With my panties gone with my pants, he forces my legs wide open and presses the muzzle of the gun over my clit. My body locks up in horrid fear. I close my eyes, bracing myself for whatever is to come next, and after he makes me wait, I gasp when he forces the barrel of the loaded pistol inside of my *. Keeping my eyes pinched shut, I press my lips together and force myself out of this moment while he fucks me with his gun.
I remove my emotions and escape, giving him my body that’s proven to be nothing but a piece of garbage. He glides the pistol in and out of me while I dig my fingers into the concrete beneath. Richard lets out a pleasurable groan as he starts fondling my breast in his one hand. I swallow down the puke that burns the back of my throat. My head rings loudly, and when the shield becomes too much for me to keep up, I beg for Pike to come, but he doesn’t.
The iron cast cracks, chipping away piece by piece, and behind my closed eyes is Carl. No longer is Richard’s gun raping me, but instead, Carl’s filthy dick. My body jerks when the numbness wanes, and soon I can feel everything that’s being done to me. When my hips buck, my eyes flash open to see the devil above me, and I lose it. With all my strength, I grab his wrist and lurch my hips back, forcing the gun up to my forehead, screaming like a maniac, “PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER!”
He looks at me bitterly, and with my hands fisted tightly around the barrel of the gun, I shriek, pressing it harder against my head, “Do it, you piece of shit! Pull the trigger!”
He yanks the gun out of my hands and snarls, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What are you waiting for? Declan’s not coming, he would’ve already called by now. So why wait?” I tell him. “Just get it over with. Shoot me.”
“Like this?” he questions, cramming the gun into my mouth.
I sit still, tasting the mixture of my * and metal. My lips wrap around what I yearn to be my savior. I nod my head and pray for the shot that will end my misery once and for all. But instead, he uses it to degrade me even more. Fisting my hair, he forces my head further down on the gun.
“Suck it,” he demands as he bobs me up and down.
I gag, tears springing from my eyes as he makes me deep-throat it. He then pushes me away and stands.
“Put your pants on and shut your fucking mouth.”
And as the saliva drips from my chin and I wipe my eyes, the phone rings.
“THE CELL NUMBER is coming up blank. It must be a burner phone,” Lachlan tells me, and it makes sense that she would be using a disposable under the circumstances of her dead husband and all the lies. “Maybe the police would be able to bypass the blocks. I mean, the calls are going through a cell tower, perhaps they can track that.”
“No cops,” I order. “The call was choppy, cutting in and out, so they have to be somewhere secluded. I’m almost home though, how far are you?”
“Half an hour.”
I hang up, and when I arrive at the house, I take my time heading up the drive, looking around for any clues. My black roadster is parked in front of the fountain, and when I get out of my SUV, I walk over to check the door to find it’s still unlocked. The car is empty aside from the suitcase I find when I pop open the trunk.
Once inside, I head straight to the library to see the furniture slightly disheveled from the altercation I witnessed on the surveillance. I look around, stomach twisting, heart thudding, questions brewing. Setting the suitcase onto the couch, I start digging through it and realize that she went back to the Water Lily to retrieve the rest of her belongings.
As I’m rummaging through her clothes, my hand hits something hard. Grabbing the object, I pull it out, and the moment I catch sight of it, a chill takes over me. My fingers shake as I hold the picture frame and stare down into my own eyes looking up at me.
Where did she get this?
Unlatching the back of the frame, I take the photo out to see if anything is written on the back to find there is:
Declan
6 years old
I’m sitting by the small pond that was on the land of the home I grew up in. I’m staring up at the camera, smiling. The water is filled with lotus blooms, the blooms my mum loved so much. I remember how much she enjoyed that pond. She would sit along the bank with her legs hanging over the edge, just as I’m doing in the picture. She’d laugh in the sun’s edge of spring, skimming her painted toes on the water’s surface, calling out to me, her voice delicate and loving, “Sit with me, sweetie. Dip your toes in.” And I did.
The water was cold that day as we sat together among the fragrant lotus flowers. Her face is still so vivid in my head, flawless and milky. She was beautiful, with long brown hair that she would pin up in a bun around the house, but when she was in the gardens or by the pond, she would let it down.
My eyes close to bear the ache in my chest. The memories hurt, and the visions only remind me of what I allowed to be taken from me. I shake the past away, forever weak to let myself think about my mum for too long before I’m reminded of the coward I am.