Page 18 of The Rowdy Ones

I feel my way up what must be his shoulder to his face. It’s sweaty and clammy. My fingers drift to his hair that’s wet from perspiration.

“What can I do?” I ask, stroking my fingers through his hair. “Need me to get some water?”

“No,” he rasps out.

I relax on the pillow beside him and continue the comforting touches on his scalp, hoping to calm the inner torment he’s no doubt dealing with. “Is this okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

I’m not sure how long I do this for, but it seems to make him happy, so I keep it up. Finally, after what feels like a quiet eternity, he speaks.

“It was awful,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “So fucking awful. I froze, Dez.”

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “You’re away from him now. You’re safe.”

He reaches for my hand that’s touching him. “I fucked up earlier. I’m sorry. How’s your wrist?”

I’d been so upset with him after the incident this afternoon, but I’m having trouble remembering the anger in this moment.

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “You were being ridiculous, but that’s okay. I know you feel bad and that’s all that matters.”

His hand slides back down between us and he sighs heavily. “Today was hard.”

For him. For me it was one of my best in a long time.

“I know. Tomorrow will be better.”

He doesn’t respond with words but a soft snore instead. And now that I know he’s going to be okay, I drift off to sleep too.

I wake to the bed shifting. It takes a moment to remember where I’m at. The RV. With Rowdy. Not in the woods with Jace. Rowdy grunts as he heaves something away from him. On instinct, I reach for him to calm him again. My fingers skim over bare, hard muscle. A finger dips into a depression of what must be his bellybutton.

“It’s hot,” he grumbles sleepily.

It’s not hot, but he’s feeling bad, so I’ll give him a pass. I’m cold, actually, and wriggle around until I’m under the covers. Then, because I want his warmth, I curl close to him without touching him so I don’t make him hotter than he already is.

He goes back to breathing heavily, a sure sign he’s gone to sleep. The sound is soothing and I follow him shortly after.

Don’t touch me.

I can’t say the words to him because he gets mean when I fight back. It’s best to pretend along with him. I’m his “wife” and he “loves” me.

I hate him.

With every fiber of my body.

Jace, despite raping me every day, is gentle. He kisses me in places that sometimes make my pulse race. I’m ashamed of that want burning deep inside me. His tongue does things to me that I simultaneously hate and love. Even though it feels good at times, I hold back. Just enough. I feel as though he wants my body to perform in some way for him, but I have at least that much control.

He’ll never get that from me.

When he’s inside me, it hurts, but it’s always over pretty quickly. The sign to know it’s ending is his grunting, uneven thrusts, and then the gush of heat that pours inside me. And then, as though we’re lovers, he cleans me up and praises me.

It’s far different than the sounds I hear coming from Logan and Ronan’s tent.

Painful rape. Sobs. Begging for it to stop. The lashing of a belt or a hand in punishment. It’s horrible. While I hate Jace and being his sex captive, I could have it worse.

The thrusting ends and Jace stills. His slobbery mouth kisses mine, but I don’t reciprocate. I lie here like a lifeless doll until it’s over. My mind drifts to other happier places like my parents and home as he swipes away the mess he’s left between my crudely spread legs. Then he pulls me to him, locking me in his arms, our naked bodies pressed together, and holds me tight while he sleeps.

I hate him and this life. I want it all to end.