall.  Dark.  Handsome.  All-fucking-powerful.  When I was finally old enough to figure that I was a scrawny, towheaded twerp, and that my transformation plan wasn’t going to quite work out, I decided to come at it from another angle.  I would prove myself in other ways. 

At the time, t
he only thing I excelled at was art.  I explored the idea of becoming an architect, or a graphic artist, or maybe doing something in advertising.  None of it was good enough for my dad.  It didn’t make me any more like him.  I wasn’t strong.  I wasn’t heartless.  I wasn’t the man.  Not like he was.

It wasn’t until I turned fifteen, grew six inches, and figured out that my talent for anything spatial transferred well to sports that he even glanced my way.  When I got in my first hockey fight and broke some guy’s jaw, my dad finally sat up and took
notice.  In fact, he took me out and fed me my first beer, then offered me the weekend internship at his firm.  If I thought it was weird that my putting someone else in the hospital is what brought us closer, I don’t remember it.  I just did my damnedest to follow in his footsteps.

For two years it was smooth sailing.

I excelled at every task he assigned me, and I applied for early admission to his alma mater, and
knew
I was going to become a defense lawyer, just like him.  I lost my virginity to the temp, I womanized for a while, met Brandy, and we both fell in love (me with the idea of her, and her with the idea of my money) and everything was fan-fucking-tastic.

Then the shit hit the fan with my sister.

It started with a call from her school, an all girls’ place just outside of the city.  She’d missed several days of classes, and they were worried she was ill.  They came to me, of course, because our father had been playing his absentee role so well, and because for the seven years since my mother’s death, I’d been signing permission slips and packing her lunches, and attending the parent-teacher conferences.  It was only my newfound bond with our dad that kept me from noticing the changes in Fiona’s behavior in the first place.  I was wrapped up in work, just as he was.  I didn’t have time for her anymore, just like he didn’t.  The intrusion pissed me off, just like it would’ve done to him.

So
I drove out to the school, prepared to give her hell for whatever trouble she’d gotten into.

I don’t know what I expected to find when I got there, but it sure as shit wasn’t what I saw.  A black light in her bedside lamp.  Lumpy, unwashed bed sheets.  Maggot-filled take out boxes.  No sign of Fiona herself.

As I worked my way through her friends, most of whom confessed they hadn’t really talked to her in months, worry began to replace irritation.  I finally tracked down a girl who gave me the name of a seedy motel where she’d heard Fiona had been staying.

A seedy fucking motel. My little sister.

I drove there, and didn’t have too much trouble convincing the desk manager to bust down the door.  Especially when I explained what I would do to him if he didn’t comply.  The room was smoke-filled.  It stunk to high heaven.  My sister was strung out, and her companion was in his underpants.

Needless to say, I hauled her ass home.

Over the next six months, she ran away about ten times.  Each time, I went and dragged her home.  Finally, I turned to my dad, assuming that our connection somehow elevated his role in her life also.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  He threatened to fire me.  From my unpaid internship.  For asking him to help me get my sister – his daughter – into a detox program.

The series of events that led up to my first arrest
just four months later, not long after I turned eighteen…I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.  It seemed like a nightmare.  One I didn’t want to own.  One that made me hate my dad in a more thorough way than I ever hated anyone.

And now, years later, I still
didn’t want to fucking see him. 

And yet, a
s I pulled into the parking lot at the hotel where my sister was getting married, I knew I would have to.  My whole body was tense with the idea. 

A sharp pain dug into the flesh between my thumb and forefinger, and I looked down in surprise.  The wedding invitation was in my hand, crushed beyond recognition. The cardboard edge had cut my skin, and a narrow line of blood marked my hand. 

Maybe I wasn’t so fine after all.

Why don’t you call Galini?
I asked myself sarcastically.

It was enough to spur me on.

I followed the signs to the ceremony hall, then paused at the door.

I spotted the three of them the second I walked in, standing near the front under an archway.  My eyes went to Fiona first, maybe because she was the bride, and I was supposed to be looking at her. 

Then again,
I admitted reluctantly.
It could be that you’re more than a little chicken shit about confronting the other two
. 

It startled me, how much she looked like my mom.  Even from a distance, the resemblance was remarkable.  The same wave of strawberry blonde hair, the same concerned crease in her forehead.  She was plump, though, thank fucking God.  The last time I saw her, her skin was stretched tightly over her bones, and I really thought she might die.

I want you out of my life,
she’d said.

I jerked my eyes to her fiancé in an attempt to brush off the bad memory.  He was heavy, too, and wore a full beard and a suit.  A far cry from the last time I saw him, when he’d still gone by the nickname Juice, and had been a beaten and bloody husk of a man, begging for mercy.

The way he fucking deserved to be.

I couldn’t stop the wave of hatred, and I didn’t really try to.  In fact,
it transitioned nicely onto my dad.  My eyes wanted to slide over him, but I made them stay.

I was surprised to see how small he was.  Had he alway
s been such a little man, or had the years just worn him down?  If I walked up to him, I’d tower over him.  The top of Fiona’s head was level with his eyebrows as she leaned in to adjust his tie.  My dad said something, and Juice –
no, it was Josh now,
I reminded myself – laughed, then clapped him on the shoulder.

I took half a step toward them, drawn in by their shared happiness.  Then stopped.  Sure, they looked normal and well adjusted.  I knew better.

That fat fucker who had a possessive hand on my sister’s back had damn near killed her.  That man in the expensive tux had let it happen.

I can’t do this,
I realized.
My asshole of a probation officer was right after all.

I couldn’t be the guy who forgave and moved on.  I couldn’t do the fake fucking reunion.  I just didn’t have it in me.  I was too far past whatever it would take to be that man.

I turned and fled for the hotel bar.