Tapped (Totaled Book 2)

TAPPED

ISBN-10: 1511524766

ISBN-13: 978-1511524766

Copyright © 2015 by Stacey Grice

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.  The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

All rights reserved.

Edited by Erin Roth of Wise Owl Editing

Photographs by Kristina Maor Photography
Cover designed by Stacy T. Grice
Cover models: Marvin Short and Suzie Smith

Author’s Note:

Tapped
is a continuation of
Totaled,
the first book in the
Totaled
series. It is suggested

you read these books in sequential order. Due to mature content, profane language,

and sexual situations, this book is recommended for ages 18 and up.

DEDICATION

For my mom,

who is the definition of what a mother is supposed to be.

Prologue

BREE

I was lying half on my stomach, with my right leg draped over his and my head resting on his massive chest, listening to the gentle but strong beating of his heart. He had fallen asleep about an hour ago. We lay tangled in each other’s limbs, talking for a while, and then I noticed his breathing change and his leg muscles twitch a few times. When I tried to wiggle out of his embrace, he stirred and grabbed hold of me, not even willing to let go of me in his dreams. It felt nice, so I nestled in and enjoyed it.

The exhaustion was finally setting in and I allowed my eyes to close, enjoying being lulled to sleep by his steady breathing and drumming heartbeat. Drifting closer and closer to sleep, I relaxed all of my muscles, exhaled a deep breath, and gave in.

Sometime after I had fallen asleep, I was awakened suddenly when I felt him jerk his legs and arms up all at once into the air, violently. I was thrown off of him by the action and woke up, startled. He remained on his back, but he was grimacing and starting to mumble something, sounding angry. As I rose up onto my knees beside him on the bed, I looked over his tortured expression, certain he had to be having a nightmare. Unsure of what to do, I tried to speak softly to him.

“Drew? Hey, I think you’re having a dream. Shhh…it’s okay, wake up.”

His right arm, the closest one to me, lashed out, and a tightly clenched fist struck my right thigh.

“OUCH! Wake up! Hey, you need to wake up now. You’re just having a bad dream,” I said a little louder than before, rubbing my newly struck thigh in pain.

I was getting nowhere. He started to shout unintelligibly and was kicking his legs out like he was trying to kick a monster off of him. I didn’t know what to do, but he looked so tortured, like he was in pain. I had to help him. I reached out my right hand to try and touch his shoulder. I shook him a little on the chest and shoulder all while talking to him.

“Hey, it’s okay, Drew. You’re having a bad dream. Wake up now. Everything’s fine. I’m right here with you,” I tried to tell him.

In the blink of an eye, before I even could see it coming, I felt his hand reach up and grab my throat. He squeezed and lifted up, choking off my airway. My body was slammed down onto the bed, the back of my head smashing into the headboard on the way down. I was thrown onto my back and froze. I could do nothing but stare in shock at his massive form climbing over me to straddle my body and pin down my hands. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t behind those eyes; they were just blankly staring out into nothing. I squirmed and tried to scream, but the more I moved, the tighter his muscles held me.

I was in such shock, I could barely get out any words. “HEY! Please, STOP THIS! Wake up, PLEASE! YOU’RE SCARING ME!” I screamed, crying and begging for him to wake up.

His right arm released my left wrist and went straight for my throat. I tried to bring my arm down to block it and brought my chin sharply down to my chest to protect myself, but the minimal effort was no match for his size, strength, and skill at this very thing. He was soon choking me. He squeezed with his right hand and leaned into me with all of his weight. I tried to kick my legs and buck my hips up to gain leverage, but he was crushing me. I couldn’t inhale a breath. My vision was blurring in and out. There were seconds, mere moments, where one of my kicks would land and he would loosen his grip enough to give me time to take in some air. I tried to scream at him, but it wasn’t working. I pounded my only free hand into his shoulder, chest, face, anything I could. The rage in his face just got more intense. He started shouting out into the room.

“You fucking prick!”

“You animal!”

“You abusive, alcoholic, son of a bitch!”

“I fucking hate you!”

He let go of my throat and I gasped for air. He still sat over me and just stared straight ahead, not even looking at my face. I didn’t know if he was still sleeping or awake now. I took the opportunity to try to get out from under him, but it was like trying to lift a boulder. Trapped, I attempted once more to talk to him.

“PLEASE STOP! It’s Meeeeeee! You’ve got to wake up, PLEASE! It’s Bree. Wake up, please. You’re HURTING ME!” I yelled and sobbed all at once.

His eyebrows pulled together, lips tightening into a thin, straight line of fury and he placed both hands on my neck, strangling me of all ability to inhale a breath. Feeling my life slipping away from me, I dug deep within my body and gathered every speck of my remaining strength to kick up my knee as hard as I could possibly kick into his groin. I felt him wince slightly but was met immediately with his right fist colliding with my left cheek, like I had been struck with a solid two by four. I saw stars. I felt my body go limp. I could do nothing to protest or protect myself. All I could do was cry. I was shaking, still gasping for breath. Feeling like a tourniquet was still applied around my neck, I choked out, “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why would you do this?”

“Please?”

“Please stop this.”

“Brian? Please.”

In the instant that I said his name, I felt him still over top of me. He was still straddling me, but he wasn’t moving. I slowly turned my head to look at his face. Only being able to see well out of my right eye scared me. I reached my left hand up to my face and winced at how swollen it already was and how painful it was to even touch. I looked into his eyes and saw him again.

He was back. And he was horrified.

“Oh my God—Bree?” he said, looking down at my beaten face.

“Get. Off. Of. Me,” I demanded calmly but firmly.

He recoiled and the realization of where he was and what just happened sunk in. He frantically looked left and right, all around the room, jumped back and climbed off of me. “Oh my God. Oh my God. What have I done? Oh God, please. Bree, I had no idea. Oh my God. Please. Please. I am so sorry, Bree. Please,” he begged as he started to cry. His tears turned into sobs. His body started shaking and his pleas became hysterical. He started to walk back over to the bed toward me and I held my right hand up in the air to stop him. He halted all movement and just stood still, looking to me for direction.

I slowly rose from my prone position and was greeted with the most intense throbbing in my head that I’ve ever experienced. If I combined every single headache I’d ever had in my twenty-two-year-old life into one giant headache, it would not equal the pain I felt in that moment. All of the adrenaline coursing through me moments ago came crashing down and I felt every ounce of pain that he had just inflicted. My leg felt broken, my face swollen to the point that I couldn’t see out of my left eye or move my lips the right way to talk.

Having enough sense to realize that I was still naked, I calmly squeaked out, “Get me my clothes.”

He picked up my sundress and panties, which were draped over a chair in the corner, and came over to hand them to me. He started to try to help me put my underwear on, but I snatched them from his hands and bent down to do it myself, trying to hide the lightheaded feeling that I got when I slowly brought my head back up. He just stood there watching me and continued to cry. The act of lowering my head to get my panties on over my feet was excruciating, but I refused to allow him to help me. I was in pain and confused, but the emotional hurt of just having been beaten by someone I cared about was more emotionally painful than anything else. I roughly dragged my dress over my head, flinching when the fabric came into contact with the left side of my face. Standing up, I turned slightly towards him to see him pacing back and forth quickly and frantically, like a caged animal at the zoo.

“I have to go.”

Stopping in mid-pace, he looked up and pleaded, “Bree, please…I’m so sorry. I would never… I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please let me explain.”

“I… I can’t. I have to go,” I answered and started to cry.

“No. Bree, please. Please don’t do this. Don’t leave me. Please talk to me. Let me take you to the hospital. Please?” He sobbed as he sank to his knees at my feet, bawling and begging for forgiveness.

I turned away from him, grabbed my purse, and slowly walked away. My face was beaten, my neck was sore, but my heart was shattered.

I felt dizzy, my equilibrium way off, but I managed to get to my car and sat down in the driver’s seat. I was thankful that I at least had the presence of mind to realize that I couldn’t drive like this. But who could I call? Not Liam. Not my father. They couldn’t know about this. I may have just been beaten close to death by my boyfriend, but I knew in my heart that it wasn’t him. He didn’t mean to do this to me. I loved him and had to protect him. I had to think carefully about how to handle this.

 I reached for my cell phone, noticing that it was just after three in the morning. Holding down the number to speed dial Sue, I heard the ringing and it sounded like a bull horn being held an inch from my ear.

“This better be good, Murphy. I was having the best dream,” she answered groggily.

“I need you to come and get me.”

“What? Seriously? What the fuck for? Are you drunk?”

“No. Please. I need you to come and get me now. I’ll explain when you get here.”

“Where are you?” she barked, annoyed.

“I’m outside of Drew’s house.”

“Well, wake his ass up to take you home.”

I had no words. I just started crying into the phone, almost unable to catch my breath between broken sobs. What was I supposed to say? My boyfriend can’t drive me home because he just beat me? I need you to come because I have no one else to call? I can’t call my dad because he’ll kill him? What could I say that would make her realize that this wasn’t a fucking joke or drill? And then it hit me. I had only ever said it to her once before, when my mother died. She knew back then and came immediately.

“Jellyfish.”

Chapter One

BREE

            Plans. It’s kind of silly to make plans. It seems important, to have structure and order and stick to the itinerary. To be prepared. I hadn’t planned on this. And I always planned for everything. Every possible scenario and variable. But I never thought anything like this would happen to me.