Pulled (46 page)

“These are real y very interesting.” He held them up, pursing his lips, his eyebrows drawn, waiting for my reaction to the pages and pages of the cel phone bil . The lines of unknown number were numerous, both texts and cal s, running in repetition down the columns. The few sparse cal s to Katie and my mother sorely stuck out among the hundreds of others. It was clear from the look on Nicholas’s face that he knew exactly who my “unknown” was.

So this was it.

I could try to lie, but there would be no denying what Nicholas held in his hand, and I was through keeping my love for Daniel a secret.

“Just let me go, Nicholas. I don’t love you, and you don’t love me, so—”

His barking laugh caught me by surprise as he jumped to his feet. Not even a smal amount of humor accompanied the harsh sound coming from his mouth.

“You think this is about love?”

I cowered back, the broken glass crunching against the floor as I backed away from him as he stalked across the room.

“This is about somebody trying to take something that belongs to me. You...are...mine,” he growled as he came closer, “and I think it’s about time I reminded you of that.”

I took the last step I could before I backed into the wal , trapped. His breath was hot and fevered with anger as he stood, fuming in front of me. His nose ran down my jaw and to my neck. My body rol ed with nausea when his hands came to rest on either side of my head, his mouth against my ear. “You real y are a whore, aren’t you? Do you know what you smel like?”

I shrank away as he continued to move, his hands roaming over my body. He breathed over me, pushing into me, trying to reclaim me.

I became desperate, frantic, my defenses final y kicking in. I pushed him back and struggled to get away, crying out, begging him to stop. But it only made it worse when he saw what I wore on my left ring finger.

“What...the...fuck...is...that?” he spit through clenched teeth, enraged as his hand came up and twisted in my hair, yanking hard. I shrieked when the other came to the col ar of my shirt, the cloth ripping from top to bottom as he tore through it. His hand flew to the button of my pants and he struggled to break it free.

Tears flowed as I slumped against the wal , powerless, my soul crying out as I begged for Daniel, cal ing to him, “Please save me.”

His answer was clear.

Fight!

I gathered al the courage I could find, and I did just that. I fought with everything I had, kicking and hitting and clawing and screaming. The sudden attack was not enough to hurt Nicholas, but enough of a surprise to al ow me to break free of his grip. I dodged under his arms, escaping down the only open path and into the kitchen.

He was right behind me and knocked me to the floor when he struck me from behind. The sound of my hands and knees smacking against the floor echoed through the room. My face made its own protest as it met the marble tiles and the taste of blood saturated my mouth.

Nicholas’s hand wrapped around my calf, pul ing me back to him, the blood pouring from my mouth and smearing across the floor as he pul ed me toward the door.

He flipped me over, hitting me hard across the face. “You stupid bitch!”

He held me down, his hand splayed out across my chest, the pressure of his weight suffocating as he struggled with his pants. Stil , I fought, trying to kick and break free. His hand grabbed a handful of hair at the top of my head. He lifted my head and smashed it against the floor. The pain was splitting, staggering, and nearly sucked me into darkness.

Stil the voice was there, ringing through the pain, deafening.

Fight!

Blindly I grabbed for—anything. The back of my hand smacked into the wine rack against the wal , the bottles clanging against the metal. Wrapping my hand around the neck of the first bottle I touched, I tugged it out and swung it sharply. My ears fil ed with an earth-shattering crack when the bottle smashed into the side of Nicholas’s head. My last seconds of consciousness were fil ed with a shower of broken glass, blood, and wine, and then the weight of Nicholas’s limp body.

I rushed to the office, signed a few documents, and was back in my car in less than ten minutes. Traffic was light, so I was on the highway in no time, racing toward Nicholas’s house, on my way to final y bring home my girl.

My heart tightened, overjoyed with that thought.

She was actual y coming home. Tonight, we’d sleep together in
our
bed. My thoughts were getting carried away.

I glanced down and saw I was speeding in the extreme, but the pul was strong, drawing me to her. When I actual y paid attention to the pul —felt it—I realized something was off. I didn’t know what it was, but something was wrong. I could feel it.
Shit.
I pressed down further on the pedal. The closer I got, the stronger the feeling became. Agitation raced through my veins, spurring me on, driving me faster.

Fight!

I didn’t know where the word came from, but suddenly it was there, and I was voicing it aloud in the car.

Oh, my God. Something was very, very wrong. I swerved around a car, cutting back in front of it to take the exit, slamming on my breaks when I came up behind the line of cars waiting at the intersection.

“Go!” I screamed as the cars slowly began to accelerate when the light turned green. I rammed my foot on the gas and sped around them.

Fight!

It was there again, and it scared the shit out of me.

My soul cal ed to her.
“I’m coming—be strong—fight,
Melanie, fight!”
It was terrifying not knowing what she was fighting for.

I took the last turn into her neighborhood, skidding around the corner, the energy frenzied. Fear pulsed through me as the house came into view in the distance; the pul now so great, I was nauseous.

I grabbed my phone that had fal en to the floor, praying it had had enough time to charge, and ran across her yard to the front door.

Even with everything silent, I could feel her desperation. I reached for the latch of the front door, trying to remain as quiet as possible. I had no idea what I would find.

Cautiously, I stepped inside, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. For the first time in my life, I wished I carried a gun. I crept forward, swal owing down my panic when I saw the evidence of a struggle strewn across the floor, a toppled box with its contents scattered among shards of glass.

The urge to scream for her was overwhelming, though I stopped myself, fearful I’d only put her in more danger. I progressed slowly across the room, keeping my footsteps light, cringing when my shoe crunched against broken glass. Drawn, I steadily moved toward the kitchen, my knees weak when I saw them. They both lay on the floor, unmoving, Nicholas’s limp body pinning Melanie under him.

Shattered glass floated in pools of blood that had gathered around their heads.

“Oh, my God, No!” I rushed to them and heaved Nicholas from Melanie. A muffled moan of pain escaped him in his semiconscious state. As much as I wanted to end him, right then Melanie was my only concern.

“Melanie!” I screamed her name, my heart

thrashing around in my chest. Heartbroken, I fel to my knees beside my broken girl. Fumbling with my phone, I managed to dial 911 and feel for her pulse at the same time. It beat weakly beneath my trembling fingers, but it was there, thank God.

The operator came on, and I yel ed the address, asking for an ambulance and the police, begging them to hurry. The woman tried to ask questions and calm me down, but I could hear nothing but the ringing in my ears, fear and rage pounding and pushing against every vein in my body.

“Melanie, no! Baby, no,” I cried, tentatively reaching out to stroke her hair, my fingers feeling warmth seeping from the back of her head.

“You fucking bastard!” I screamed. My hands fisted on my thighs. Her face was torn to shreds. A deep wound hung open over her eye, the skin sliced open through her eyebrow, blood stil steadily flowing from it.

Numerous other cuts and scrapes marred her precious face. There was a deep cut under her chin, and bruising had begun to show up on every exposed surface. Her nails were ripped and bloodied, fil ed with skin and hair from fighting off Nicholas. Her clothes were in tatters, the front of her shirt ripped open, her exposed skin saturated in the blood pouring from her mouth. His intention was clear. Her body had been his aim, it now broken and bruised at his hands.

I wanted him to die.

Nicholas rol ed, coughing, spitting blood from his mouth onto the floor. Groaning, he fingered the oozing wound on his temple.

The corner of my mouth trembled, and I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to end his life. But the sound of sirens in the distance cal ed me back to sanity.

Lifting his head, his hate-fil ed gaze met mine. I stared at him, my posture protective as I guarded Melanie.

I’d never let him hurt her again.

“If you ever touch her again, I wil kil you,” I snarled, my face twisting with hatred.

“She’s
my
wife,” he spat out, his face contorting in rage.

“No,” I shook my head. “She’s mine. She has always been mine.”

He snorted through his nose and wiped his bloody face with the back of his hand. His cocky demeanor was back in ful force. “She’s not fucking worth it.” But the expression on his face told me that he knew she was.

He slumped back down to the floor as four police He slumped back down to the floor as four police officers entered, their guns drawn in preparation for a hostile situation.

Meeting no resistance, they al owed the

paramedics to enter. Two began treatment on Melanie, while two others knelt beside Nicholas to assess his injuries. They moved quickly and efficiently over my girl, placing a brace around her neck and compresses against her wounds. I watched helplessly as they transferred her unconscious form onto a stretcher.

The pul I felt for her now was indescribable, the need to be by her, to touch her. I could feel her soul cal ing for mine, scared and unsure. Even in her unaware state, her lips rol ed with my name.

I could resist her no longer, and I rushed back to her side, taking her hand in mine and squeezing, whispering in her ear that I was near, and she would be fine. I told her she was free, and we could now be together. I praised her for being so brave and swore that Nicholas would never harm her again.

“Sir, we need to take her now.”

I nodded, and placed a soft kiss against her cheek. Her face, even broken and dried with her blood, was stil the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “I love you, Melanie. I’l be right behind you, sweetheart.” Reluctantly, I stepped away and dropped her hand. I grabbed my phone from the floor and trailed behind as they pushed her out the door and slid her into the back of the waiting ambulance.

Jumping into my car, I found my spot behind the traveling van, its speed slow and deliberate. I raised my phone to dial Dad’s number, wanting to make him aware of what had happened. The text message on my screen caused my heart to stop in my chest.

“Where are you? The baby is coming!”

I prayed this was just another sad attempt by Vanessa to garner more attention. My hand shook as I pressed the button for voicemail. The generic voice came on and informed me I had twenty-seven new voice messages.

I sped through each one that wasn’t Vanessa, for the first time in my life wanting to hear her voice. Nine messages in, she was there.

“My water broke. I’m going to the hospital.”

“Fuck!” I screamed into the phone, replaying it so I could hear when she’d cal ed. The message had been left Saturday morning. Two days ago.

My stomach twisted in knots. The first wave of concern I’d ever felt for the child flooded me. Images of Eva’s tiny body flashed through my mind—the wires and needles and the suffering she knew for the two short days of her life.

I skipped forward through more messages and was riddled with guilt as Vanessa’s voice came on again.

“Daniel, the baby’s coming. Where are you? Please...cal me...I’m scared.”

On the last message, no words were said. There were only the soft sounds of a woman crying, familiar enough that I knew it was Vanessa. It had come in late enough that I knew it was Vanessa. It had come in late Saturday night.

“Vanessa!” I screamed, as if she could hear me yel ing at her through the message.

I frantical y dialed my father.

“Dad.” My voice shook with emotion. There had been too much pressure, first Melanie and now the baby.

“Daniel?” he asked, clearly worried. “Calm down.

Tel me what happened.”

“It’s Melanie’s. She’s hurt.”

“What?” His voice became shril . “What the hel happened?”

“Nicholas.” It was al I could get out, but I hoped he’d understand.

“Damn it,” he swore under his breath. “Is Melanie okay? Where are you?”

“Uh...I’m,” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. “I’m fol owing the ambulance. I think she’l be okay...but she’s beat up pretty badly.”

I could hear him shuffling around, his keys jingling loudly as they scraped across his desk. “I’m leaving right now. I’l meet you there. Which hospital?”