Stud for Hire (13 page)

“Get in the truck, Hanna.”

She frowned at Zack, her fiancé. Soon he would have the right to order her around.

But not yet.

She took a step toward Logan. Just to explain. Just to say good-bye.

Zack bristled. His hold on her tightened. “Get in the truck, Hanna. We're leaving.”

“Hanna, don't get in the truck,” Logan called. As he came even with Cody, his friend, sensing the danger, caught him by the arm. Logan wrenched free, but Cody grabbed him again and held him back, murmuring in his ear.

Logan's expression was fierce, every muscle straining to free himself from his friend's hold.

Time seemed to slow down. Everything in Hanna screamed that she go to Logan. Run. Her muscles bunched to do just that.

“Get in the truck, Hanna, or I swear, by all that is holy, I'll kill him.” Zack's low hiss sent a cold shiver down her spine. She looked at him, took in his hard fury. She knew he had a right to be angry. And beyond that, she knew, with chilling realization, if she didn't obey him now, he would hurt Logan—and possibly worse.

She couldn't bear that. She couldn't bear Logan being hurt because of her.

She had to go with Zack. She knew she did.

She shot one last lingering glance at Logan, and then got into the truck. If she didn't go, and go now, this would only get worse. Get nastier. Get violent. And Logan might pay the price for her folly.

Besides that, she owed Zack an explanation. She needed to get him away from this volatile situation so they could speak peacefully.

He came around the front of the truck, glowering at the assemblage, and then hopped in the driver's side, gunned the engine, and spun around in a shower of gravel.

In the rearview mirror, Hanna saw her sister burst from the ranch house and run after them, but her progress slowed as the rough gravel bit into her bare feet. Cody and Logan stood in the yard, face-to-face, yelling, Logan still struggling to break free. He hauled off and slugged Cody, who responded with a punch to the gut that had Logan doubling over and falling to his knees.

And that was the last glimpse she got of him, her wonderful, adorable two-night stand. Logan on his knees, watching her leave with an anguished look on his face.

***

“Damn it, Logan. I'm sorry for punching you.” Cody dragged his fingers through his hair. “But Zack was furious. He would have killed you.”

Anguish twisted Logan's bowels. He'd gotten a look at Zack's face. He knew the bastard was furious. And yeah, no doubt he would have tried to kill Logan. He'd tried to before and he'd failed. He would have failed again this time. “And what about Hanna?” Logan spat. “What about her? You let him take her.”

“He's her fiancé. He won't hurt her.”

“Won't he?” Panic clouded his vision. He knew Zack Pucey. They all did. While Cody didn't know what he had tried to do once in high school, Logan did.

Hanna was in danger.

He had to get to her.

“Give me your keys.” While he'd been down on the ground, Cody had snatched them from him.

“No.”

“Give me your goddamn keys!”

Cody frowned at him. “We'll go together. Wait while I get dressed.”

“Damn it, move! They're getting away.”

“We know where they're going, Logan. Calm down.” Still, Cody sprinted up the stairs into the house and returned moments later with his jeans on and his boots in his hands.

When they climbed into the truck, Sidney, dressed in her yoga pants and a cami, hopped into the backseat. “Where the hell do you think you're going?” Cody roared.

“She's my sister,” Sidney snapped. “I'm going too.”

And because he didn't want to waste any more time arguing, Logan started the truck.

They flew down the gravel track and onto the highway, heading for Hanna's home. It was only thirty miles, but it seemed to take forever, even though he sped like a wild man.

His gut clenched when they arrived to find she wasn't there. No one was.

“Damn it. He must have taken her to his place,” Cody growled. They roared back onto the highway and headed for town, only slowing when they hit the city limits, because the last thing Logan wanted right now was to get pulled over by the sheriff.

He'd had enough of small-town sheriffs to last a lifetime.

It was agony driving through the deserted streets of Snake Gully, passing the old five-and-dime and the FoodWay and the feed store and the diner where he'd had his first job. There were cars in the parking lot of the church. On Sunday morning, that was where most of the town would be.

It was all so familiar . . . and yet not.

He hadn't been back since that horrible night.

He'd vowed never to return. Nothing could have enticed him to. Nothing but Hanna.

He pulled into the driveway of the big house, the one at the far end of town, the one he'd always hated, festooned with fancy curlicues and painted a brash white. It looked less imposing than he remembered.

Though there was no truck in the driveway, he stalked up to the door with Cody at his side, and pounded.

But when the housekeeper answered the door, she insisted neither Hanna nor Zack were there.

They drove all over town, scoured the countryside for the better part of the day, and never found them.

Logan's gut was in a knot. He knew she was in danger . . . again. And this time, he wouldn't be there to save her.

Zack was silent as they sped down the country road to the highway. He took the turn too sharply and Hanna was flung against the passenger door. “Please slow down, Zack.”

“Shut up.”

“Zack . . .”

“Just shut up.” He pressed down hard on the accelerator and the truck surged forward. Hanna decided to do as he said and hold her tongue, lest he, in his fury, kill them both. But when they passed the turnoff for her home and he didn't take it, she couldn't remain silent.

“Zack, where are we going?”

He glared at her.

“I want to go home.”

“I don't give a shit what you want, Hanna.”

“Look. Zack. I'm sorry about . . . well, about what happened. I understand if you want to end our engagement.”

He laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. “Oh no, honey. It ain't that easy. You're still marrying me. The only difference is, we ain't waiting for the honeymoon.”

Something cold curled in her belly.

“What-what do you mean?”

He turned on a small dirt road. He didn't slow his speed, so they hit all the ruts and she bounced around like a Mexican jumping bean. He turned onto another road, one even narrower than the last, and screeched to a stop amid a thick stand of trees.

He switched off the truck and turned to her.

The look in his eye made her mouth go dry.

“I mean, we ain't gonna wait. I swear to God, Hanna. For seven years I've wanted you. For seven years I've treated you like a fucking princess. Convinced that you were too all high-and-mighty pure for a man like me. To discover you've been whoring around with someone like Logan Landry . . .” Zack snorted. His eyes blazed with a frightening fervor. His menace enveloped her like a cloud. “I knew I should have killed him that night,” he spat.

Hanna's pulse lurched. “What night? What are you talking about?”

“Don't play games with me, missy. Do you think I don't remember?” He scooted across the bench seat. She backed up against the door, but there was no escape from his hot breath and he loomed nearer.

Oh, she'd made an error coming with him today. There was no doubt about that. Now all she could do was try to escape.

She reached for the door handle. He grabbed her wrist in a tight hold, so tight it hurt. She tried to break free, but would sooner break her wrist.

She knew this look in his eyes. She'd seen it before. That night . . .

A long submerged memory bobbed to the surface, blurry and disjointed, but the gist of it was clear and her blood went cold.

God. That night.

That night behind the school after the spring dance when he'd told her he had something to show her. When he'd led her under the bleachers and then tried to—

She couldn't think of it. She couldn't. The fear would paralyze her.

She stiffened her spine, and searched her memory, trying to recall what she'd learned in the self-defense courses she'd taken.

“Don't . . . don't remember what?” she asked, hoping to distract him with conversation, hoping to find an opening for escape.

“Right . . .” He reached over her shoulder and locked the door—though it was hardly necessary. He took her chin in his hand, a savage grip, and forced her to look at him. There would be a bruise tomorrow, no doubt. “Tell me you don't remember that it was Logan Landry who interfered that night after the dance . . .”

Hanna froze. The memory came wafting back, in tiny, disjointed ribbons.

Zack had been drunk, although she hadn't realized how drunk until he had pinned her against the wooden wall beneath the bleachers. Until he'd grabbed her breasts in a painful grasp and shoved his hand up her skirt. Shock and revulsion had stunned her senses, slowed her defensive responses.

Get away from her,
a voice had warbled. Not a man's voice. Not Logan's voice, certainly. And then, when Zack merely snarled a response, someone had ripped him off her. The sound of flesh thudding against flesh echoed, and Zack had fallen, clenching his gut and vomiting.
Are you all right?
An echo. A dream.
Are you all right?

Oh. God.
It had been. It had been Logan . . .

Her heart stuttered. She looked up at Zack. His features were a twisted mask. “Yeah. I see you remember now. He panted after you like a pup all through high school. If he hadn't left town after that night, I
would
have killed him.”

“I didn't know. I didn't realize.”

He loomed closer. Her hand on his chest had no effect. He pulled it away and twisted it painfully. She cried out, but he ignored her. “And you fucked him. You fucked him. Gave him what I've been waiting so goddamn patiently for.” His breath was sour, his words wrapped in spittle. “Well, now I'm done waiting.”

And then he took hold of her blouse, and ripped.

Horror skewered her as the fabric gave way in a shower of buttons and her unfettered breasts fell out. How she wished she'd taken the time to put on her bra. It would have given her just a little more armor. He, likely, would have barreled through that as well.

As it was, his eyes glazed over, his jaw went slack. He grasped her breasts in both hands and squeezed. Then he took her nipples into his mouth and sucked.

Her gorge rose, and with it, panic, because his fingers fumbled for the snap of her jeans.

Everything in her rebelled.

No
, her soul screamed.
No. No. No
.

He shifted his position to get a better hold on her, draping one leg over her thigh, and she saw her opportunity. God help her if this move didn't work. He was too close, and nearly on top of her. Most of the moves she'd learned in that long-ago self-defense class wouldn't work this close, but, hopefully, this one would.

He rose up a fraction as he fiddled with the snap on his jeans and she took her shot, angling her leg back and then slamming it, with all her might, into his crotch.

It was like smacking cement, but her blow must have hit its mark.

His eyes crossed and he wheezed out a pained breath and slumped down on top of her.

She knew she didn't have much time. If he recovered himself, he would be an enraged bull. She needed to get out of the truck and into the woods before he could follow.

But he was heavy.

And he lay on top of her.

She reached behind her head and unlocked the door, pulled the handle, and let herself fall.

Hell, she didn't care. All she wanted, all she needed, was to get away.

As she slipped from the truck onto the hard ground, he slumped with her as well, though the bulk of his body was still braced on the bench seat. She wriggled away, despite his grasping, flailing hands.

“Goddamn-b-bitch!” he snarled. “Come back here.”

Come back here?

Not. A. Fucking. Chance.

Hanna lurched up to her feet and scanned the woods. And then sprinted for cover.

The ground was hard on her bare feet. Sticks and rocks and ruts gouged at her, but she didn't stop. She launched herself into the brush and ran. She ran and ran, until she had no more breath.

Then she dropped into a gully and hid under a leafy bush.

She could hear him snarling and swearing and bellowing as he hunted for her.

Eventually the sounds abated. But it wasn't until she heard him start the truck and spin away, and perhaps long after that, that she emerged and made her labored way back to the highway, skirting the road near the brush in case he came back.

Though she was battered and ravaged and tired beyond belief, though tears coursed down her cheeks, one emotion reigned supreme.

Relief.

Relief that she'd escaped, certainly. But something deeper still.

She was
not
marrying Zack Pucey.

Not if the fate of the world depended upon it.

As for her father and his debt . . . she'd worry about that tomorrow.

***

It was dark by the time she reached the long drive of the family ranch. Though joy swept through her at the sight of the familiar house in the distance, every muscle ached. And though she longed to reach those welcoming lights in the distance, she moved slowly. Her feet were cut and bleeding and each step was a trial.

Oh, why hadn't she thought to slip on some shoes before she left her bedroom at Cody's place? Of course, she hadn't expected she'd be walking miles back home.

She hadn't thought to grab her cell phone either.

And though the occasional car had passed her on the road, she hadn't wanted to wave one down, with her shirt ripped open as it was.

God knew, she didn't want to jump from the frying pan into the fire.

And she certainly didn't want Zack to find her.

So whenever she heard an engine approach, she left the road and hunkered in the brush until it passed. As a result, it had taken her all day to make it this far. She was tired, thirsty, and heartsick. She'd had plenty of time to think about how she would tell her father that she'd gone and ruined everything.

Zack would, no doubt, evict them on Monday morning, as soon as he could get the paperwork together.

She hobbled up the porch steps, wincing at the sight of the bloody footprints she left. She eased open the door and peered inside. The television was on, droning softly in the sitting room. Mom loved the sound of it, though she rarely really watched any more. Dad was in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone.

Hanna made her way to the bathroom off the foyer as quietly as she could and pulled out the first aid kit, quickly cleaning and wrapping her feet. It wouldn't do to track blood all over the floor. Although why she cared, she didn't know. It would be Zack's house tomorrow.

She grabbed a sweater from the hook by the door and pulled it on over her tattered blouse and then tiptoed into the sitting room. Each step made her wince. As usual, Mom sat in her favorite chair with a pile of knitting in her lap. She didn't knit anymore, but she liked having it there.

When Hanna bent and kissed her on the top of her head, she looked up and smiled.

They were lucky, the doctors had told them. She was pleasant.

She was always pleasant.

Mom hadn't been pleasant before; she'd been a termagant. Before her illness had struck, she would have chased Henry Stevens around the house with a broomstick if he'd had the temerity to miss a mortgage payment.

But now she smiled and patted Hanna's hand. “Well, hello, dear,” she said.

“Hi, Mom.”

The smile remained. She brushed a graying strand from her cheek. “Are you here to see Henry?”

“No, Mom. I live here.”

“Oh.” A flicker of confusion wafted over her face. She looked at Hanna as though she didn't quite believe her, but only responded with, “Well, that's nice. I don't know where Henry is right now.”

“He's in the kitchen, Mom. On the phone.”

“Ah. He'll be back soon, then.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Well, that's nice.” She picked up her knitting and studied it for a moment—a scarf she'd been working on for five years or so—and then set it back down in her lap with a sigh. “Are you here to see Henry?”

Hanna swallowed. She knew better than to fight it. She didn't know why she tried. She forced a smile. “No, Mom. I live here.” She had. For her entire life. And tomorrow they would have nowhere to go, unless they all went to live with Sidney in her tiny apartment above a Chinese restaurant in Dallas.

“Oh.”

Hanna rubbed her shoulder and glanced at the television. The news was on. In the old days, Mom would never have watched the news. She hated it. She'd always hated it. Especially this channel. Hanna picked up the remote and changed the channel until she found the one with pictures of waterfalls and mountains and elevator music in the background.

“Well,” Mom said. “That's nice.” She glanced up at Hanna and smiled. “Are you here to see Henry?”

Hanna blew out a sigh. “Yes, Mom.” She dropped another kiss on her mother's head. “I am.”

And she headed for the kitchen.

Somehow she had to tell her father everything had gone awry.

He glanced up, cell phone to his ear. When he saw her, his jaw went slack. “Holy God, Hanna. No. No. She's here. She just walked in the door. Yeah. Thanks.” He punched the button to disconnect the call and came around the table, studying her, up and down, taking in the bandaged feet, the tangled hair, the tear in her jeans. “Hanna. Hanna.” He yanked her into his arms and held her tight. Then he pulled back and glared at her. “We've been worried sick. Where the hell have you been?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but a swirl of dizziness took her. She licked her lips and said, “I need some water.”

He sat her at the table, scurried over to the sink, and filled her a glass from the tap. She almost smiled. She'd never seen him scurry before. He let her finish the glass and refilled it again before he sat beside her and repeated his question. “Where have you been? Sidney, Cody, and Logan have been by three times looking for you. They said there was something with Zack?”

“About that. Dad . . . I can't marry Zack.”

His eyes narrowed. His gaze raked her. He paled. His fingers clenched. “Why, that son of a bitch. I'll kill him.” He shot to his feet. The chair scraped across the linoleum. “I'll wring his scrawny neck. Where's my gun?”

“Dad.” Her sharp tone caught his attention. He stilled. Sat. This time across from her.

“First of all, his neck is not all that scrawny. Second of all, the last thing I need now, on top of everything else, is a father in prison.”

“Did he hurt you? Because I'll call Bret back right now and have that son of a bitch thrown in the clink.” Ah. So he'd been on the phone with the sheriff. “I don't care who his father is or how much money those sons of bitches have. I'll see him rot—”