The Summer He Came Home

Chapter 34



The clock ticked in slow, methodical time. Tick…tock…tick…tock…

It echoed from the kitchen, and for a moment, it’s all Maggie heard. There wasn’t room for anything else inside her head—her thoughts disappeared, all emotion stopped.

She had no clue how long she stood there like a zombie, but eventually the clock faded and she became aware of many things.

The labored sound of her lungs as she inhaled quick, shallow breaths.

Michael grinding his teeth—a nervous gesture he hadn’t done in over a year.

The contents of her purse scattered all over the floor.

The heavy smell of Dante’s cologne. The smell of fear.

And the absolute silence from outside, which was the most terrifying sound of all.

She was alone. There was no one else. All her neighbors had gone to the Independence Day parade downtown. Not even Luke’s dog, Shelby, could be heard, and usually a strange vehicle was more than enough to set the dog barking madly.

Maggie glanced toward Dante. He was staring at her, watching her closely, his dark eyes glittery with a frenetic energy that was off. Her stomach heaved as a slow smile spread across his face.

In that moment Maggie knew that if she wasn’t smart, she wouldn’t be leaving this house alive. She had a child to protect, and right now that’s all she focused on.

Dante didn’t say a word as she crossed to Michael and grabbed him close. Her son shook and clutched at her fiercely as he whispered near her ear.

“I’m sorry I let him in…I thought it was Cain.” His voice was so small, so full of remorse, that Maggie had to take a minute to push back the tears that threatened.

Be smart.

Her only thought and concern was Michael. Dante would never let him leave, and she knew she needed to get him out of the house. If anything happened to Michael…

She cleared her throat and gently tugged his fingers from her shoulders so that she could look into his eyes. “I want you to listen to me and do exactly what I say. It’s important.” At his nod she continued. “Go to your room, and you know those big headphones that I’m always yelling at you to turn down?”

She saw the confusion in his eyes, and when he would have glanced back to his father, she grabbed his chin. “I want you to put them on and listen to your music as loudly as you can. Turn the volume up and just…listen.”

Would he know what she meant? The headphones were outside in their small shed, where she’d banished them a few days earlier. He could get them…if he climbed through his bedroom window. The screen could easily be knocked out.

“Can you do that for me, Michael? Find your headphones?” Her grip tightened on his shoulders. Oh God, she needed him to understand. She needed him to escape.

She turned Michael before Dante had a chance to speak to him and pointed him toward his room. “Go.” She bent down and kissed him quickly before whispering, “You know where they are.”

She watched her son hesitate, and everything inside her screamed so loud that she winced.

“You heard your mother, boy. Go to your room. She and I have unfinished business.”

Michael stumbled and then ran the rest of the way. Maggie didn’t breathe until she heard his door slam shut.

And then she turned to face her past.

Dante’s eyes narrowed as he glanced around the home she’d made. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding out.” He gestured toward the living room. “It’s a dump.”

She shook her head, though the denial died on her tongue as he moved closer.

“What was that?”

Maggie flinched, though she didn’t move.

“You don’t agree?” He cocked his head and studied her for several moments, slowly moving over every inch of her body. When his eyes returned to hers, she began to panic. They were black with anger, hatred, and something else.

Something insane.

“You look like a whore in that dress, with your tits nearly hanging out. Is that what he likes? The bastard you’ve been f*cking?” His words lashed at her, but she kept her eyes lowered.

“Lift your dress up.” His voice was flat.

She glanced up as everything inside her stilled. “Dante, I don’t…” Fear clogged her throat as his lips drew back in a feral snarl.

He took a step toward her and squared his shoulders, his hands fisted into deadly weapons at his side. “Lift…your…skirt.”

She stared at him in silence. What game was this?

But then what did it matter? She’d do whatever it took to protect Michael. To give him enough time to escape.

Maggie fixed her eyes onto the pulse at his neck and let her hands fall to the soft material at her hips. Carefully she gathered the material into bunches and slowly pulled it upward until the hem was near her crotch.

“Don’t stop now.” His voice had changed. It was thicker. Darker. She recognized the tone, and it made her sick.

She closed her eyes as she tugged the hemline higher, until her underwear was bare to him.

She broke out in a cold sweat as the old fear—that all-consuming, paralyzing fear—stole over her once more. Her teeth started to chatter. She was so cold. It was well into the eighties and her house wasn’t much cooler, yet she felt as if she were standing in the middle of a frozen wasteland.

Suddenly he was behind her, his breath against her neck, and she nearly doubled over as a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.

His fingers gripped her arms, and he pulled her back so that she was flush to his long length. He was aroused—she felt his erection against her back and wanted to scream. Wanted his hands off her. Wanted the smell of him out of her body.

“You never dressed like a whore for me.” His hands crept around and he grabbed at her breasts roughly, pinching her nipples through the cotton until she whimpered. “Never wore sexy panties or went braless.”

He ran his tongue along her neck, and she bit her lip, trying her best to keep quiet. She knew the more she struggled, or screamed, or cried—the more excited he got.

“You never wore your hair down or smelled this good.”

Dante seemed to forget that he was the one who’d chosen her wardrobe. Her hairstyle. Hell, he was the one who’d bought her undergarments.

“Do you f*ck like a whore now, Maggie?”

His touch made her skin crawl, and it took everything inside her to remain pliant in his arms.

His hand slipped inside the halter top of her dress, and she wanted to die as he ran his thumb over her nipple. As he cupped her breast and squeezed it brutally.

His mouth was near her ear. “I’m going to f*ck you, Maggie. Once more for old time’s sake, and then I’m going to take my son, and you will never see him again.”

Dante’s words set off something inside of Maggie—like a pin had been pulled, releasing a rush of emotion. Even though it was the wrong thing to do—she needed to stay calm for Michael—she began to struggle. She kicked and tried to bite his hand, but she was no match for his strength.

He clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her down the hall toward the back of the house. Toward her bedroom.

She stopped struggling as they passed Michael’s closed door, and though her mind was circling fast, she was losing hope that she’d find a way out.

He yanked on her hair, and she yelped as he threw her onto the bed. Dante was breathing heavily, and the weird fire in his eyes—the one she’d noticed earlier—was brighter, more frantic.

Maggie pushed her hair from her face and stared up at him, her chest heaving as she tried to calm herself.

Dante glared at her and flexed his fingers. “On the floor.”

“Dante, you don’t have to do this.” Oh God, he was going to rape her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. He’d beaten her in the past, but he’d never forced himself on her.

She was going to be sick.

“Get on the floor.” His hand was on his belt, and she glanced around the room wildly. “And bend over like the bitch you are.”

She froze, and for a moment nothing happened.

Then he growled like an animal and grabbed for her foot. Maggie kicked toward him and tried to scramble away. She didn’t see the fist flying, and when it connected to the side of her skull, for a few seconds she saw stars.

“Mommy!”

Michael’s terrified cry ripped into her soul. Dante turned toward her son, his fist raised, his body thrumming with violence.

Maggie reacted on instinct and grabbed the glass vase full of tulips that was on the nightstand by her bed.

“Michael, run!” she screamed.

Michael’s little white face stared at her in horror. “Run! Now!”

He turned and darted back down the hall, and when Dante would have run after him, Maggie swung the vase with all her might.

She hit him near his shoulder and knocked him off balance, but it wasn’t enough. And as she scrambled forward—her only thought to get between Dante and Michael—he slammed his fist into her stomach.

“You goddamn bitch!”

And then she was on her back, gasping for air.

“You never learn. I wouldn’t have to do that if you would”—he bent over her—“just f*cking listen.”

He flipped her onto her stomach and hoisted her hips into the air. “It’s time I taught you a lesson.”