The Replacement (14 page)

“What? No.”

He quietly rises back to his feet, and his stare rains down on me. It burns me, singeing my flesh. I hate him for what he’s calling Tee. I hate him for accusing me of something that’s shameful in his eyes. And I hate him the most for what he’s doing to my mother.

My bottom lip begins to tremble and my whole body stiffens under his appraisal. “Why are you saying these things?”

“Because they’re true! You’re a bad girl, Elise. Do you know your mother gave up her perfect body for you? When you were in her womb, I could barely look at her. But she worked hard, said
‘darling, I’m going to be beautiful again soon, just for you.’
” He finally breaks his stare and looks across the room, as if he’s searching for something. “And she was, Elise. She was beautiful again. She worked hard, put herself back together again, and then…” his words trail away as he shakes his head.

“She still is beautiful,” I say, knowing my words are risky. I swallow down the fear, because the truth is important.

My father’s eyes widen a fraction, his chin slowly tilting as he brings his cold stare back to the mirror, where he takes my gaze ransom.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound invades again, but I push it out, enthralled by his eyes and his words.

“
You
are beautiful,” he insists, crouching back down to lean in to me. “You, my dear, are perfection. You can have any man you want, do you know that?” The air goes ice cold. His fingers brush lightly over my cheekbone, slipping into the tips of my loose, blonde curls. “But you’re rotten inside. You’re your mother’s cancer.”

“No,” I whimper, chills running sharply down my spine as his fingers roll down my locks and land on the back of my neck. “That’s not true.”

“You’re responsible for what you’ve taken from your mother now, Elise. Don’t waste her beauty, do you understand? She passed it on to you, my dear. Harness it,” he lets go of my hair and rises, his stance rigid, “and own it.”

My entire frame is quivering now, the shaking causing my teeth to chatter. “I don’t understand.”

A small, mocking smile twists his lips, and I bite down on my lip to restrain the terror coursing through my veins. This man is relishing in my discomfort. He is not my father. I don’t know this man. I’ve always known him to be nasty when he drinks, but this…this is something else.

“You’ve never been with a man, have you, Elise?”

I blanch at his question, my shoulders caving forward as I work to hold myself upright on the vanity stool. My stuttering is uncontrollable. “Nnnoo—no.”

“
Mmm
.” He nods slightly, eyes dropping to my chest, lingering until my skin crawls. They glaze over with something perverse, and I squirm away from his appraisal. “When you’re with a man, you will. You’ll see.” He breaks his stiff stance and turns, his limbs loosening as he staggers away toward my bedroom door. He mumbles incoherently and disappears, and the sound finally breaks through.

Tap, tap, tap.

I gasp and jolt upright in my bed. I’m 23, not 17, and I’m in my own apartment, not my old bedroom back on Blackbird Lane. My skin is drenched with sweat and my chest is heaving with the memories of that night, when my father poisoned me. It was also the night I’d slipped out my bedroom window to sleep over at Tee’s house. She’d stayed up with me until 3 a.m., feeding me soup and hot chocolate to calm my nerves.

That weekend I’d lost my virginity to Riley Donovan.

He’d told me I was good at giving head—the best he’d ever had—and I believed him. It was like winning a metal. A weight was lifted and I could breathe again, but that didn’t last long. Mom grew sicker and I was consumed with graduating. It didn’t leave much time for boys. Before I knew it, I’d walked the stage and Tee had moved away, and that’s when the real search for redemption began—the quest to expel the same vileness in me that made my mother sick.

College. Beginning with Skyler Marks, from English Composition.

On and on my conquests went, until I dropped out of college and moved on to more local pickings while I worked at Stella’s.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound is still light, but more pronounced now—a knocking, I think. I scramble from bed and brush my matted hair away from my forehead, reaching over the nightstand for the alarm clock. Two o’clock p.m.

“Shit.” I tear across the bedroom to my front door. The tapping stops as I open up, and overcast light hits me, causing me to wince.

“Elise,” Ryder says breathily, eyeing me up and down in concern. “What the hell…are you okay?” He makes a move for me but I back up, working to cover myself. It’s pretty useless. I’m in my usual sleeping attire: tank top and panties.

“Hey,” I reply, my voice coarse. “I’m sorry, I…I don’t know how I slept so late. I took a nap and…”

“It’s okay,” he says warily, glancing inside my apartment. “Are you feeling okay? Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” I step aside and he hesitantly strides inside, his cautious gaze raking over me. “Jesus, you’re sweating.” He steps toward me in a flash, his hands reaching for my shoulders.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking, too. Elise? What’s going on?”

I pull away from his grasp, clearing my throat. “I need some water, do you want anything?”

“Huh? No.” He watches me as I walk to the kitchen for a bottle of water. I crack the lid and chug it quickly, taking the whole thing down in a few gulps. The empty plastic crackles in my hand, stabbing at the quiet space. “Hey, if you’re not feeling well, we don’t have to do this today.”

“No,” I set the empty bottle down and turn to face his direction, unable to fix my gaze on him, “I want to go. Just give me a few minutes to get ready.”

“Okay…”

I walk to the bedroom and shut the door, bee lining it for the shower. I emerge fifteen minutes later, feeling fresher and more alert. My wet hair is tied up into a smooth bun and my face is bare, but my clothes are crisp and neat and my mind is less foggy.

“Sorry to keep you waiting like this. I hate to make us late for Thanksgiving dinner. Where are we going? Is what I’m wearing okay?”

Ryder’s eyes scan my cranberry red boat-neck sweater and dark jeans with a nod. “You look gorgeous. Of course, whatever you want to wear is fine.”

I nod stiffly and drink in his carefree flannel and jeans, pausing when my eyes land on his boots. “Do you plan on hiking or something?” I laugh lightly, feeling like my sense of humor has finally returned since waking from my nightmare.

“Not exactly,” he answers, his features relaxing a bit. “Why, would you like me to take you on a Thanksgiving Day hike?”

“Not exactly,” I drawl, lifting my bag from the kitchen counter. “You ready?”

“Sure.” He waits for me to join him and we walk down to his Jeep, where he opens the passenger door.

“How gentlemanly of you,” I croon with a playful smile. He grins back and that dimple is medicinal, like a syringe drawing the tension from my body.

“Don’t be fooled,” he winks before shutting the door, “I’m not always a gentleman.”

Now that, I don’t doubt.

Maybe it’s his calloused hands, distressed leather belt, or the fine veil of stubble covering his jaw, but something about Ryder tells me he knows how to get his hands dirty, and his manners aren’t always in check.

A fine shiver runs down my spine as I watch his confident stride to the other side of the Jeep. He gets in and his woodsy scent engulfs me as he starts the ignition. We drive for about twenty minutes, making small talk and casually flipping through radio stations when it hits me that we’re not approaching a neighborhood, but a campground.

“Uh…so you really are taking me for a Thanksgiving Day hike?” I look at him in surprise, not at all prepared for a romp in the mountains. I’m still recovering from my dream and the fact that I slept straight through my alarm this afternoon, not to mention the fact that my black heeled booties aren’t very proper for a hike in the woods.

“Before you panic,” he says, parking the Jeep and leaning across me to reach the glove compartment, “shut your eyes.”

“Shut my eyes?”

“You heard me.”

I do as he says and can’t help the smile that’s forming on my lips. I can hear the smile in his voice and his closeness is causing all of my muscles to lock up. As I hear him open the glove box, I’m swamped with the realization that I want him to kiss me again, the way he did the night of the festival.

But that was a first kiss and I ruined it, and Nate’s fingerprints are still branded on my skin.

I hear the rustling of a bag and a soft snap, and then something is touching my lips, but it’s not Ryder’s mouth. It’s sweet and salty and divine. “Open,” Ryder says patiently, his tone smooth like silk. My lips part and my tongue is met with luscious chocolate tinged with sea salt. I purr in satisfaction and his finger slides the piece of heaven further onto my tongue. “Nice?”

“
Mmmm
,” I hum, more enthusiastically now. “Oh my God…so good.”

“You can open now.”

I allow my eyes to drift open, and I’m greeted with his, dark as the chocolate melting in my mouth. I swallow and feel my eyelashes flutter with his closeness, his face just inches from mine.

“I don’t believe you, though,” he says. He tilts his head slightly. “I need to taste for myself.”

A hot rush of breath hits my lips and his mouth presses down onto mine. I melt into the seat, my muscles relaxing from his touch. This is nothing like the first kiss. I lean into it, let him draw me into his warmth. The driver’s seat groans as he shifts, cradling my neck and jaw with his rough hands. Our tongues meet and glide, mixing and exchanging the remnants of chocolate, and I moan into his mouth, absorbing the taste.

“Elise,” he whispers against me, deepening the kiss. I fall into him, everything plummeting like there’s nothing left to live for and today is the apocalypse. My hand finds and unclicks my seatbelt, then his, and then I’m lifting myself from the passenger seat to slide over the console and onto his lap. He pants as he accepts me, a low groan sounding from deep in his throat. It’s like a grenade in the quiet car, fueling my desire.

I slip my thighs over him, straddling him in the driver’s seat. My hand slips down his chest and grabs one of his, guiding it to my breast. His head falls back against the headrest as I devour him, and he squeezes, rolling his thumb around and around, moaning in satisfaction. Things are spiraling out of control fast, but his touch is so gentle, so patient, like he’s touching glass. I’m breakable to him, but the pressure is firm and certain.

It makes me want him even more.

My hands glide over his hard abdomen and find their way under his shirt, fumbling with his belt buckle. I’ll ride him right here if he’ll let me.

“Wait,” he breathes, dropping a hand to his belt.

“I got it,” I say, undoing the loop. “Keep touching me.” I continue undoing his belt while I reach back with my free hand to loosen my hair tie, letting my wet hair fall around my shoulders. I feel naked already, with no powder on my nose or mascara coating my lashes. My hair isn’t blown out to perfection, and my lips are natural, but I’m raw and open to him, and it makes me brave.

“Elise, not yet.” He smiles against my mouth and brings his head forward, his breathing labored. “I owe you dinner, beautiful.”

“I don’t want food.” I roll my hips to meet his erection and his head snaps back, smacking the headrest.

“Shit, baby, you’re killing me here.”

“So quit struggling.” I lean down and bite his neck, dragging his flesh sharply through my teeth.

He groans. “I don’t have anything in here.”

“In my bag.” I blindly feel my way to the passenger seat for my purse, digging out a condom.

He lets me tear at the wrapper for a second before snatching it from my hand. “Elise, I really want to give you that meal.”

I stop kissing him, pulling back to search his eyes for traces of evidence of sarcasm, but I only find sincerity. Our chests rise and fall against each other as our breathing slows, and I slowly shift off of his lap, lazily sliding back into the passenger seat. My head rolls toward him. “You have the restraint of a saint.”

“You have a sinful body. There are too many things I want to do to it to qualify as saintly.”

“Well, we can’t all keep our wings clean.”

“My wings are black when I’m near you.”

“You’re in luck.” I straighten my sweater and sit up. “My wings are black all the time.”

He huffs in amusement and adjusts himself, securing his belt buckle and tucking the condom in his pocket. His humor fades for a second as he looks out the dash window, then sends me a side glance. “You ready for that meal?”

“Sure, why not?” He helps me out from the Jeep and I register our surroundings, surveying the pitched tent and camping gear, all piled up and arranged at the side of the tent. There’s no one else in sight. “Where is everyone? Are you camping all alone out here?”

“I live here.”

“You what?” I blink as we stand in front of the large tent, shivering from the harsh whip of the wind.