specifically asked the sheriff’s deputy in charge of the investigation if the other women were being harassed. Why was he harassing her?
But she had, as Rowdy had argued, essentially been the one who got away. She had escaped the full rape, suffering only some cuts made to weaken her, and a terror that still brought her awake with a cry on her lips.
She didn’t wear the clothes she used to because the marks were still there. Shorts and tank tops might reveal the nearly imperceptible white scars that still marred her arms, her shoulders and legs. Nakedness would reveal the ones on her buttocks. Deeper slices had been made there as he held her down, cutting her panties from her.
Her mother swore they weren’t noticeable. But to Kelly, they were.
She still remembered the feel of that knife biting into her. Razor-sharp, the skin parting as cold pain streaked through her nervous system and the feel of hot blood as it began to pour from the wounds.
The doctor had assured her that within a few years they would be gone entirely. She wondered if the memories would fade as well.
She paced through the dark room to the wide recliner that sat on the far wall, beneath the standing lamp she used to read by. Collapsing into it, she propped her elbows on her knees and dropped her head in her hands. The calls were coming more frequently than they had been the last time she asked. He was getting more dangerous, she knew that.
Sensed it. She didn’t need Rowdy’s arguments earlier to understand that
-84-
NAUTI BUOY
he was focused on her because he hadn’t finished with her the night he tried to rape her. He was convincing himself he loved her. That she loved him. That she was meant to somehow be his.
She felt her stomach heave at the thought of it even as anger began to burn inside her. The fear was almost overwhelming at times, the memory of the pain, and the certainty that she was going to die, eating her alive. Until that night there had been no uncertainty about what she wanted. She knew Rowdy, knew his sex games, knew the sexual, carnal creature he had grown into. She had heard stories of their lush eroticism for years. And she saw how women watched them. The envy, the furtive hunger and shameful lust that raced through their eyes whenever the three men were near.
It wasn’t as though she didn’t dream about it. She jerked to her feet, pacing the dark room. Fantasized about it. Over the years she had awakened more nights than she could count, sweating, reaching out for a touch, a release that never came. But in those dreams, it was always Rowdy alone. They had not mirrored her waking fantasies or the carnal arousal she felt at the thought of the sex games she knew Rowdy participated in with his cousins.
“He’s making me crazy,” she muttered as she stalked from one end of her bedroom to the other.
As though the fact he was making her crazy was anything new. He had been doing that far longer than four years. From the day she first met him, from the moment the fifteen-year-old Rowdy had picked her up from where the bully had pushed her to the ground, she had loved him.
His eyes had been sober, intense, his voice gentle as he checked out her skinned knees. Then he had patted her shoulder and left her in Dawg’s and Natches’ care while he went after the boys who had stolen the hair bows out of her long hair.
-85-
Lora Leigh
Her mother had scrimped in those days just to buy Kelly the pretty, girly little treasures she loved so much. The little pocketbooks, the pretty shoes, even if they were secondhand, and the hair bows.
It hadn’t been long before he returned, her hair bows in hand. He had taken the little brush she had pulled from her backpack and brushed her hair and set the bows in place. They had been crooked, but she hadn’t cared because Rowdy had put them there.
From that day on, at least one of the boys, usually all of them, were at the park in the evenings playing basketball when Kelly came to
But she had, as Rowdy had argued, essentially been the one who got away. She had escaped the full rape, suffering only some cuts made to weaken her, and a terror that still brought her awake with a cry on her lips.
She didn’t wear the clothes she used to because the marks were still there. Shorts and tank tops might reveal the nearly imperceptible white scars that still marred her arms, her shoulders and legs. Nakedness would reveal the ones on her buttocks. Deeper slices had been made there as he held her down, cutting her panties from her.
Her mother swore they weren’t noticeable. But to Kelly, they were.
She still remembered the feel of that knife biting into her. Razor-sharp, the skin parting as cold pain streaked through her nervous system and the feel of hot blood as it began to pour from the wounds.
The doctor had assured her that within a few years they would be gone entirely. She wondered if the memories would fade as well.
She paced through the dark room to the wide recliner that sat on the far wall, beneath the standing lamp she used to read by. Collapsing into it, she propped her elbows on her knees and dropped her head in her hands. The calls were coming more frequently than they had been the last time she asked. He was getting more dangerous, she knew that.
Sensed it. She didn’t need Rowdy’s arguments earlier to understand that
-84-
NAUTI BUOY
he was focused on her because he hadn’t finished with her the night he tried to rape her. He was convincing himself he loved her. That she loved him. That she was meant to somehow be his.
She felt her stomach heave at the thought of it even as anger began to burn inside her. The fear was almost overwhelming at times, the memory of the pain, and the certainty that she was going to die, eating her alive. Until that night there had been no uncertainty about what she wanted. She knew Rowdy, knew his sex games, knew the sexual, carnal creature he had grown into. She had heard stories of their lush eroticism for years. And she saw how women watched them. The envy, the furtive hunger and shameful lust that raced through their eyes whenever the three men were near.
It wasn’t as though she didn’t dream about it. She jerked to her feet, pacing the dark room. Fantasized about it. Over the years she had awakened more nights than she could count, sweating, reaching out for a touch, a release that never came. But in those dreams, it was always Rowdy alone. They had not mirrored her waking fantasies or the carnal arousal she felt at the thought of the sex games she knew Rowdy participated in with his cousins.
“He’s making me crazy,” she muttered as she stalked from one end of her bedroom to the other.
As though the fact he was making her crazy was anything new. He had been doing that far longer than four years. From the day she first met him, from the moment the fifteen-year-old Rowdy had picked her up from where the bully had pushed her to the ground, she had loved him.
His eyes had been sober, intense, his voice gentle as he checked out her skinned knees. Then he had patted her shoulder and left her in Dawg’s and Natches’ care while he went after the boys who had stolen the hair bows out of her long hair.
-85-
Lora Leigh
Her mother had scrimped in those days just to buy Kelly the pretty, girly little treasures she loved so much. The little pocketbooks, the pretty shoes, even if they were secondhand, and the hair bows.
It hadn’t been long before he returned, her hair bows in hand. He had taken the little brush she had pulled from her backpack and brushed her hair and set the bows in place. They had been crooked, but she hadn’t cared because Rowdy had put them there.
From that day on, at least one of the boys, usually all of them, were at the park in the evenings playing basketball when Kelly came to
Similar Books
