Hook's Pan (2 page)

“Brent, please. Stop.” She pushed at his face as he tried to suck on her neck. “I don’t want a hickey, stop!” she lifted her voice.

Lost in an alcohol-fueled haze, he probably wasn’t even hearing her. Sticky hands were latching onto the curve of her ass, trailing hotly down her thigh.
 

“Mmm, baby, you’re making me so fucking horny. You ready for my cock, ‘cause it’s burning for you.”

Enough. She’d had enough! Thrashing violently, she shoved her knee into his crotch.

“What the hell!” Rough hands shoved her back, then he was cradling his balls in his hands as sweat poured off the brows of his sun kissed skin. “If you didn’t want this, then why did you invite me into your apartment?” he wheezed.

“I asked you to stop.” She clutched her chest, only now realizing just how far his busy hands had gone. Somehow he’d managed to unbutton the top four buttons of her navy blouse, she clutched the shirt together, hoping he wouldn’t catch any more glimpses of her hot pink bra than he already had. “I’m sorry I hurt you, but you should have stopped.”

And for a moment she remembered him as he used to be, a skinny high school kid with a huge crush on her, and her anger turned to shame. Yes, he’d gone too far, but she should never have allowed him in her home. She knew better.

“Look,” she reached out a hand, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for this to get so—”

His golden eyes were alive with fury and hate. “Get away from me.” Breath sawing out of his lungs, he sat up and squeezed his eyes shut. “Just, give me a second, and then I’ll bounce.”

Feeling all sorts of stupid, she shook her head. “Brent, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you really bad?”

His eyes were cutting as he snarled, “You’re just lucky I don’t call the cops on you, crazy bitch.”

“What?” She shoved to her feet and pointed at the door. “You took this where it never should have gone. Even if I invited you in, that didn’t mean I was giving you a pass to do whatever you wanted with me.”

He snarled, upper lip curling with disgust as his hard eyes scanned slowly up and down the length of her body. “Wasn’t even good.”

“Get out of my house!” she screamed, rage building like toxin in her bones, making her vision red and her head hazy.

His laugh dripped contempt. “You’re done. Through. Everyone in Phi Alpha’s gonna know. Don’t come slummin’ around no more…”

Running on pure instinct and adrenaline, she reached under her couch and withdrew her .45.

“Whoa!” He held up his hands, backpedaling quickly.

He didn’t know it wasn’t loaded, and she wasn’t going to tell, but she was never going to be weak. Not after what had happened to her sister. No one would ever hurt her like that. Ever. Arms trembling, she jerked her chin toward the door. “I said. Get. Out.”

Nostrils flaring, jaw clenched tight, pants still unzipped and shirt untucked, he turned on his heels and left, slamming the door hard behind him.

Adrenaline burning up quickly after he’d left, she dropped onto the couch as tears poured down her eyes.

She’d lost it. Gone completely ape shit crazy.

She knew she shouldn’t have gone to the club, shouldn’t have gone out. Not tonight, not when her emotions were too close to the surface, making her decisions stupid at best. And he’d lied when he’d said she went slumming at the frat. She hadn’t been back there for years. But when she’d seen Brent dancing in the club, it’d felt normal, easy, and she’d fooled herself into believing that she could actually escape the memories of this night.

Her poor sister, dead, mouth gaping open like a fish flopping on land. And so much blood. It’d been everywhere, on the couch, the carpet, even the walls. Trisha sniffed, wiping her nose, trying in vain to stop the images from drowning her out. But they came like a torrent and all she could do was sob, lungs heaving for air as it crashed over her again and again.

It’d been ten years; it should be easier by now. Most days it was, but sometimes the memories snuck up, latched their sticky feelers into her brain and refused to budge. There were some pains even time couldn’t heal completely.

Letting the tears run unchecked, she dropped the gun, grabbed a beige throw pillow, and screamed into it so loud and so hard she feared her neighbors might hear.
 

Everyone thought she was okay. They thought she was perfect, full of smiles and laughter—because she never let anyone see the festering wound that lived inside.

Even Betty didn’t know how the memories still consumed her. How once a year it crippled her to the point that she could hardly breathe. Jacqueline had been her best friend. And to be the one to find her that way, to have to see the body and know her sister was no longer in it…it’d killed something in her.

Jacq had called the night before it’d happened, said she had great news to share. But Trisha had been so tired after her long ass shift at the drive-thru restaurant. Barely sixteen, she’d thought more about sleep than sharing in her sister’s joy. Her last words had been, “Can this wait till the morning?”

Next morning, Jacq had been dead.

Gut churning, she gagged and ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time. Gasping for breath between the retching, she clung to the bowl for dear life as the vision played over and over. Her reactions weren’t normally so visceral, not anymore, but after the confrontation with Brent, it was just too much.

Minutes later, she could think again, breathe again. Mouth tipped down, she flushed the toilet and stripped off the rest of her clothes then turned the shower on. As hot as it would go. So hot it scalded and burned.

Body shaking, she got inside and huddled under the fiery spray. Staring at nothing as the past haunted her present. Eventually the water cooled and the spray became like ice. Forced to drag herself out, she barely had enough energy to brush her teeth, let alone dry herself, before she made her way to the couch and plopped down onto it. Too exhausted to even attempt putting on clothes, the best she could do was tug on the throw blanket hanging over the armrest; she covered her trembling body and closed her eyes. The tears that hadn’t stopped since starting soaked the cushion beneath her head.

~*~

The phone rang.

Bleary eyed, Trisha stared at her alarm clock. The night was a giant blank, at some point she must have moved from the couch to the bed. She wasn’t sure when. But the sheets were tangled around her feet and her hair was a rat’s nest.

Groaning, exhaustion lacing every inch of her body, she reached for it. “What?” she snapped, never a morning person to begin with.

“Umm… Trisha, is this a good time?”

“Betty?” Jerking to an upright position, she almost sobbed. It’d been a month since she’d last seen her best friend. “Where the hell are you?”

“Home.”

Trisha could almost picture the smile on her friend’s gorgeous face, she sounded happy. A tiny pang centered in the blackest corner of her heart. Not that she wasn’t happy for Betty, she was, but Betty had proven her theory wrong.

Not all men deserved to be neutered.

Like it or not, Gerard was a nice guy and made her friend happy. Trisha would have bet her life’s savings the first time she’d met him that he was just another wolf in sheep’s clothing, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he adored Betty.

“How long this time?” She twisted the phone cord around her finger.

“A day.”

Dropping her head to her chest, she sighed. “Oh.”

“Trish, honey, you okay? You seem down.”

Way too close to home. Straightening her spine, she assumed the mask she always wore—the one that laughed and breathed and lived and didn’t ever fracture.

“Me? Pft, whateves…
 
You know I just miss ya. Anyways, what’s up?”

There was a long enough pause that Trisha thought maybe she’d laid it on too thick. “Well,” Betty drawled, “Gerard and I kind of have some things to tell you.”

She laughed, easing into her role. “Oh yeah, spit it.”

“Uh-uh, we have to meet face to face. Can’t tell you these things over the phone.”

Curious now, Trisha stood and stretched her arms over her head. “Well, it’s gonna have to be fast. Don’t know if you remember that today’s the annual town play.”

A stupid tradition that for some reason she volunteered for every year. This year she’d got the lead part. Acting was easy. It was something she did every day of her life.

Several years ago, while in college, she’d been approached by a scout for an off Broadway production. Trisha had been so excited and ready to go, but then Betty’s life had gone to hell in a hand basket and she’d known she couldn’t just leave her friend to pick up the pieces alone. She’d stayed and eventually Betty had met Gerard and left.

It wasn’t the same thing as what’d happened with Jacq, but it stung sometimes, how it felt like everyone she ever loved, left. She was trapped in Missouri, a place she hated, and no one really cared. Not even her parents who now lived in Destin, Florida.

“Oh, yeah…that’s right,” Betty’s voice rose with excitement, “Awesome. I’ve got to pick up Briley, he’s hanging out with Uncle Gerard and I today, maybe we can head over to the play. What’s the show by the way?”

“Peter Pan.” She studied her blunt nails. “Guess who’s Peter.”

Again there was another long pause. Then a burst of laughter. “Oh jeez, Trisha, you’re never going to believe…” There was some mumbling behind Betty that sounded faintly like Gerard’s shivery voice. The tone of it never failed to elicit a tingly sigh in response from Trisha. Not that she wanted Gerard, but French accents were all sorts of sexy. “Yeah, she’s playing Peter Pan,” Betty spoke to him. There was a strong bout of laughter and something that sounded suspiciously like “
Enfer
” before Betty returned to the line. “Okay, seriously we gotta chat. I’ll take Briley to the park later. Can we do lunch beforehand?”

“Umm…sure.”

What was so funny about playing Peter Pan? Women played that role in plays all the time.

“You wearing the costume?” Betty asked.

“Pretty much have to, part of the role you know.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Betty squealed. “Okay, what time?”

Her friend was acting weird. Which was kind of not all that uncommon. Betty was a geek with a capital G. How the two of them had ever found common ground Trisha would never know.

“Six.”

“Good. That’s enough time. Kisses,” Betty breathed and then the line went dead.

Lifting a brow, Trisha stared at the receiver. “Weirdo.”

~*~

Danika was sipping a cup of tea at her kitchen table when the bellowing sound of her name jerked her out of the seat. It was a voice she was coming to recognize.

The Huntsman. Ever since Ewan and Red had married, Danika hadn’t had a choice but to seek out a new tracker. Next to the big bad wolf, Huntsman was said to be the best. But he’d not come cheap.

Growling, she opened the door of her mushroom cap home. The glare of sunlight made her squint as she stared at the shadowy silhouette. Shading her eyes, she shook her head. “Huntsman?”

Dressed in buckskin and covered in scars, his steel blue eyes locked with her own. Brushing brown curls out of his face, he clipped his head. “Danika,” full lips pressed into thin slits as he took a step closer. “You asked me to keep watch on the harbor.” His thick Gaelic accent increased with obvious agitation. “The ship has sailed. Headed toward the Glen.”

Leaping into the air, she flew toward him. “Damn,” she sighed, “I believe he’s searching for Tink again. I must warn my sisters. Keep an eye on the ship. If he gets there before I do, let me know.”

With a nod of his head he vaporized, sifting into a million grains of fine sand before swirling out the door and disappearing into the air.

Straightening her vest, Danika rolled her eyes. “Bloody Hook.” Now her tea would grow cold. With a long-suffering sigh, she took off, but knew in her heart she’d probably be too late for a warning. She could only hope Hook wasn’t in a killing mood.

~*~