Page 44 of Pursued-

RACHEL

The men drink, talk, and laugh. They’re really pleased with themselves for having gotten me away from C Crue. Periodically, Alberto gives me an openmouthed kiss. I let him, numbly. I try several times to extract myself, but he drags me back to the couch, talking about the wedding, snapping selfies of us. I feel ill.

Eventually, my father grows tired and bored of it all. He gets up and intervenes. I know it’s not for my sake. He wants to talk to me alone. He’s said as much.

I don’t want to talk to him alone. I need to talk to Alberto alone.

“I’m going to bed,” Frank finally says. “Come on, Rachel. I’ll walk you up.”

“No, no. There’s been a lot of drama. I want her right here with me.” Alberto’s grip is hard enough to bruise my arm.

“Hey,” I say, grabbing his wrist. “That’s too tight.”

“There’s no such thing. I’m sure the Hulk’s rougher than me. That’s his thing, right?”

A heavy silence settles over the room.

Frank looks at Alberto and then at me. Suddenly, I’m not ready for Frank to leave.

“It’s late,” I say.

“Not that late. Not even midnight,” Alberto says.

“Goodnight,” Frank says.

“Dad—” I say.

“No, I’m tired,” he says, cutting me off. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” I say, but he shakes his head and walks out.

“You and me, princess,” Alberto hisses, placing a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek. The smell of stale alcohol is strong on his breath.

I jerk back. “That’s enough.” I get up, yanking my arm free. I get only two steps away before he knocks me down. Hard. I’m face down on the carpet, stunned from the force of the blow to my back. Dazedly, I realize he’s tearing at my clothes.

“Tell me,” he slurs. He turns me over and slaps me across the face.

I’m terrified and nauseous, but I don’t move or fight. A stillness settles over me. I’ve been in dangerous situations before. I think if I fight, it’ll fan the flames.

“Berto, babe, you’re drunk,” I say softly. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He’s breathing hard, and his head shakes. “No. You know what? Yeah, we will go upstairs. And you’ll do exactly what I say. Right?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah,” he says, getting up.

I’m shaking as I stand, but a little relieved that he let me defuse the situation. I start to walk. Then he shoves me against the wall, my head hitting it hard enough for the thud to echo in my ears. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth. Blood. I bit my tongue. I swallow, so close to being sick. My forehead hurts where it banged against the plaster.

He pushes his pelvis against my ass. Tears sting my eyes, but I stay still.

“Was he good? Were you a good little whore? The kind he likes?” His breath is rank, and it turns my stomach. I breathe open-mouthed as sweat pops up on my skin.

Tears spill over my lashes. “Do you even know where she is?” I whisper.

“Who?” he asks.

“My mom,” I say.