Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2) (8 page)

“Who’s this sweet thing?” a male voice inquired.

I looked over fearfully and met the silver eyes of Zane Eastwood. He was sitting down. But even from his position he looked intimidating. Muscles wrapped around his biceps, which were on display in a sleeveless shirt. He had a ball cap on, hiding his dark blond hair. I swallowed hard and looked away, ignoring him. He had sex with Piper. I had no business talking to him.

A hand grabbed mine. I looked back down to find Zane waiting expectantly. “What’s your name?”

“She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?” Justine interjected, grabbing my hand free. “Here,” she offered, holding out a beer bottle.

I gave it a sniff, finding it smelling musky and citrusy, and took a tentative sip. “Not bad,” I admitted. I’d prefer a coffee and a good book, but this wasn’t the time for what I wanted.

Her eyes twinkled, and her mouth opened, prepared to speak, but a hand on her shoulder snagged her attention.

“I don’t really like repeating myself,” Zane growled, pushing to his feet. He stumbled a bit and when he came close he smelled like vodka and this overpowering odor of pine needles and burnt things. Cigarettes, I guessed. “What’s your name?”

“What do you want my name for?”

He gave me a dirty grin and his eyes slid over my black skirt. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Of course, he wouldn’t know me. I didn’t normally dress this way, and our circles were the moon and the sun. We rarely crossed but in passing. I had to remind myself I wasn’t dressed that way tonight. I was like all the other girls in this garage. Open, bare, showing the men what I had so they could take it. The thought made me ill. I didn’t want any man to take anything I had.

“We had biology class last year, Zane. Professor Tucker.”

He frowned, thinking back. “Still don’t remember.” He licked his lips. “Doesn’t matter whether I remember you. What matters is you remembered me.”

I looked down, realizing my mistake. “It’s kind of hard to overlook you.”

He grabbed my chin and lifted my face, his gray eyes boring into me as his fingers dug into my chin. “Tell me your name.”

“Hillary,” I whispered, a sense of unease tingling in my stomach.

His fingers were calloused on my chin, scraping against my soft skin. I just told
the
wolf my name. Even Little Red Riding Hood was shaking her head at me. Names were special. They were the one thing that stuck with you wherever you went. They marked you. And now Zane had it. Something about that made me pull away from his grasp.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

His eyes bored into me. “You want help finding it?”

“No,” I shouted, and then smiled a little to downplay my fear. By his grin, I think he heard it and liked it. “I’ll be right back.” I fumbled with my beer, feeling its oppressive weight in my hand.

“I’ll hold it for you.” He took the stem of the bottle from me, and I handed it over willingly. “It’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”

“Uh, thanks,” I mumbled, backing gratefully away from him.

So Bach didn’t want me. My father didn’t want me. I’d just learn to deal with it. This house, these people, they weren’t where I was supposed to be. An uneasy pressure chased me out of the garage. I shoved my way through the bodies, wobbling in my heels. I opened a door and squealed. There were two people, naked from the waist down in the closet. The man was thrusting into her, and she had her head tossed back, her eyes glassy as they met mine. She grinned, and I covered my eyes, slamming the door shut. “Ugh!” I kept going, searching until I found a bathroom. Once inside, I locked myself in and sank down on the filthy toilet.

I had to get out of here. I could always walk home and come back to get my car tomorrow. Someone pounded on the door, screaming about how badly they wanted to drain their anaconda. I ignored them and looked around, heart pounding for reasons I didn’t understand. It smelled like pee, and the ground was dirty, with panties on the floor and condom wrappers. I gagged, covering my mouth with my hand. One of the condoms were pink and covered in white slime. Tears pricked my eyes. I wanted out of here. Under Jasmine’s order I’d left my purse at home. My cell was on my bed in my purse, and I was all by myself in a wolves’ den for reasons that didn’t mean anything anymore.

Covering my head in my hands, I tried to breathe in and out, pulling peace from within.

There was another knock on the door. “Hillary?”

I looked up at the sound of Zane’s voice. “What?”

“Come out, sweetheart. There’s a line.”

“Just a minute.” I eyed the rusted faucet and the sludge around the sink, and thought better of watching my hands. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, finding Zane waiting with my beer still in hand. I smiled shyly and took it when he handed it to me. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” He grabbed my upper arm and led me away from the line of glaring people. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. Drink your beer, sweetheart. You look thirsty.”

I wondered what that looked like. Were my lips chapped? I brought the beer to my lips and took a sip as he led us by the stairs. “Can we go to Jona’s room?” For some reason I wanted Jona. He had an air about him, but he knew Bach, and that meant deep down Jona wasn’t all bad.

“Sure.” He pulled me along after him. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I supplied, taking another drink. The taste had changed. It was chalkier and salty, less citrusy. I guess that happened when a beer sat. It was warm also, tasting like musky chalky urine. I made a face and forced it down. “How old are you?” I asked at the top of the stairs, wanting him to let my arm go.

“Old enough. You know you’re tempting me right? Those innocent eyes in those sexy clothes? Drink your beer. It’s gross once it’s warm.”

An uncomfortable blush crept over me, and beneath that I wanted free. I pulled on my arm and stepped back, eyes on Jona’s door as I realized in disappointment that it was open. “Jona?” I called, stepping inside his empty room.

“He’s probably downstairs. It’s so loud. Why don’t we sit in here?” Zane brushed against me, silver gaze intent as he blocked the door.

I didn’t want to be alone with Zane or for him to get the wrong idea. “I’d rather go back downstairs.”

“Don’t you want to talk to me?” He smiled a little. “I don’t bite, you know.”

I didn’t believe him. Something inside told me he bit. And when he did it was hard. “We can talk downstairs.”

He shook his head and shoved my hip, moving me inside. He grabbed the door and closed it, turning the lock in one swift motion. If I hadn’t been watching his hand, I wouldn’t have even known he locked the door. He did it so fast, as if he were more accustomed to locking people in rather than letting them out.

“We’re talking in here.” His tone hardened. He pointed to the bed. “Sit. Relax. You seem uncomfortable being here. Why?”

I didn’t want to move from the door. He hadn’t. I wouldn’t either. “It’s not my idea of fun.”

“What is?”

Why was he pretending to want to know me? “I don’t know. What’s yours?” Maybe if he talked about himself he’d be more willing to end this awkward exchange.
Move!
I wanted out of this room, into my car, and out of this house. Jona was right. I should’ve left.

“This,” he said, tone low, eyes lower. “Let’s sit down.” He took my arm again and led us deeper into the room. There were beanbag chairs on the floor. He pulled both close and pointed. “Pink or purple?”

On the edge of my thoughts the unpleasant feeling chasing me around began to intensify. I sat slowly, watching him settle into the purple beanbag chair. He crossed his legs and then folded his hands in his lap. Not once had his eyes strayed from me.

“You’re not drinking your beer.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes and took a long swig. One, so I could look elsewhere, and two, so he could get off my back. If I finished it, we could leave to get another, and then I could finally be free. I closed my eyes and drank the beer down, swallowing the gritty chalkiness at the bottom. “There.” I set the empty bottle down on the floor. “Beer’s gone.” When I looked at him, he was grinning.

His grin made my blood chill. It wasn’t happy. It was pleased, the way Mr. Pinchman is when his dog obeys. I looked down and pulled my skirt, trying to cover my thighs.
Why did I agree to wear this?

His foot began to tap. I stared at his white sneaker, watching the heel rapidly hit the ground.

“You’re so damn hot, Hillary.”

My eyes shot to his face. “Umm …” How was I was supposed to respond to that? “Not a compliment I get every day. Thanks?” My question hung there, dangling from his unsettling smile.

“Aren’t you attracted to me?” He licked his lips.

I shifted in my beanbag chair. I felt pinned down to this one spot, as if his presence was imprisoning me. My thoughts felt slightly off balance. “Zane.”

“Yes or no?” His tone darkened. “It’s a simple question. You either want me, or you don’t? Not that it matters,” he continued quietly. He glanced down at the black watch on his wrist, and then returned his eyes to my face. “Answer me.”

Piper found
this
attractive? What’s so attractive about
this
? “I don’t want you,” I admitted as nicely as I could. My head began to feel heavy. I shook it and found that my limbs had grown heavier. I felt a part of the beanbag chair. “I’m not like all your other girls.”

“I know. That’s why I want you.”

My stomach turned. I attempted to clutch at it, but when I tried to bring my hand up it took me a second to comprehend the motion. “I don’t feel good.”

“You shouldn’t.” He leaned forward. “You just swallowed Rohypnol. Enough for four people actually. You really shouldn’t leave your opened drinks around people you don’t know, sweetheart. There’s some bad people out there.”

My head snapped up, but when I tried to focus I couldn’t. My blood pumped quicker, making it hard to think.
Rohypnol?
In my confusion the word felt bad, rude, this frightening entity in the room waiting to get me. Fear exploded on the edge of my brain. Date-rape drug. I didn’t even think about it. I tried to bolt to my feet. But the action was sloppy, and my legs felt weak. I made it one step before my knees hit the ground. This consuming fear, a level I had never experienced before, shot through my body. It sped up my blood, intensified the poison in my body.

“No!” I shouted, when his arms came around my waist. But my words were gibberish.

“Oh shut up,” Zane snapped, picking me up easily. I tried to claw at his face. He knocked my hands away. When my teeth sought his flesh he threw me on the bed and followed his weight with my body. “You can’t come to a party dressed like that, look like this, and then expect me not to want you.” He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked so hard I cried out, and then he crushed his lips to mine.

Think!
I had to maim him, or distract him. All I had to do was get to the door, unlock it, and scream for help. But my body felt hollow. My limbs were empty. My brain felt sloshy. His tongue probed my mouth, tasting strongly of cigarette and vodka. I tried to turn my face to the side, but he followed, moaning the way monsters do. I ran his susceptible body parts through my head. Eyes, sternum, and groin. His taste turned my stomach, and my thoughts thickened, feeling more like mud than moving matter. My opened eyes were shielded by his hat. It was a Crystal Gulf University Gators cap.

I felt his hand on my thigh. When I tried to clinch my legs he roughly shoved them open and settled between them, humping me like a rabid dog. It felt like he weighed a ton. The panic overtaking my body was mixing with the confusion. I was terrified and yet my brain couldn’t comprehend what was truly happening. As if my fear had amplified the effects of the drugs. It wasn’t really happening. For all I knew I was asleep, and this was simply a nightmare.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was really happening.

That single thought, that damaging truth, broke through the dam. I found his lip and bit down so hard I tasted metal. He roared and reared back, giving me enough room to roll over.

“Even better. I’ll take you from behind.” He pushed my skirt up and tried to pull me back, gripping my waist.

I grabbed the edge of the mattress and pulled, forcing my body to work around the drugs. “Get off of me! Help! Somebody help! Please!”

“Shut up!” the monster growled, grabbing my hair so hard I felt my scalp tear when he yanked me back to him. He settled on top of me and covered my mouth with is hand as he tried to free his zipper.

This was happening too fast. Too many damaging things were going on, waiting to break me. His zipper gave way, sending a bone-deep, catastrophic, swarm of terror through me. It rolled around in me until puke filled my mouth. With his hand over my mouth it went back down my throat. Tears made his hand slippery.

He wasn’t going to do this to me. I refused to let a monster take who I was. I prayed to God hard, begging him for strength. I just needed one second of strength. Only one. I had to have the energy to fight because I was going to fight. I wasn’t going to let him ruin me.

He pushed my thighs apart and reached for my panties. He grabbed the waistband and attempted to push them to the side, but they were too tight. In order for him to get to them he had to either let my mouth go or give up. But I wasn’t a monster. I didn’t think like him. I had no idea he had other plans. How could I predict the thoughts of an evil bastard?

The moment he reached for his belt a revolting tremor rocked my body. I didn’t know what he was going to do with it. Tie me up, strangle me, fasten me to the bed, hit me—all I understood at that moment was if he got his belt off I lost. He wanted it for a reason. He had plans for it.

Amidst my fear my eyes were blurrier. The drugs started to win out over my fear, but one look at his exposed body rocketed me into action. As he tried to get his belt free, I struggled to get the flesh of his hand between my teeth. I bit down hard.

“Fuck!” he shouted, pulling his hand back.

“Help! Help me!” As I shouted I recalled something I’d heard in high school. When people scream for help most times the person hearing it wouldn’t respond. It sparked their fear. It made them afraid of what you were afraid of. It was better to scream something they would respond to. Something that denoted action. “Fire! The house is on fire! There’s a fire!” I screamed with everything inside of me, with every ounce of my being, with the fire in my heart, with the part of me who refused to lose.