Rebecca got up slowly, the brandy and lack of food making her head swim. The sounds were coming from the kitchen. With quiet steps she advanced.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing!?” Rage overcame good sense upon entering the room, flipping on the lights, and finding three figures in black hoodies. One stood by the door, presumably keeping watch. Another was emptying the wall safe where the petty cash was stored – the lock lay uselessly on the floor. And the third, she discovered too late, was only a foot to her right.
Without warning something hit her from the side, making the entire right side of her face explode in pain. Rebecca stumbled a few steps in a dazed stupor, the taste of blood growing rapidly in her mouth.
“Fuck!” exclaimed a muffled male voice.
The one who stood by the door came over to her then. Rebecca struggled to get a good look, but something warm and sticky was running into her eyes, obscuring her vision. A sharp, splitting pain hit her hip, then her ribs, right before someone’s weight came down on her ankle. She screamed, or tried to, before a heavy weight settled on her chest. One gloved hand was pressed down hard on her face, another across her neck to restrict her air flow.
The figure shifted; a knee pressed hard into her ribs where she had been kicked. Rebecca fought to breathe through the pain, at least until she felt rough hands grappling with the fastenings of her jeans. She started bucking with renewed fervor.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The familiar, muffled voice came from the other side of the room. It sounded angry.
“Just having a little fun,” answered the intruder currently holding her down. She didn’t know that voice, but she would remember it in her nightmares. Her blouse was ripped down the middle, exposing her bra. The snap of her Levi’s was undone, the zipper was down. The man on top of her was struggling to pull them down over her ample hips.
“No.” It was a command, not a request. One the would-be rapist chose to ignore until the sound of a gun being cocked rang out in the kitchen. “I said no.”
After a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, the assailant mumbled a few choice curses but complied, making sure he used all of his substantial weight when he pushed himself off of her. The moment his hand left her mouth she started screaming.
“Shut her the fuck up!” commanded the voice, distorted but still vaguely familiar. She heard the sound of a drawer opening, and the tear of duct tape a moment before it was placed over her mouth.
“It won’t stick,” someone said breathlessly as she struggled. “Too much blood.”
“Fuck it. We’re done here anyway.”
“You weren’t supposed to be here,” someone whispered in her ear, sounding strangely apologetic. It was the second time she’d heard that sentiment in the past few hours, and some part of her wondered just where exactly she was supposed to be. It was the last thought she had before she felt one more blinding pain on the side of her head and fell into the blackness.
Chapter Thirteen
Kane made it a point to avoid Pine Ridge since he’d taken Rebecca back. It was better that way, and definitely more in line with the way things had been – before.
Kane liked his privacy. He liked doing what he wanted when he wanted to do it, without questions, without interference. At the Pub, there was always someone around. Wondering what he was doing. Asking how he was. Making small talk. Who needed that shit?
And the noise, dear God, the noise. At least his cabin was quiet. Down in Pine Ridge, someone was always talking. Or the kids were laughing. Or crying. There was always a television on somewhere. Or a radio. Or something.
No, he was much better off on his own. Where he could sit in peace and remember how Rebecca looked curled up in that big chair by the fire. He could let his eyes glaze over without fear of someone asking if everything was alright, or feeling the need to infringe upon his personal reflections.
The book still sat where Rebecca had left it, next to that overstuffed recliner. In the few hours she’d spent here, it had become Her Chair. Big enough to swallow her, comfortable enough for her to spend hours reading, or talking. Kane hadn’t minded conversation with Rebecca. But maybe that was because unlike most people, she rarely spoke unless she had something worthwhile to say.