Blind Attraction (21 page)

Mrs. Bowen sniffed and dabbed her nose with a white lace handkerchief.

“That much is true.” Mr. Bowen stared at a spot on the cream carpet. “Chris and Susan used to date in high school. She spent a lot of her youth here, studying and playing in the pool. They were inseparable.” He gave her a quick glance; his eyes filled with tears, then turned his gaze back to the floor. “We weren’t aware that he’d been experimenting with drugs until the night the police turned up on our doorstep. They’d been at a friend’s party. Chris had been drinking and also stole some Valium from my medicine cabinet. The combination of alcohol and drugs altered his perception and emotions.”

Alana’s head nodded of its own accord. She was empty, completely devoid of sensation, except for the big gaping hole where her heart used to be. Her mind, her soul, her emotions, all numb.

“Your mother noticed his change in mood and wanted to go home. On the drive back to her parent’s house—”

She held up her hands, unable to hear anymore. Her arms shook, her vision blurred, then the doorbell rang and startled her to the point of retching.

They remained silent; all of them unmoving for long, loud heartbeats until Mrs. Bowen rose from her seat and strode from the room. When she returned, Mitchell was by her side, his frantic gaze searching Alana’s face as he approached.

She stood on shaky legs and sunk into the warmth of his arms, needing his strength and protection.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered into her hair, clutching her body to his chest. “You’re trembling.”

She shook her head, unable to speak. She rested her palms against the muscle of his chest and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, Alana.”

She pulled back from Mitchell’s embrace, glanced at Mr. Bowen and nodded in response. “I-I know.”

Mitchell lifted her chin with a delicate finger, gaining her focus. His gaze scrutinized her features, his eyes pleading for answers while he held her upper arm with a gentle grip. “Tell me, Allie. What’s happened?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and winced at the pain that followed. “M-my dad.” She shook her head, breathed deep. ‘Dad’ was the wrong word. ‘Dad’ implied a familiar bond, a connection, something she had never, and would never feel for the man. “My father. The man who raped my mother, is alive.”

His eyes widened, and he recoiled as if he’d been struck. “You were...”

She hadn’t mentioned the attack on her mother before. Shame kept her from admitting how she’d been conceived. Every day of her life had been a constant reminder of the traumatic event. Every time she stared into her mother’s eyes she glimpsed the pain of remembrance.

“I’m the result of a man raping my mother.” She peered into his eyes and waited for the disgust to cross his features, for him to realize half her DNA came from someone capable of such a horrendous act.

He frowned, his grip on her arm tightening, and he blinked, once, twice, three times, batting away the moisture from his eyes. He pulled her into his arms, hugged her close, and pressed a firm kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry.” His hold tightened. “Allie, I’m so sorry.”

A burning tear broke free, leaving a scorching trail down her cheek. She leaned into him and grasped what he offered, the warmth, the support, the protection. He gave her what she needed without a single word.

The doorbell rang again, the dull ring like a gunshot blast through the silence. Mrs. Bowen gave an apologetic glance and moved from the room.

Alana stepped back from Mitchell’s grip. “I need to get out of here.”

He nodded and dropped his arms to his sides. She turned to Mr. Bowen who now stood at the far end of the sofa.

“I’m sorry, but I need to leave.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I understand. I’m sorry to have been the bearer of…unwelcomed news.”

The regret was evident in his sad smile and troubled gaze.

“It isn’t your fault. It seems I’ve been misled my entire life.”

Mitchell clutched her hand, entwining their fingers and led her from the room into the entrance hall. Mrs. Bowen spoke in a hushed whisper to a middle-aged man. Her tone was alarmed, her gaze panicked as it drifted back to Alana.

Words weren’t necessary. Instinct told her the stranger in the expensive tailored suit with his back to her meant something. Was he an uncle, a cousin, a high school friend of her mother’s? She diverted her gaze to the marble floor as time slowed. Each step toward the door made her pulse thud, her nerves skitter, and her stomach roll.

Mitchell’s hand came to rest on the low of her back, and she realized she’d stopped. Even though her knees threatened to fall out from under her, she glanced over her shoulder and focused on the man who now faced her.

He had a slim face, his dark brown hair a similar color to her own. But there were no mistaking the eyes. The light green irises matched the same ones she stared at every time she looked in the mirror.

Mitchell stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “We need to go, sweetheart,” he raised his hand to indicate the door.

“Alana.” The man spoke her name with reverence. From one single word she knew. Without doubt.

This man was her father.

* * *

Mitch kept his eyes trained on the man causing the palpable hostility to churn in the entryway. Mrs. Bowen seemed paused on the brink of a meltdown, her skin clammy, her hand shaking as it rose to her mouth in horror. He sensed her husband behind him and his apprehension over the unexpected visitor.

Mitch stepped toward the door, his palm still on the low of Alana’s back, and grasped the handle.

“Wait.” The man’s voice broke, and Mitch glanced over his shoulder to catch the asshole approaching.

“Back off,” he growled and felt Alana’s spine stiffen as she staggered forward.

“She’s my daughter.”

Mitch let the anger in his veins take hold. He turned, squaring his shoulders and got in the man’s face. “She’ll be your ticket to unconsciousness if you dare to touch her.”

“Mitchell.” Alana’s plea acted like a leash, pulling him back.

He glared, and his nostrils flared. Her father may seem innocent with his remorseful eyes and professional suit, but Mitch didn’t give a fuck. A man capable of rape was a man undeserving of life.

“Let’s go,” he spoke to Alana, his gaze still boring into the man before him.

Her heels clicked on the tile, and when the door creaked with her exit, he followed, striding from the house and down the front steps.

Fresh air hit him like a burst of clarity, the bright sunlight giving him perspective. This was far from his normal reality. Family drama gave him hives. It reminded him of Ryan and his miserable marriage.

“No.” Her father barreled past him, knocking Mitch’s shoulder in his effort to get to her. He grabbed for Alana’s elbow, and she turned with a gasp.

Mitch snapped—a faint mental pop signally his break with restraint. He didn’t think, didn’t contemplate. He took action, slamming his fist into the man’s cheek. The pain was immediate, the searing agony coursing through his knuckles, down to his fingers, and all the way up his arm.

Alana screamed. A car door slammed, then another. Mr. and Mrs. Bowen rushed forward, helping their son to his feet. And Mitch stood there, frozen in place.

Sean’s face moved in front of his, asking questions he couldn’t hear. His gaze sought Alana’s. She walked away from him, glancing over her shoulder in shock while Kate ushered her down the path.

The noise from the Bowens didn’t register over the static in his head. The elderly couple helped their son to his feet, avoiding eye contact and rushed inside.

“Mitch!” Sean gasped his shoulders and shook. “Mitch! They’re probably calling the cops, bro. We need to get out of here.”

He tried to blink away the confusion. Where had everyone gone? What had he done? A car door slammed, jolting him back to life. “Shit. Alana.” He shrugged off Sean’s hold and strode down the path, his pace quickening with every step. “Hurry up.”

“I’ve been trying to get you to move for five minutes, dickwad.” Sean’s footsteps thumped behind him. “Why the sudden need for speed?”

He concentrated on Alana and the tortured expression that skewered him from the passenger side window of Kate’s red compact car. He mouthed for her to stop and held up his hands. Instead of acknowledging his pleas she looked away, embedding a knife straight through his heart.

“Fucking hell.” He didn’t mean to yell. He couldn’t help it. His entire body ached, his chest, his lungs, his arms, all the way to his fingers. And that didn’t include the pain pulsating in the knuckles of his right hand. “Hurry up, Sean.”

He began to run, making it to his hired car and opening the driver’s door as soon as Sean released the lock.

“What’s the fucking hurry?” Sean asked, sliding into the passenger seat and slamming the door.

“I have no idea where Kate lives. If Alana’s too pissed to stop and let me apologize, she’ll probably be too pissed to answer her phone before we have to jet outta here.”

Kate’s car passed as Mitch fastened his seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. Before he pulled from the curb, he reefed his cell phone out of his pocket and threw it at Sean. “Call her. If she answers, find out where they’re going.”

“Awesome. I always wanted to be your secretary.”

He steered onto the road to follow Kate, his tires screeching. By the time she turned the corner, he was right behind, but had to stop and wait for traffic. Blue car, green car, white truck. He accelerated with a burst of speed, the little red car barely visible up ahead.

“She’s not answering.” Sean handed the phone back.

“Try again.”

“I don’t think she’s going to answer. She seemed pretty pissed when you snap-crackled that old-timer.”

Mitch pushed the phone back. “Try. Again.”

“Fine...Who was the guy anyway?” Sean dialed again.

A sigh of regret escaped Mitch’s lips. “Her father.” He placed his foot down harder on the gas.

Sean’s laughter filled the car. “That’s badass.”

“Yeah, pretty fucking badass seeing as though I’ve completely totaled my hand.” He wiggled his fingers and winced at the thousand shots of pain that followed. “How come you never told me how much it hurt to punch a guy?”

“Cause you’ve always been too prissy to wanna break a nail. If I even contemplated the thought of you cracking someone, I would’ve told you to aim for the stomach to avoid damaging your hand. Good luck playing during the promo tour with swollen knuckles.”

Sean gripped the door’s armrest as Mitch took a sharp turn without slowing.

“How’s it feeling?”

“Like I’ve got Wolverine’s blades embedded under my skin.”

“Yeah,” Sean sniggered. “That sounds about right...and you might want to slow down.”

Damn it. Where the hell had the red car gone? He was stuck in suburbia with only two lanes of traffic. Why couldn’t he be playing speed racer on the freeway?

He swerved into the opposite lane and veered straight back when he sighted an oncoming van.

“Holyfuckingshit. You’re gonna kill me.” Sean wailed, gripping the dash with his free hand. “I’m too pretty to die.”

“Are you still trying to call her?” Mitch shot him an incredulous look.

“I no longer have the use of my fingers. They’re frozen in fear.”

Mitch shook his head and gripped the wheel with his swollen hand, snatching the phone from him with the other.

“Oh, hell no.” Sean raised his voice, grabbing it back. “Your driving is bad enough without another distraction.”

“Well keep dialing—oh shit.” He noticed too late that Kate’s car had turned down the street he began to pass. He didn’t think, didn’t falter. He jerked the steering wheel to the left, almost clipping a parked car as he straightened onto the new road.

“I’m gonna kick your ass as soon as we get out of the car,” Sean mumbled, his attention now on the cars streaking past in a blur of color.

Mitch closed the gap between them and Kate. He breathed a sigh of relief when a few minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of a small brick house. He followed her up the drive and came to an abrupt stop mere inches from Kate’s car.

Oh Shit. Now what should he do?

Trepidation clogged his throat. He loved the irony of having to race here to do something he loathed doing in the first place.

He yanked the keys from the ignition and unfastened his seat belt. This was it. The last time he would see Allie. Pain exploded in the back of his head and he fell forward, gripping the steering wheel. “Mother fu–”

“If I didn’t feel so sorry for you, you would’ve got more than a slap.”

Mitch glared at Sean, then lightened the harshness of his gaze when he notice the beads of sweat on his friends forehead. He inhaled deep and let it out in a sigh. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, buddy.” Sean’s gaze held sympathy. “Alana seems like a mighty fine woman. You sure you still want to break things off?”

Alana climbed out of the car, her long, brown hair flowing over her shoulders while she slowly turned to face him.

No, he didn’t want to sever his ties with her. He wanted to stay here and do whatever it took to gain her forgiveness. “Oh, shit, what am I doing?” he whispered to himself. She was so beautiful. Her full lips, her dimples, her bright eyes and flawless skin. She was brave and loving and trusting and caring and oh Christ he needed to get a grip.

They both lived in different worlds. Hers was just beginning. His was a washing machine of drama, lies, and sleazy sex.

“No. I’ve gotta do this.” He opened his car door and his heart drop to his feet when he stood.

* * *

Alana lifted her chin and wandered around the front of the car, her fingers trailing along the hood. She needed a few moments to compose herself. Life had been such a rush the past few days. She’d changed from being a caterpillar into a butterfly, yet she hadn’t learned how to use her wings.

The real world was harsh. First the violence of Mitchell’s dismissed bodyguard, then the betrayal upon betrayal from her mother, followed by more violence from the man she had begun to trust. The lows had rocked her emotional foundations, yet the highs were more than she ever dreamed. If only she could overcome the vertigo which stemmed from the back and forth between ecstasy and trepidation.