Swimming was often mind over matter.
Convincing yourself that you weren’t going to die if you just held on for those few extra seconds.
It was mental, just as much as it was physical.
My fingers brushed the concrete wall, and I pushed through the top of the water, gasping and wiping the droplets from my face.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite piece of ass.” My heart stopped, and I felt the blood in my veins freeze. That voice. “It looks like it’s just gotten that much better with age.”
Paul Mathison.
“Always a pleasure.”
I fought the natural urge to cringe away as he caressed my jaw, his fingers trailing down to my chin, which he pinched tightly, forcing my gaze to meet his. There was something there, carefully disguised in his fake smile.
A veiled threat.
A silent language that I spoke fluently.
Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t good at following orders.
“I’d say the pleasure was all mine,” I goaded, a smirk curling at the corner of my mouth. “But we both know that’d be a lie.”
This was where I got my thrills, seeing that sudden fear in their eyes. It was almost intoxicating, a way for me to take back a little ounce of the strength and dignity they had just robbed me of.
Men were so easily pleased. So eager to climb into bed to satisfy their sick little fetish. But when the ecstasy faded and the realization set in, they’re suddenly acutely aware of just how easily I could fucking ruin them and everything they had worked so hard for.
His hand slipped from my face, a low, raspy chuckle filling the air before he swung. I stumbled, catching the bedpost and gripping it hard as I fought to stay on my feet. The pain radiated through my cheek, instantly making my face throb. If I had been a cartoon, stars would be swirling comically around my head.
Blinking through the pain, I looked back over my shoulder. He adjusted his cufflinks, his chin held high like he hadn’t just broken the law. A law he should know well since my good friend Paul Mathison here had been a DEA agent for ten years.
That was the common clientele around here.
High profile.
Wealthier than most people could ever imagine.
And always lacking a moral compass.
“You need to learn to watch that mouth, Angie,” he scolded, pulling his tie into place and sweeping back the few stray gray hairs that were disobediently sticking up. “I’ve treated you with nothing but respect. That’s a lesson you’d do well to learn.”
Biting my lip between my teeth, I managed to hold back the sharp argument tickling the tip of my tongue.
Respect? Was he fucking joking?
I didn’t even bother to look up when I heard the door handle turn and the door creak open, the sounds of the party going on downstairs floating through the open doorway. Bracing my hands on the bed frame, I let my head hang, tears prickling my eyes and sliding down my cheeks. The hardened exterior I’d been developing since I was just a little kid had taken a hit recently, and there was a crack in my shield.
I knew why.
I just hadn’t figure out how to deal with it yet.
I shoved away from the wall, but not quickly enough to avoid his grasp. Fingers twisted into my hair, a sharp jolt of pain shooting down my spine as he yanked me from the water. I kicked and fought, the rough edge of the concrete scraping at my bare legs as I was dragged onto the slick tile edging.
“Angie, so good to see you,” Paul crowed, dragging me a few feet from the edge of the pool before he finally let go and took a step back. Water dripped down into my eyes, and I furiously wiped it away, trying to clear my vision while also fighting the throbbing pain in my legs as I struggled to get to my feet.
This couldn’t be happening.
It just couldn’t.
It was impossible.
“Nothing to say? How about I start then?” he offered, his lip curling up on one side. Paul Mathison had always had the kind of face that could scare little children, but it had changed. It had weathered and not well. “You put me in prison!”
The force of his anger had me stumbling back. I caught myself on the railing, wrapping my fingers around the metal to hold me up while I screamed at myself to run.
Run.
Get the hell out of there.
Go!
But the past had a tight grasp on my throat, and I felt like I was suffocating. He was never meant to find me. He was meant to be in prison. He was one of the reasons I’d spent so many years hiding. So many years fighting to survive. All because they convinced me to tattle. To give him up. To put him away for all the pain he’d caused.
I went through hell to make sure he was locked up forever.
So how the hell was he standing in front of me right now?
“Fucking whore,” he roared, launching forward and grabbing my face, pressing me back against the bars. “Legs open and mouth closed, that was all you had to do. Be a good little girl and play along.”
I put this man in prison—him and a handful of others. I’d testified at his trial and watched them drag him away kicking and screaming.
Sixteen years, and he was here.
At my home.
With me in his sights.
“How did you find me?” I murmured, my body aching and my heart thundering in my chest.
He shifted on his feet, a sick grin curling at the corner of his mouth as he dug his fingers harder into my jaw. “You forget I used to be in law enforcement?” he taunted.
That tone—the voice sending me right back to when I was a scared little girl. I shuffled back, my leg screaming in pain, letting me know that running was not going to be an option.
“Do you know what it’s like in prison when they find out that you worked for the law? Do you know how they treat police officers, Angie?”
“Probably how you deserved to be treated,” I snapped, tears streaking down my cheeks.
“You ran your mouth.”
“You raped me!”
A gut-wrenching scream let loose, and suddenly Paul Mathison was sent sprawling across the concrete, leaving my wide-eyed teenage daughter standing in front of me.
Her Little League softball bat in mid-swing, and the both of us with our mouths hung open, breathing heavy.
“Blair, get out of here,” I screamed, catching Paul getting to his feet out of the corner of my eye, but my stubborn child shook her head and stumbled forward, placing her body in front of mine, her bat pulled back, ready to take another swing. “Blair!”
“I called Drake on your phone,” Blair announced, her eyes focused on Paul and his narrowed glare.
He was trying to decipher her. Figure out who she was. And for a moment in time, I thought my heart might stop when I realized that he just might guess right.
“Drake is a big bad biker! Him and the club will be here soon,” my baby girl announced confidently.
And as if summoned by her voice, the rumbling chorus of motorcycles filled the air.
My favorite part?
The way Paul’s eyes widened when he realized I was no longer that little girl with no one to protect her.
My second favorite part?
Watching him fucking run away.
8
Zoey
I knew the sound of his heavy boots before I even saw them. There was something so different about the way he walked.