Vicious Carousel (5 page)

“Yeah,” Nolan sadly said. “Me, too. I thought she was adorable.” Kenny’s attention snapped onto Nolan. “What?” Nolan asked.

Kenny took a moment to answer. “Long-term.
If
,” he strongly emphasized, “she is in a healthy place, I’m not against you and me talking about maybe more than just protecting her.”

“Long-term,” Nolan agreed. “And
only
if,
after
we bounce it off others first, they think it’s a good idea.”

Kenny rested his head against Nolan’s shoulder. “What time is Ed getting here?”

“We’re supposed to call him, but he said he wanted to be here by ten.”

“Okay. I hope she’s awake by then.”

“Why do I have a feeling our world just shifted?”

“Because it did.” Kenny kissed him before slipping past him and heading for the kitchen doorway, where he pulled up short. “Oh, dammit.” He turned.

“What?”

“Mom’s coming for dinner tonight.”

“So?”

Kenny pointed down the hall. “
So
? Really?”

“We tell the truth. She’s a friend in trouble. If Dennis comes with her, maybe it’ll make him keep his mouth shut around Betsy.”

“I should cancel dinner.”

“No.” Nolan walked over to him and pulled him in close again. “I don’t want to cancel dinner. I suspect Mom’s going to need to get out of the house, and I’d really be shocked—like buy a lotto ticket shocked—if Dennis came with her. Maybe having Mom here to talk to might help Betsy.”

“You think so?”

“I think it’ll help take Mom’s mind off her troubles.” There was a little hard cider left in the bottom of the bottle. Nolan took it from Kenny and drained it, then put it in the recycling bin under the sink. He returned to Kenny and took his hand. “Sorry you didn’t get your beating and fucking.”

Kenny shrugged. “To be honest? I’m too exhausted and mentally wrung out for either right now. But, hey, bonus, shift in perspective. Having a homophobic douche for a step-dad is no biggie, in the grand scheme of things.”

Nolan chuckled as he led him down the hall toward their bedroom. “That’s putting it into perspective, all right.”

Betsy startled awake the next morning, her left eye wide, right eye unable to open, fear spiking adrenaline through her system and making her heart jackhammer in her chest.

Fear even overshadowed the disorientation she felt as her one-eyed gaze darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.

This wasn’t Jack’s bedroom.

This
damn
sure wasn’t Jack’s bed—and thank god for that, because it was like a thousand times more comfortable.

She sucked in a deep breath and let it out again as her mind slowly began to turn and settle back into place, the events of the previous evening coming back to her. Getting the chain off her foot.

Getting free.

But how free was she, really?

She literally had no money. Worse, now she had a hospital bill she’d have to figure out how to pay. At least with Jack, she wasn’t in debt, not that he wouldn’t have loved to put her there and even more firmly under his thumb.

She wanted to sit up, but when she tried to lift her head she realized that wasn’t going to be possible. Pain, sharp and piercing, slammed through her skull. And that made her wince, which made all her other pains speak up and holler for attention, including the agony in her right ankle. She laid back down again, her eyes squeezed closed, as she prayed for the pain to abate.

Shit.

Breathing hurt. Hell,
thinking
hurt.

After a couple of minutes, she realized she would have to move eventually. She slowly reached out with her left hand and couldn’t feel the edge of the bed.

Okay, that means I’m on the right side.

Sure enough, slow and careful exploration with that hand allowed her to discover the edge and showed her how much room she had to work with so she didn’t roll her stupid ass right off onto the floor.

Taking a couple of long, slow, deep breaths, she gingerly tried rolling onto her right side. It took every ounce of strength she had not to scream in agony.

Dammit.

Okay, getting up on her own wasn’t an option at that time.

Moving slowly, she turned her head toward the left. Outside, light leaked around the edges of the horizontal blinds covering the windows. As she tried slowly moving her head back to the right, she spotted the time on a cable box.

7:27

Okay. I have to get up.

She gave up when a dizzying wave of vertigo accompanying the spike of pain swept over her on her second attempt to lift her head.

Somewhere out in the house, she heard someone moving around and smelled coffee brewing. It made her stomach growl.

Yeah, come to think of it, she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast Saturday morning. She wasn’t allowed to eat unless Jack gave her permission. If he came home and found stuff missing from the fridge or cabinets without him okaying it, he would beat her for it. He’d said she needed to lose weight, even though she hadn’t thought she was fat.

I hope he’s in jail.

Screw that, she hoped he was
under
the fucking jail.

In the cold light of day, as her new reality slowly began to sink in, she realized survival mode was no longer necessary. She
had
survived, despite what she’d stupidly let him do to her.

There had been plenty of hours, alone in the apartment with nothing but basic cable and a few books, where she’d thought about her predicament and how to get out of it. Sure, before the chain, she could have simply packed all her stuff and walked away.

Except she hadn’t known who to call for help.

Despite that, she’d just about talked herself into getting away. Maybe there’d been a determination in her demeanor. Maybe the way she’d thrown herself into obeying his every order as quickly and perfectly as possible as a way to pull him off-guard and lull him into a false sense of complacency had backfired on her.

That was when he’d brought home the chain.

And then she was
really
stuck. She no longer had a cell phone. Jack had confiscated her laptop, changing the password and using it as his own. She remembered seeing it gone last night when they returned to the apartment with the detectives, so she guessed it’d been grabbed when everyone got her stuff.

Well, it was pink, so it was an easy thing to think. It was probably there in the room, somewhere, with her other things.

She’d have to ask Tony if he could hack the password for her.

Another noise from out in the kitchen, and she kicked her pride in the ovaries and took a deep breath.

“Hello?” She didn’t want to yell
help
and scare the poor guys to death.

At first, she wasn’t sure she’d called out loudly enough, but then she heard a soft knock on her door.

“Betsy?” It sounded like Nolan.

“Yes,” she said, trying not to break down and cry. “I need help, please.”

Nolan opened the door and poked his head through, a look of concern on his face. “What’s wrong?” He wore a dark green bathrobe.

Her tears finally broke free. “I can’t get up by myself. I’m sorry. I need help. It hurts too much.”

He swooped in, her knight in shining terry cloth, and helped her sit up as she bit down on the scream of pain that wanted explode from her.

“Pain?” he asked.

“And dizzy,” she said.

“That’s probably the concussion. You should have let them admit you last night.”

“I can’t afford it. Can you please help me into the bathroom?”

“Sure.”

He gently helped her swing her legs around and then once again held her, lifting her more than her actually standing under her own power. Slowly, he matched her pace as she shuffled toward the door.

Kenny appeared, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and looking half asleep, his hair tousled. “Are you all right?”

“No, she’s not,” Nolan said. “She can barely move. Help me.”

Kenny also swooped in, and together, the men got her across the hall and into the bathroom. Shoving modesty aside, she asked them to stay while she got herself onto the toilet with their help and did what she needed to do. At least she could wipe herself. Then they helped her stand, Kenny deftly pulling her pajama pants up before they got her over to the sink.

That was when she made the mistake of lifting her head and looking into the mirror. The sob she let out sounded forged in some deep, toxic swamp, even to her own ears.

Yes, her right eyelid and the surrounding flesh was a dark, purple, swollen mass.

Which explained why it wouldn’t open, duh. Over her left eye, a bruise surrounded the laceration where stitches held it closed. Her face looked unrecognizable, even to her. In the mirror she could see the bruises around her neck, along her arms.

“I look like shit,” she whispered.

Both men wore grim expressions as they silently nodded.

And her right ankle hurt like a fucking son of a bitch.

She got her hands washed and carefully brushed her teeth, even though that was a horrible act of masochism in and of itself. Somehow, she miraculously still
had
all her teeth.

“Back to bed?” Nolan gently asked when she finished.

She shook her head. “No. Did I hear an attorney was coming by this morning?” Great, more money she didn’t have and couldn’t afford, but she wouldn’t refuse the help.

“Yeah, Ed Payne,” Nolan said. “He’s a member of the Suncoast Society group. He said he’s met you before at munches, but you might not remember him until you see him.”

“Okay. I guess I should have a shower.” The thought of trying to do that, though, filled her with dread. She really wanted to shave her legs, but that would be impossible. She needed to wash her hair. Hell, she needed to
brush
her hair and didn’t think she could even do that.

The men exchanged a dubious glance over her head, which she spotted in the mirror.

She drew in a pained breath. “Look, I’m beyond the bashful stage. I get it, I’m a wreck. I would really appreciate it if you would help me get a shower. I promise I won’t freak out over incidental contact.”

Nolan shucked his bathrobe. Under it, he wore silk boxers with smiley faces on them.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed, even though that fucking hurt like hell. “I’m sorry,” she said. “They’re adorable.”

“I was going to give you my robe to cover up with after your shower,” he said.

“Sorry.” But she smiled, even though it hurt like unholy
fucking
hell.

After getting her undressed, the men helped her step into the shower. Kenny found her hairbrush in her purse and brought it in. The men worked together, while she stood there with her left arm braced against the shower wall for balance, to brush out her hair without pulling on it too much.

She wanted to break down crying from the tenderness of their actions, but managed to choke her tears back. She didn’t want them to think they were hurting her.

She was hurting, but not because of them. She also realized she would have to watch herself, not throw herself into some stupid sort of trap of falling for them because they were the ones here helping her, and misplace her affections for them.

It would be too easy, after the hell she’d been through, to fall for someone…kind.

Non-assholish.

Even a guy who was slightly a jerk, but not abusive.

Nope
. Not again. Yes, she knew what she wanted and needed, but she obviously wasn’t any better at picking out kinky partners than she had been at picking out vanilla ones.

For now, she was off the market. She would get her shit together, get her life together, figure out how to become independent again, and then,
maybe
, she’d think about playing.

She wouldn’t even date. Screw that. She could play with someone and get orgasms, never even leave the goddamned club with them, say good night to them, and go home, safely, alone, and without worrying about getting punched because she ate three too many pieces of macaroni.

If someone wanted a relationship with her, they would have to fucking bend over backward like the goddamned Rubber Man to prove they weren’t faking it until she decided to submit to them and let them have control over her.

Even then, she wasn’t sure, after this, if she ever could open herself up to that kind of relationship again. It was what she desperately wanted, even needed, but not now…

Maybe never again.

The death of that possibility hurt almost as much as her physical injuries.

“I’m sorry,” she said as they finished brushing out her unruly brown hair.

Jack had ordered her to grow it long. She preferred keeping it around shoulder length, just long enough to pull back if she had to, but with its natural curliness, at that length it was easy to wear loose and natural if she used product in it to keep it from frizzing out.

Not that he’d let her buy anything other than the cheapest shampoo possible.

“Why are you apologizing?” Nolan asked.

“Because I know this is a pain in the ass,” she said. “And I appreciate the help.”

Kenny picked up the bottle of shampoo and looked at it. “Whoa. No offense, this is what you like using?”

“No. I hate it It’s all he’d let me buy. It was the cheapest stuff.”

“Hold on.” She heard him mutter something under his breath as he turned and left the bathroom. When he returned a moment later, he carried a bottle of shampoo and one of conditioner. “Sorry they’re not perfect for your hair type, but it’s better than that shit.”

They took the handheld showerhead down, started the water, and got it warmed up. Working together, the two men shampooed her hair and then applied the conditioner, letting it sit while one of them soaped up a washcloth and gently started working on her legs and arms.