Hera’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind. I had the good sense to push myself between them. No part of me wanted to see World War III starting.
“Do you have any idea what room I could use to freshen up my makeup before we take pictures?” I asked her. Hera liked to be reminded that she knew this house much better than I did.
Reluctantly, she ripped her gaze from Ransom. She waved a hand behind her. “You can take this one. Craig is technically supposed to use it, but he’s staying upstairs, in my room.”
I slipped into the guestroom. Ransom shut the door behind us.
Numbly, I sat at an oak vanity desk and began brushing my hair back. The thickness in the air signaled a looming disaster. Nothing good ever happened when I was under the same roof with Hera and Craig.
Ransom pulled a book from a floating shelf, scowling. “The Visual Display of Quantitative Information,” he read out loud. “The fun just never ends with you Thornes.”
“You didn’t have to be so terse with Hera.” I glowered at him through the mirror, ready to pick a fight.
“No, I didn’t, but it was enjoyable. She needed to be taken down a few notches.”
“You baited her,” I accused, stuck on a knot the brush couldn’t untangle.
“She survived.”
“I don’t need to get into more trouble. What if she thinks you’re my mouthpiece?”
“No offense, but no one in their right mind would ever think I’m the puppet and you’re the monster in this relationship,” he retorted smoothly. “Stop giving a shit about Hera. She doesn’t extend the courtesy to you.”
Sighing, I dumped the brush onto the desk, picking up a pair of scissors. I grabbed a handful of my hair, snipping the tangled part. A sudden urge to chop off all of my hair hit me. It would piss off my family so much. But as much as I wanted to hurt them, I ridiculously also wanted to be accepted by them. It was pathetic, yet the truth.
“I’m going for a quick piss. Don’t go anywhere.” With those romantic parting words, Ransom treaded out of the room, as darkly and quietly as he’d entered. I pressed my forehead against the cool surface of the desk. Only a few more hours to go. The wedding was tomorrow. After that, I could run back to Los Angeles. Leave the Thornes behind for a few more years.
Deciding a small nap wouldn’t hurt, I closed my eyes.
The whine of the door opening announced Ransom’s return. I didn’t lift my head to greet him.
A glass of something—liquor, by the sharp scent of it—was set by my elbow. He hovered behind me, breathing down my neck.
“You can step back now. As much as I enjoy the creeper vibes, I’m okay,” I mumbled into my arm.
A palm pressed against my shoulder. Warm and pudgy. My head immediately shot up. This wasn’t Ransom’s touch. Everything about Ransom was sinewy and rough.
Our eyes met in the mirror as he stood behind me.
Craig.
The man I detested more than anyone else in the entire world.
A smile stretched across his face. With a pronounced widow’s peak, pale skin, golden hair, and expensive veneers, Craig screamed old money.
“Hello, Hallie. So good to see you.” His fingers curled around my shoulder blade.
Thrown into fight-or-flight mode, I grabbed the tumbler of liquor he put next to me and turned around, tossing the content at his eyes. I missed, splashing his tux.
“You little bitch…” His hands went straight for my throat.
I flew up from the chair, making a beeline to the door. But Craig had an advantage over me—he was physically stronger, and not half as disoriented and scared. He grabbed me by the hair. My scalp burned. He shoved me against the four poster bed, trapping me with his big frame. He hiked up my dress from behind, clumsy fingers already patting their way between my legs.
I opened my mouth, letting out a desperate scream.
“I see you need a little reminder on how our get-togethers go down.” Craig fisted my hair harder, burying my face into the rich wool linen, suffocating and shutting me up at the same time. Locks of coppery hair fell from my scalp, scattering on the mattress.
“Come on, now, Hal-Pal. It’s been years, and you know I never overstep. I’ll just cop a little feel. Keep you in top-notch.”
His fingers patted along my inner thighs. I clutched my legs shut, bucking and escaping his touch. I couldn’t breathe. The safest solution was to let Craig do his thing and get it over with. But I didn’t want to be safe. I wanted to inflict pain on him. I wanted revenge. I wanted his blood.
Not today, Satan. Not today.
Craig never went all the way when he assaulted me. He never penetrated me in any way. Never kissed me, even. But he always touched where he was not supposed to. Even when I pleaded—begged him—not to. Especially when I begged him not to.
He liked tugging one off while assaulting me.
Getting off on my pain.
To him, I was the simpleminded Thorne child, the forgotten black sheep. His to play with.
His hands found the spot he was looking for, and he cupped my sex through my panties from behind, squeezing hard, letting out a satisfied groan.
“Here we are. Now let me just…do this…right quick…last time as an unmarried man…”
I heard his zipper roll down, and I screamed hard into the duvet. The pressure inside my head was so intense, I thought it’d explode. I tried to give him a roundhouse kick, but he moved away quickly. He stepped back between my legs from behind. He held my head tightly, pushing my face down onto the mattress so no one could hear me.
“Now where were we?” He chuckled.
Before I knew what was happening, Craig flew off of me. I righted myself, pushing my dress down. I caught a glimpse of the red marks his fingers left on my thighs. Ransom fisted Craig’s dress shirt, slamming him against the walled mirror. The mirror broke and collapsed at their feet, the alarming noise drowned by the soft jazz music seeping from under the closed door.
“Fatal mistake.” Ransom smashed Craig’s head against the broken mirror. “The worst one you’ve made in your miserable life.”
Eyes dead, jaw flexed, Ransom thrashed my sister’s fiancé against the broken glass again and again.
“Wait! Wait! I can explain!” Craig cried out, trying to wriggle away from my bodyguard’s grasp. He stood no chance, and he knew it.
“You can try while I smash your fucking head in, but you won’t succeed.” Ransom’s voice was as blank as his eyes. Blood stained the shards of broken glass behind Craig’s head. The glass was flat, so it didn’t pierce through the skin, but my heart was still in my throat.
“Look, she’s not…she is not like us, man! Her mind is…she is simple, all right?”
In response, Ransom flung Craig across the room, over the bed. Head down, ass up, he was now in the same position I’d been in moments earlier.
Seeing him like this, at a point of such disadvantage, made me want to weep with relief.
“Let me demonstrate what it felt like for her.” Ransom pushed Craig’s face deep into the mattress while ripping Craig’s tuxedo pants down. His boxers tangled across his ankles. From my spot in the corner of the room, I stared at his soupy skin, the way his knees bumped together in fear. He retched, collapsing forward. Then he vomited all over the bed.