The General's Daughter (Snow and Ash #1) (5 page)

“You’re killing him!” calls another voice.

I hear a crack and a groan and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.

I’m so cold. So cold. So…

I’m out of it for a bit. I don’t think I pass out or anything. I’m just sort of not there. When I find myself wrapped in a blanket and lifted high against a wall of strength, I stare into a pair of gray eyes. Anger still lurks inside them, still dances in each twitch and blink, and I think to myself,
You know what? I wish it was me she killed.

Talon’s eyes widen and his lips part, and I realize I must have said it out loud. My head lolls to the side, and I see Dinner-Plate Hands seize my attacker and toss him over his shoulder. The guy’s eyes are wide and staring, endlessly staring, and I realize that Talon has killed him.

I’m not glad. I don’t feel guilty either. I’m just cold. So, so cold.

Talon sets me down on the lid of an olive-green toilet. Leaving the door propped open, he goes outside and uses a hand pump to fill several buckets, which he dumps into the stained bathtub. He’s quiet. In fact, he doesn’t even look at me, and I’m grateful for that. He starts a fire out there and heats a bunch more buckets of water. These too he dumps into the tub.

I think about Dad. If he finds out, he’ll probably kill me himself. God forbid that his precious little puppet be anything but pure. Or rather, that it gets out that I’m not. My face is sticky, my body is raw, and I want to throw up. And then I do, all over the faux-marble linoleum.

“I’m sorry.” I start crying again.

“It’s okay,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly gentle. He lifts me up and sets me on the cracked double-sink counter. I can smell it, the puke, and all I want to do is wake up and find out it’s yesterday.

Talon, ever the silent one except when he has something to say, cleans up my mess. Then he uses what smells like homemade alcohol to swab the area until not even a hint of stink remains.

I’m shaking, and I can’t think anything coherent. After the tub is half-full, Talon picks me up and stands me in the bath. When he takes the blanket away and spots the tattoo on my shoulder, he does a double take.

“Sit,” he commands.

I mean to, but I’m shaking too hard, and he has to help me or I’ll fall. I’m naked in front of my enemy, and he’s the only one who’s been kind to me in I don’t know how long.

The water is hot, almost too hot, and still my teeth chatter. He takes up a rag and begins washing away the blood. His touch is hesitant yet efficient. Respectful, even, and I’m not prepared for this. I grip the sides of the tub.

His brow creases. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He doesn’t look me in the eye, which is fine.

“It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

He darts me a look, then resumes stroking my breasts with the cloth. The water is turning a pale pink, what with all the blood.

“You had a boyfriend?” he asks.

“No. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“I guess it’s kind of hard when your dad’s so—”

“I lost my virginity to a trucker on I-79 the day after Mom died.”

He goes still only for a second, but I notice. I’ve shocked him. He’s cleaning my stomach now with slow, gentle sweeps. There’s nothing sexual about it, and I let him.

A question hovers between us. It burns hotter than the tail of a comet, and for some reason I need to talk about it.

“Mom died because of me. Your mom too, and Misty. I couldn’t spend even one more day as Ilsa Balenchuk. I hated her. I climbed out my bedroom window and I walked for hours until I hit the interstate, and then I hitched a ride. The guy was more than happy to pick me up.”

He’s cleaning the area between my legs now, and I’m nearly sick with shame. I know what he’s doing. Talon is washing away all evidence of the attack. And the way he’s doing it, he’s making me his. But he’s so practical about it. There’s not even a hint of lust or groping. I’m raw, my soul is bleeding, and I really want someone to take my shame away. God, I need it. I don’t know why it’s working, but it is.

He frowns. His lips pucker and twitch, but it’s a while before he finds words. “That trucker. Did he—”

I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. “He pulled the truck over, yanked me into the back, and raped me. I was a virgin, and he liked that.” I blink rapidly, remembering the pain, remembering my pleas.

“How did you get away?”

“I didn’t. Not for a while.”

The rag drops back into the water. “Why the fuck not?”

How can I explain it so that he can understand, when even I don’t? “He cuffed me to the backseat. Besides, I figured I deserved it.”

He retrieves the cloth and grips it like it’s a weapon, and when he recovers himself enough to scrub my back, it’s as though he’s scrubbing away sin. I try to understand, and all I can think is, to him, not running away is weak, and it makes me despicable. I don’t know. Maybe it does. I still think I deserved what I got. That time, and maybe even this time, too.

He tosses the cloth up onto the sink, rests his elbows on his knees, and squints at me. “Didn’t anyone try to help you?”

I shake my head, and I can’t look him in the eye so I stare at my fingernails. They are torn from when I’d scratched my attacker, and in some places they’re still bleeding. “With truckers, it’s like they have this code. You’ve got a teenage girl chained in the back of your truck? Way to go, bro!”

I’d tried a couple of times to get help, even cried and begged, but no one paid any notice. When you know there’s no hope at all and no one cares enough to save you, that’s one of the worst feelings.

He swears softly.

“A few weeks later he had a delivery up in Albany. Halfway there he pulled into some truck stop. He had a couple beers, took his usual fuck, and after that he passed out. But then this bus pulled in. It was one of those double-decker ones. A bunch of people got out and went inside to, I don’t know, use the bathroom, grab some snacks. No one was checking to see if they had a ticket when they got back on. I didn’t have any shoes, but I grabbed one of his T-shirts and pulled on my jeans—which hadn’t been washed in weeks, by the way.”

He nods once like he’s saying,
yeah, good move.

“I dug his folding knife out of his pocket. I was so scared. I kept waiting for him to wake up, but he didn’t. I wiped down the back of the truck so there wouldn’t be any prints, and then I slit his throat.
 
I slit his throat, Talon, and I crawled out of the truck and got on the bus.”

Talon goes still. “You killed him?”

Inhale. Exhale. “I went to the top level and ducked down between two rows. I knew—I just knew someone would find me there. But then the bus got moving and I sat in a seat like I was supposed to be there.
 
The whole time I was afraid someone would find the body and remember me, the girl he had with him, and the police would come after the bus. I kept looking for flashing lights.
 
I don’t know what I’d have done if that happened. Hell, I didn’t even know what I’d do if someone realized I didn’t have a ticket.
 
I couldn’t have paid for it.
 
All I had was a newfound skill for deep throat. I would have used it, too, if it meant getting away.”

“Lean back,” he says, and without question I obey. He scoops handfuls of water over my hair, and then he begins scrubbing. We don’t have any shampoo, not even a bar of soap, but the rough way he digs into my scalp makes me feel as though he is stripping away the filth. Not just the grease and the blood, but the stain of the assault. Tears leak from the sides of my eyes and back into my hair, but I stifle my sobs as best as I can. He washes those away too.

By the time Talon stands me up and uses the rough blanket to dry me off, everything I know about myself and the world has gone through a shift. The poles have flipped, Yellowstone has pulled back the ash, and God has called the Rapture. I feel almost clean.

Talon Heinseman is not my friend. But this is not the world I was raised in. The rules are new—brutal. The only person I can count on to help me is him, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him happy.

He doesn’t take me back to my room. Instead he takes me down the hall to the end bedroom. All there is in there is a freestanding coal heater and a bed. He sets me down and gives me the pillow. There is only one.

When he climbs in behind me, I go rigid as a corpse. “What are you doing?”

“You’re shivering. You’re still in shock.” His voice is gruff and, really, kind of scary. It’s the sort of tone that doesn’t encourage conversation, and it works. I remain quiet as he pulls me closer until I lay in the curve of his body.

I lie there, stiff and confused, long after his breathing settles into gentle snores. I’m glad not to go back to the other room, what with its shattered door and crushing memories. But it’s weird to be lying here with him. Even stranger is how safe I feel. I fall asleep finally, and when I wake up, I can feel his erection pressed against my backside. He’s spooning me, and his hand is cupping my breast. I know I should feel violated, but I don’t. I know I should push him away, but I can’t. It comforts me. This is entirely ridiculous, given what happened last night. I remain still, absorbing his warmth. His hand moves from my breast down to my belly, and the pressure feels nice. Without meaning to, I relax back into him, and soon I’m sleeping again.

Something soft lands on my head, and I awake with a gasp.

“You can put those on,” Talon says with a scowl. I pick up the bundle and hold it to my chest. Is he planning on watching? That bath was medicine. It was a Band-Aid. I wasn’t about to make getting naked in front of him a habit.

Talon blushes, actually blushes and takes a step back.

“I’ll be out here,” he says tersely. “You have two minutes.”

I’m sore. I really need to pee, but I don’t see a bucket anywhere. Does that cracked green toilet work? God, I hope so.

The clothes turn out to be snow cammies. I put on the pants even though they’re huge. I make do by cuffing them up and belting them as tightly as I can. I don the long-sleeve knit shirt and knot it at the side, then shove my arms into the snow-cammie button-up. I look stupid. I don’t need a mirror to tell me this. But maybe this will make me look sexless enough that no one will look at me and want to…

It’s a long way from the green silk dress I wore my last night on the mountain, but there are socks, which makes me about as happy as I’ve been since I got here. I hate cold feet.

Talon is leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets when I emerge. He cocks his head.

“No more running away.” His voice is flat, but the command is there.

I nod.

“Wherever I go, you come with me. I don’t want any more of your shit. Understand?”

It’s like listening to my father, and I find myself slipping into the familiar role of Obedient One. The corners of my mouth lift slightly and I nod, but I blur my eyes so I don’t actually have to
be
in the moment.

Talon grunts, pushes himself off the wall, and strides down the hallway.

“Talon.”

He stops, but he doesn’t turn. “What?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

He sighs. “We really aren’t equipped—”

“That’s okay. I just want to be—you know. Private. As I can be, anyway.”

His face falls. He looks away and his mouth twitches, and for a minute it seems like he’s going to apologize. But he doesn’t. He purses his lips, picks me up, and carries me outside. Because, of course, I have no shoes.

Outside!

I’ve never been happier to feel the chill wind bite my cheeks. My throat closes up, and I remain silent as Talon carries me to the pit they’ve set up for their bathroom needs.

He makes a show of turning around and folding his arms across his chest. I quickly do my business, wincing at the soreness in my muscles. I’m not new to the feeling. Rough handling always leaves me bruised. I learned from the trucker to dread the next morning.

Once back in the trailer, which by the way looks like it’s been attacked by a rust monster, he sets me down and leads me to the kitchen. Two other men are in the room. Dinner-Plate Hands stares curiously as Talon ladles sticky oatmeal into a dish. He avoids making eye contact with me.

The one with the blond hair makes a show of
thunking
his cup down on a rickety side table. “What, she’s our guest now?”

“She’s mine,” Talon says levelly.

“That’s bull—”

Talon rounds on the guy and slams his hand on the table. “No one kills her unless it’s me. No one fucks her unless it’s me. Anyone who wants to mess with her is going to have to go through me. Do you understand?”

Blondie takes a step back. “Sure, man. I didn’t mean anything.”

His bald companion spits out a sigh, slips on his hat, and gets to his feet. “I think I’ll go to the shit pit.”

Later that day when Talon brings my hiking shoes into the room, my heart takes off like an Olympic triathlete at the finish line.

“Not so fast,” he says when I reach for them. “I keep them when we’re not going outside.”

I’m no longer plotting my escape, but disappointment stabs me in the kidneys. I’m quick to hide how much that bothers me with a nod and a complacent blink. But when I try to do up the laces, my hands shake. I know he can see this, but he doesn’t say anything.