Reaper's Legacy (30 page)

The driver must’ve been a nice guy, because he waited until I got the front door open before he pulled away. Too bad he hadn’t waited a minute longer—when I flipped on the light I nearly had a heart attack.

Zach sat in the center of the couch.

“About time you got back,” he said pleasantly, arms crossed over his chest. “Let me guess, you’re drunk? Some mother you’ve turned out to be, Sophie. You’re nothing but a fucking slut, you know that?”

Seeing him hit me like a physical blow.

I mean that—if someone had punched me in the stomach, it couldn’t have hurt worse. I couldn’t breathe, and I had to grab the wall to stay upright. That’s the thing that nobody tells you as a girl, when they warn you about guys like Zach. You hear about women getting “abused,” but that’s such a sterile word for what Zach did to me. He didn’t “abuse” me. He hurt me, owned me, trained me …

Broke me.

It’s like hitting a dog with a rolled-up newspaper. You do it enough times, the dog will cringe whenever it sees the roll. Obedience becomes instinct, and in that second I felt it all come back to me.

Zach’s bitch. That’s all I was.

“You can’t be here,” I said feebly, wondering how just
seeing
him could make me feel so weak. “The restraining order says you can’t be here. You’re supposed to be hundreds of miles away. How did you get in?”

“I picked the lock, you stupid cunt,” he replied. “Ruger taught me when we were kids. That and how to hotwire a car. Only fuckin’ thing he ever did for me …”

He stood and walked over to me, a nasty gleam in his eye. He’d gotten bigger, I realized. Not taller, of course, and not fat, either. Zach must’ve started lifting weights, because those were some serious muscles. Steroid-sized muscles. He flexed them as he walked toward me, grinning as he read the fear in my face. He’d always had little-man syndrome.

My brain screamed at me to run, but my body wouldn’t obey. I was strong during the kidnapping. I’d run from Skid, but then I turned around and fought him.

Why didn’t I do that now?

I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t move.

Instead I just watched Zach, terrified, as he came up and cupped my face in his hands, fingers holding me just a little too tight.

“You’re looking good,” he said, licking his lips. He leaned forward and kissed me. Not a nice kiss—no, this one was meant to punish. I locked my jaw and kept my lips closed until he reached up and grabbed my hair, pulling it back sharply. “Open your fucking mouth, bitch.”

I obeyed, because I knew pulling hair was the least of what he could do. He kissed me for an eternity, tongue stabbing into mine painfully. His mouth tasted stale and nasty, like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in a year. I couldn’t get any air and tears built up in my eyes.

Finally, he pulled away.

“Cunt still sweet as that mouth?” he asked. I didn’t respond and he yanked my hair again. “Answer me, bitch!”

“I don’t know,” I whimpered. I should try to knee him. I should fight or kick or bite or something, but seeing Zach made me feel like a helpless little girl. He knew it, too. I could tell by the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. Zach was a bully. How I hadn’t recognized it from the start I’ll never know, but I could sure as shit see it now.

“I hear you’re fucking Ruger again,” Zach whispered, face turning ugly. “I hear you’re sucking his cock all over town, and that you’re fucking his whole club, too. Is that true, slut?”

“No,” I whimpered. “No, it’s not true.”

“What’s not true?” he asked, mouth twisting into a smile. “Not true you’re fucking Ruger, or not true that you’re fucking his club? Because they don’t just steal a man’s inheritance for shits and giggles, babe. They don’t do
anything
for free. You gotta tell me just how big a whore you are. Otherwise I won’t know how much punishment you need.”

“I’m not fucking anyone,” I said. Zach burst out laughing. Seriously laughing, so hard he actually let me go and used the heel of one hand to press against his eyes, wiping away the tears.

“Let’s try this again,” he said when he finally stopped. “Who are you fucking? You belong to me, bitch. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll start breaking fingers.”

He reached down and caught my hand between his, gripping my right index finger, bending it sharply backward.

I panicked, wishing I could get myself to
think
. My mind was numb, old survival instincts taking over.

Get it over with.

Do what he says.

Maybe he’ll show mercy if you’re a good girl …

“I had sex with Ruger,” I said quickly. Then I closed my eyes, bracing for whatever might happen next. There’s no preparing for
something like that, though. Not really. I waited for my bone to snap, so it came as a complete surprise when he punched me in the stomach instead. I doubled over, gasping for breath. Holy
shit
that hurt.

Zach burst out laughing.

“You’re too fuckin’ easy.”

Silly of me, I realized, clutching my stomach and praying he’d stop at just one hit. Zach never did what I expected him to do. You couldn’t plan, couldn’t get ready, nothing like that. He was like a tornado—suddenly there, spewing evil without warning.

Zach’s laughter died.

“Hell of long drive to get here. I’m tired and hungry,” he said. “So you’re gonna make me something to eat. Then we’ll talk some more about who you’re sleeping with. Don’t want to leave out any juicy details, do we?”

I dug through the fridge, trying to figure out what to cook him. My stomach ached, although I didn’t feel like he’d broken any ribs. Yet. We didn’t have a lot of food, but I could fix some eggs and toast. Zach had always loved breakfast for dinner.

“It was fucking stupid of you to come back to Coeur d’Alene,” Zach said conversationally. He sat at the small table between the living room and kitchen, watching me and picking at his fingernails. “You couldn’t just keep your legs shut, could you? I’ll never let him have you.
Never.
Thought I’d made that clear?”

I didn’t answer. No matter what I said, it would set him off. I remembered that much from before. Zach had always liked lecturing me during punishments, and if I didn’t listen, the punishment got much, much worse. I just had to hunker down and push through. Sooner or later he’d get tired or bored and then it would stop.

At least for a while.

I’d never be truly free from him, though. I’d thought I could change my life.

Stupid, stupid,
stupid
.

“I’ve told you a thousand times about Ruger, but you still don’t listen,” he continued. “You never get it through your head, do you? I guess sluts like you can’t control themselves … You need to be trained, like dogs. Bitches. Do you want me to train you?”

I took a deep breath, then let it out, closing my eyes tight. I knew what the next step was. Our little dance was well-choreographed.

“Yes, Zach,” I whispered, feeling my soul tuck down deep inside, hiding from what was coming. If I drew far enough away from reality, it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he started really hitting me. “I want you to train me.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, sounding almost human.

I knelt down and opened the drawer under the oven, looking for something to cook the eggs in. I had a small, non-stick frying pan I usually used. There was also a large, cast-iron skillet that I’d found when I moved into the apartment.

I’d never cooked with it—cast iron always seemed sort of strange and scary to me.

Huh.

Why should I be afraid of using a fucking pan? Because it was different than what I was used to? But changing how you do anything is difficult.

I could do it, though.

I could use that pan.

Almost in a dream, I reached down and picked up the skillet. How hard would it be …? Harder than a man’s fists against your flesh? Harder than cracked ribs, blackened eyes—your baby screaming for an hour because Mommy can’t get off the floor to pick him up?

Changing how you react to a man hurting you is hard.

But it can be done.

The pan was heavy. Really heavy. My arms were strong, though. I’d been carrying Noah for years—this was nothing in comparison. I stood up and set the skillet on the stove, reaching over and turning on the burner.

“I think we need to get something clear,” Zach said. He leaned back in his chair, grinning at me, all pleased with himself. Only seconds had passed as I found the skillet, but everything had changed. I felt my soul uncurling from its hiding place.

“You sent me to jail,” Zach continued. “That was a very, very bad thing to do. I’ll admit it threw me for a while. I let you get away with it. Then you stole my money, and that’s more than a man can take. You try to fight me, I’ll kill you. In fact, I won’t just kill you, I’ll kill Noah. Never did like that little shit.”

Another gut punch. He hadn’t used his fists this time. He didn’t need to.

I looked down at the slowly heating skillet.

“Maybe I’ll just make him disappear,” he muttered. “Just take his little ass and dump him somewhere. You’ll never find him again, always wonder if he’s dead or alive. Maybe if you’re really good, I’ll tell you where the body is for his eighteenth birthday …”

I turned to grab eggs out of the fridge, glancing toward Zach. He was looking down at one of his hands, forming a fist over and over, flexing the muscles in his arm. I set the egg carton on the counter. Then I reached for a bowl to mix them in—he liked them scrambled, a mixture of full eggs and egg whites for extra protein. I started cracking them, the hard white shells looking like little skulls.

They broke open so easily.

I flicked another glance at him. He was still gazing down at his fingers, flexing and fisting.

Getting ready to hit me again.

“I’m gonna fuck you in the ass, I think,” he said casually. “Make you beg for it. I’ve missed that about you, the way you beg.”

My chest tightened, but I didn’t let myself react to his words. I just picked up a towel and wrapped it around the hot pan’s metal handle. Then I took a deep breath and thought of Noah, of what his little face would look like after Zach finished with him. Nope. Not gonna happen.

You can do this,
I told myself, and I knew I was right. I could.

I lifted the pan, took three steps toward Zach and raised it high, bringing it down on his head with all my strength.

He never saw it coming.

Then I hit him a second time, just to be sure. And a third.

The smell of scorched meat filled the kitchen.

I smiled.

RUGER

He felt his phone vibrate, and he seriously considered just ignoring it.

It was nearly three thirty in the morning, and the girls had arrived at the Armory an hour ago. He’d never seen Marie so drunk. She wore a little white veil on her head and a white sash that said “Bride” across her chest, and she was carrying around some weird electronic vibrating thing like a trophy. Maggs said it was a sex toy, but damned if Ruger could figure out what it was for.

Horse was drunk, too, although not as bad as Marie. He’d carried his bride-to-be off not long after she arrived. They were upstairs now. That was the last they’d seen of them, although Dancer was trying to convince the girls that they needed to go and rescue Marie. That kept setting them off cackling like a bunch of damned witches.

Ruger pulled out his phone and saw Sophie’s name. Fuck. Now what? He was trying to give her space, but it was fucking hard to
pretend everything was fine while he waited. He missed her. The Jacks had taken her away from him for less than a day, but those hours had nearly killed him.

He needed her back. He needed her back
now
. Wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

“Hey, Soph,” he said, stepping out the door into the night air. It was almost October, but it was still warm out. A perfect Indian summer night.

“Ruger,” she said, and her voice sounded strange. “Um, I have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t think I can tell you over the phone. Would—do you think you could come over? I mean, I know you’re at the party … are you safe to drive, do you think?”

Double fuck. Something was really wrong. Her voice all but screamed it.

“Yeah, I’m good to drive,” he said, and thankfully he was. Hadn’t been in the mood to drink—too many thoughts running through his head. He heard her breath catch. “Should I bring anyone with me?”

“Um, we should probably be discreet,” she said slowly. “I’m in some trouble here, Ruger. I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “That’s not really the worst of it … Ruger, I’ve done something bad. I think you should come over right now. I need you to tell me what to do. I know I keep asking you to stay out of my life, but I was wrong about that. I can’t do this on my own.”

“Okay, babe. I’ll be right there.”

He pulled up to her place twenty minutes later. She sat outside on the little stoop, arms wrapped tight around her knees. She looked
impossibly brittle, like she’d explode into a thousand pieces if he touched her. Little red dots spotted her face.

Blood spatter. Fuck.

“What’s up, Soph?” Ruger asked, crouching down. She looked at him with blank eyes. “Did you fall down or something?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Zach punched my stomach and threatened to kill Noah, so I killed him instead.”

Ruger froze.

“Excuse me?” he asked carefully, wondering if he’d hallucinated what she’d just said.

“Zach punched my stomach and threatened to kill Noah, so I killed him,” she repeated, meeting his gaze. “He was mad at me because he’d heard I was sleeping with you. He’s always been crazy jealous, you know that. I don’t know what set him off, but he must’ve been spying on me somehow, because he knew exactly how to find me. He was inside the apartment, waiting, when I got home from the karaoke bar. He kissed me, and then he started asking questions and punched me. He said he was going to kill Noah and I knew he meant it, so I hit him over the head with a cast-iron skillet until he died.”