One to Love (One to Hold 4)

Lane was snug at my mom’s house when I set out to do my usual jog on the beach the night after we returned to Bayville. She loved keeping him, and he was seriously in danger of being spoiled completely rotten.

Whenever I took him to visit my parents, she was beside herself with wanting to hold him and show him off to all her friends. Even my dad softened when my little boy’s golden head appeared with me in the doorway. He might’ve been angry and disappointed when Patrick and I showed up that day with the news I was pregnant and had no intention of marrying the father, but he couldn’t fool me. His love for his grandson was stronger than his lifelong frustration with his daughter.

The sun was just starting to set, and I parked my car at the end of the pier. As much as I didn’t want to look toward Slayde’s apartment, I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering in that direction. Doc was still there. He was determined to stay until his friend reappeared, and somehow that made the pain in my chest a little easier to bear. It gave me the slightest bit of hope that maybe there was a solution. I couldn’t see it yet, but perhaps it would come to me.

Leaning forward, I stretched my hamstrings. Then I straightened and pulled my foot to my buttocks. The warm-up filtered through my quads, and I took off walking through the soft sand down to the firmer, wet sand by the shore.

Running in sand was tough. It was one of the hardest exercises I’d ever done, but it was nothing like being on these familiar beaches alone, trying not to remember Slayde’s arms around me, him lifting me in the surf. I ran harder, away from the memory of finger paint floating around us in a loving rainbow as our bodies slid together.

More, faster, dig deep... I tried to outrun those feelings. If I kept going, the pain in my chest would dissolve into a burn that blocked out every emotion. The only room left would be for adrenaline to push me on, fighting the resistance low in my stomach begging me to stop.

I’d gone a mile, maybe farther when I saw the lights of a bar ahead. It was the boardwalk or it was one of the clubs on Toms River

. I couldn’t tell. I kept pushing until the burn in my chest lost out to the screaming of my lungs. I had to take a break.

Slowing, I dropped to a jog, then to a walk. I was breathing hard, but the pain was temporarily gone. No emotion could withstand the punishment of a sustained sprint.

There was no reason for me to keep walking toward the bar, but my legs kept moving putting one foot in front of the other. The night was completely black. Either it was a new moon or the clouds rolling in had obscured it. Self-preservation should’ve made me go back, but I kept walking until I slowed to a stop.

Above me on the beach I could just make out the dark shape of humans. I froze in place, fear gripping my insides. What was I doing out here alone? I was far from anyone who could help me, and worse, nobody knew where I was.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. It didn’t matter. The shapes further up on the shore weren’t interested in me. First I heard a moan. It sounded like sex on the beach. Then I heard the scream.

“Let me GO!” A female voice.

Through the darkness, I could almost make out arms, waving like a pinwheel, but the larger shape clamped them down.

“Stop fighting me you little bitch, and you might enjoy yourself.”

The words hit me hard, like lightening, fusing me to the spot. The voice.

I knew that voice.

More struggles, female wails. Then a second voice.

“Come on, Grif. Let’s get out of here.” The skinny guy. They were both here.

“Shut the fuck up and get out of here so I can nail this bitch.”

It was the same thing all over again. Did they rehearse this sick stunt?

“Please let me go. Please.” Her whining and begging twisted an ache of anxiety in the center of my torso. I was paralyzed with fear, but I couldn’t let this happen. I had to do something.

“That’s right,” Grif snarled. “Stick that little ass up.”

My stomach roiled, and I thought I might vomit. Her next words snapped me out of it.

“Help me! Somebody, plea—”

“Shut up.” It sounded as if his hand was over her mouth the way her voice became muffled. Still it was enough.

Rage that had simmered long and low in my stomach for months boiled up and over. I remembered what Slayde told me, but I didn’t have pepper spray or mace. All I had was the power of my body, my fists. He’d taught me how to throw a punch from the depth of my core all the way through the center of my fist, and I was ready to put my skills to the test.

Running forward, my hands clenched into tight balls as I rapidly crossed the sand, tilting my wrists slightly. I was just at him when the roar pushed out of my throat. “Let her GO!” I shouted in a voice I didn’t recognize.

My first two knuckles plowed at an angle across his cheekbone and into his nose with the force of all my running and what little body weight I had to throw behind it. Pain exploded into my forearm when I made contact, but my form was good. I wasn’t injured. I’d only made contact with bone, and he staggered dropping to his knees on the sand, releasing his victim. Fast as I could, I followed my one with the two, this time aiming for his throat.

“BASTARD ABUSING ASSHOLE!” Another roar tore from my throat, but no pain followed my second strike.