Frayed Rope (9 page)

I hear a grunt but it doesn’t slow the attacker down. I stomp on his instep and attempt to hit him again when his left arm wraps around my neck and the other one goes for my mouth.

I thrash and kick, do whatever I can to get loose from this person. His hand and arm squeeze tighter and I start looking around the parking lot for help. I see a man to my left in a cheap wrinkled suit staring at me with a look of shock on his face. HELP YOU STUPID FUCKER! FUCKING HELP ME! I try to scream around the soaked cloth that's now smothering my mouth.

The stranger sees me struggling but makes no move to help, just watches with his car keys in hand, seeming to debate what the best course of action would be, but never actually moving from his spot on the pavement.

My vision begins to blur and my breathing shallows as my head lolls to the other side. I look at the van in front of me and see my attacker’s reflection in the window, and then I see two of them as my vision doubles before it all goes black.

My shoulders are shaking and I feel dampness on my face.

“Elle!”

I’m afraid to open my eyes, afraid to see the reflection of his face in the window again. Afraid that it might not be a reflection this time, but the real thing and I’m back in that damn basement again, hanging and helpless with my arms tied above my head.

“GODDAMNIT WOMAN, WAKE UP!”

Strong hands grip my shoulders tight, shaking me.

I jolt forward which causes me to face plant into a hard chest. I cry out at the pain that runs through my leg from the quick movement. My breathing is heavy and the wetness I feel on my cheeks confirm the tears that have run down my face. His arms surround me and I pull my hands up between us to push away from his chest.

“Don’t fucking move, Elle.”

Ryder squeezes me tighter and begins running his hands up and down my back in a soothing motion. I lie to myself that the tears still coming down my face are from the nightmare, and not from how good his affection feels. This is the first hug I’ve experienced since the attack, the first warm set of arms to embrace me in almost a year. I take deep breaths and attempt to calm my racing heart.

We sit like this for a while, in no hurry to move and afraid to let go. He smells like fresh laundry and man. I turn my head into his neck and breathe in the subtle scent of his cologne. My thoughts are changing course. I want so bad to lick him, and I’m pretty close to doing so which forces me to put gentle pressure on his chest once again so I can distance myself from what would most likely be a huge fucking mistake.

He slowly releases some pressure in the bands that are his arms around my back and looks down upon me. I see his mouth coming and close my eyes in rejection before I feel his lips on my forehead. I hear his own intake of breath, feeling his nose buried in my hair before he gently pulls back.

“Not sure what that was all about Elle, but if you want to talk about it I’ll listen. I’ll also help if you need it. Just ask.”

Dammit he’s kind. I’ve no idea why he’s not married with four children yet, surely someone should’ve snatched this man up by now. I can hear Laura’s opinion of him in the back of my mind while I sit here trying to figure him out. I know exactly what she’d say.

“Lacks in the sack, sister! No man is ever kind, good looking AND single. Especially at our age, unless he’s gay. That’s the only exception to men like him.”

If he’s gay, maybe we could be better friends if I didn’t have to worry about him coming onto me or seeing me in my birthday suit. But after the heated looks in the bathroom and what I am certain is the so called ‘chemistry’ women talk about but never often experience, I’m left in a grey area. 

I don’t for one second think he ‘lacks in the sack’, but it wouldn’t be the first time I spread my legs for a good looking, linebacker size of a man and was left unsatisfied.

You take them home expecting a nice English cucumber, but regrettably end up with a pickle.

Laura and I had a name for this, or I should say we had a label for them.

Gherkins.

That one, itty bitty small word was enough to sum up the morning after talk, which usually ended the talk because the description said it all.

“You haven’t eaten anything in a while, I’ll make some food. Maybe you can find something more interesting on television than the infomercials.”

It’s said as a request and I don't have the energy after my nightmare to protest. I’m also trying hard not to laugh, as I was just thinking about a certain food product.

Shit, an ‘almost laugh’

I’m making progress
.

I look at the clock in the kitchen and notice I was asleep for three hours. Did he stay here the entire time?

“What did you do while I was asleep?” I ask to his retreating back as he heads into the kitchen.

He looks over his shoulder and I’m certain I can see his lips twitch as he replies.

“Watched infomercials.”

Lying bastard.

Chapter Nine

It’s been a few weeks since Ryder witnessed my nightmare. He’s tried to come around a lot more and I only reject him about half the time. I’m trying so hard not to let him get close but I’d be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the company. Other than helping my handicapped self to and fro he hasn’t bothered to touch me much, which I can respect as much as I hate.

I know he wants to touch me, I can see it in his eyes when I catch him staring at me. I suppose I don't exactly put off that ‘come touch me’ vibe that most women do, or certainly most women in the presence of Ryder Callaghan.

That man could make a nun shed her habit. I’ve reiterated the friend vibe through my actions rather well and surprisingly he’s followed suit. I respect him even more for that.

I see him through my kitchen window leaving his house. He’s dressed in a dark black button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark jeans and black boots on his feet. I have no idea what his schedule is with work, he seems to be home more often than he is away lately. Perhaps owning your own security business allows you the pleasure to make your own hours. I’ve never asked and he’s never supplied the information, simply says ‘gotta get to work’. Part of my not making small talk leaves me in the unknown more often than not.

As much as the talk remains small, or void, I can say that life has felt a little lighter with him around. I haven’t left the house much and for the first week he brought me groceries and spent some time on my couch in a comfortable silence while watching TV.

He hasn’t asked me any personal questions, or mentioned the scars on my neck or wrists. Being who he is and what he does for a living, I’m pretty sure he has a good idea and knows the topic is sensitive, or would be sensitive for most women. I’m not sensitive at all about it. More like I’m a hardened bitch when it comes to talking about it, which I won’t because I don’t want him to know who I am.

I watch as he pulls out of the drive and heads for town. I finish up my tidying and make to do the same. I’ve spent a little more time on my feet today than I should have; making up for lost time spent on the couch these past few weeks. When I push it my leg starts to hurt again, so I’ve embraced being a couch potato and spent a lot of time reading.

Now that the overdue cleaning and laundry is caught up, I decide to treat myself to surf and turf dinner in town. Well, take out surf and turf dinner I should say. I don’t mind eating alone in public at all, but I know Saturday night and one of the town’s only decent restaurants will be busier than I can handle. The loud crowds and half-drunk patrons leave me too many variables to assess.

I jump in the truck with Norma in tow. It’s a nice night and even though my ankle is still tender I plan on taking advantage of the boardwalk to the restaurant with my dog. It’s a nice place to walk and watch the sun set behind the large array of fishing and sail boats.

* * *

I park in the beach lot which isn’t too far from the restaurant. I grab my bag and open the back door for Norma to jump out. The sun is setting and the wind is a little cooler. I’ve dressed in black tights, a flowing black tunic that cinches on the side of my waist, paired with my customary wrist cuffs and scarf.

My feet are covered in my knee-high black boots, once again with my knife stashed inside. Daytime footwear probably would have involved sandals of some sort, but being out later I feel more comfortable in what I like to refer to as my armor.

Don't draw unwanted attention to yourself. Blend in and be prepared at all times.

I replay Tiny’s words of wisdom as I make my way toward the boardwalk, scanning my surroundings. Nothing makes the hairs on my neck stand up and I don't see many people about, just a younger couple and their children, and an old man out with his dog.

Making our way toward the restaurant, Norm sniffs her way through the sand while I walk on the old wooden planks. Snapper’s, known for their steak and seafood, has a front entrance off the street and a large rear patio with an entrance next to the boardwalk.

This little harbor really is beautiful. Different sailboats and small fishing ships line the docks. It’s big and busy enough that not everybody knows each other, but it still has that small town feel where you’re not rushed and bussed from one place to the next without so much as a friendly smile.

I climb the small set of wood steps to the restaurant and ask the waitress for a menu, declining the offer for a table. I was right; the place is filling up rather quickly. I order the eight ounce tenderloin with a lobster tail and mixed green salad to go. The waitress quickly enters my order while I take a seat on the bench to rest my leg, and watch Norm chase something in the water.

The sun is casting beautiful orange hues across the calm water and for a moment, I feel at peace. Water does that to me. Since I was a kid, being near the water was always something that would make me feel calm.

My peaceful moment doesn’t last as long as I’d hoped when I notice my dog taking off at a run toward the opposite side of the restaurant.

“Norma, stay!” I yell in the deepest
I mean business
voice I can manage.

She never takes off, especially when we’re in public. She slows down and wags her tail, still staring straight ahead. I go to remove my ass from the bench to bring her back when I see Ryder round the corner. He bends down to pet her while searching left and right, almost nervously. That is if a thirty seven-year-old man who’s probably killed people for a living has the ability to look nervous. That’s the only way I can explain the expression on his face, unless it’s confusion, not nervousness.

Maybe he’s thinking, ‘what the hell is my hermit neighbor doing out of her house, in public no less.’

His eyes eventually land on mine and I give him a small tip up of my lips and chin, until I see a woman round the corner behind him. The same look is still plastered on his face until Ginger loops an arm through his and begins her trek toward the restaurant.

I recognize her from the bonfire Ryder had almost a month ago and she’s dressed much the same as last time. If her heels were clear, someone could easily assume to stick a one dollar bill in the side of her underwear- which are currently doubling as shorts at the moment.

They get closer and his eyes don't leave mine. I hear her mutter something about the smell of a wet dog, but I’m not paying attention to her. I’m too busy staring at him in his button down shirt and jeans that are probably complimenting that beautiful behind of his.

The woman whips her ginger mop over her shoulder and prances toward the restaurant entrance, slightly wobbling on her fuck-me heels that weren’t meant for the uneven boardwalk. She grabs a hold of his arm for support.

“This is why I suggested using the front entrance Ryder, I’m going to ruin my shoes or break my damn ankle!” she whines, but he’s not paying any attention to her.

His eyes are still glued on mine and I refuse to be the first one to look away. Not that I believe I have any sort of claim on him, I absolutely do not. I won’t deny it stings a little to see him out with another woman, but I’m not naive enough to think that a man such as himself goes to bed alone every night. I certainly haven’t invited him into mine, so he’s bound to find what he needs elsewhere.

He comes to a halt at the bottom of the steps. I tip my chin toward him while Norm sits her ass beside his feet, waiting for more attention.

“Why is that dog following us everywhere? It probably has rabies.”

She complains while grabbing onto the railing, trotting up the steps without him. Her focus settles on me and then back behind her to see why her date hasn’t caught up with her quick enough, only to find his eyes glued to mine.

Ryder assesses me with a long look before speaking. He almost looks guilty even though we both know he has no reason to. His date has a body to kill for. So long as she doesn't speak when they get in bed tonight I’m sure he’ll go to sleep with a smile on his face.

Our friendship has been purely platonic regardless of the sexual tension that always invades our space. I refuse to feel ill or act rude toward him in this moment. At the end of the day he’s been nothing but kind to me, even if he is a bit of a bossy bastard sometimes.

“Elle.”

He finally tips his head toward me in greeting. Norm gives up on him and comes to sit next to me on the deck. I make a motion for her to stay as I stand to head toward the hostess station.

“Ryder.”

I feel like I should say more, but I’m not sure exactly what. I turn toward the hostess who has my dinner ready to go and hand over enough money for the food and a tip. His date begins to whine that her feet are killing her and how long are they going to have to wait for a table. The hostess clears that up for her.

“I’m sorry ma’am but it’s the dinnertime rush, if you’ll give me a few more minutes I’ll have a table ready for you. If you’d like to have a seat at the bar while you wait, I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

She huffs in annoyance and turns toward Ryder.

“See, this is why I said you should have made a reservation.”

She pouts out her ridiculous lips and places her hot pink fingers on her hip in annoyance. She eyes me from top to bottom before edging closer to Ryder to stake her claim.

I’m not threatened by her, I’ve never been the type to feel inferior regardless of whether the woman in question is more attractive or not. It’s a petty game women play and I take no part in it.

Ginger eyes me with complete disdain before staking her territory. She wraps those arms tighter around his and settles her fake tits against his body.

“Who are you?” She asks with bite in her tone, lips soured in distaste.

Obviously she’s upset she hasn’t gotten one hundred percent of Ryder’s attention since she walked up the steps.

I’ve always despised this category of women. I can eye them from a mile away. Call it judgmental if you want but seldom am I wrong about her type.

She’s among the kind that will most likely fake a pregnancy to keep a man, or completely alter their personality to fit a certain man’s likes. Then once they have moved in all of their hair care products and convinced you to add them to your benefits plan at work, the true personality really comes out. At that point it’s more than a chore for the men to get out of it, since they’ve already moved them in.

This is why I always kept my own house, and always kept my benefits up to date. I also never moved more than a toothbrush and a change of clothes into another man’s house.

I hate when things get complicated, and honestly I think people move way too quickly these days. Best to stand on your own two feet in case things go down the shitter.

I’ve seen awful things like this happen to many of my close male friends over the years, and a few good women as well. However, I’m certain Ryder is more intuitive and not throwing a rock on her finger anytime soon. I also don’t picture him letting a woman crowd his space, therefore so long as he keeps it wrapped up he should be fine.

He’s not out with this woman tonight to meet mom and dad for dinner. I have a level of respect for Ryder, and I know if he had good parents he would respect them immensely. Knowing this I can say for certain this woman who cares more about her footwear than the beautiful view of this harbor is not someone Ryder, or much less any man, takes home to meet the parents.

This also means she’s only good for one thing.

She’s not incredibly intelligent, this much I know for sure. She’s probably one of those women that sell weight loss products that never work, or skin cream that promises smooth skin but never really stops the wrinkles from forming and ends up giving you a rash. 

I take in her looks closely. I’m guessing she’s around my age, but the obvious overuse of tanning beds has made her skin look that of a forty-year-old. It doesn’t suit her colored hair which I’m now assuming must be fake since she lacks the pale skin color to compliment it.