Page 49 of Sparrow

“YOU LOVE ME, don’t you, baby?”

I am face down on the bed, ass in the air, Grayson behind me, buried to the hilt inside of me, tangling his hands in my hair.

“Tell me you love me, Amelia.” He tugs my hair hard.

“Yes, yes, I love you. I’ve always loved you,” I moan.

“Good girl,” he growls and tugs even harder, this time, it doesn’t feel good. It hurts. Some of my hair even comes out.

“Ah! What are you doing?” I cry out.

“Fucking you like the whore you are,” a voice growls, but it’s not the voice I crave. It’s not the voice I’ve always loved. It’s one more sinister. More evil.

“No.” I try to fight, but he’s bigger. Stronger. I can’t move him. I’m stuck, frozen.

“Fight me. Try. It makes me so hard when you resist.” He pounds harder than before and I feel like I’m being split in two.

“Stop it! Please!” I am sobbing into my pillow. “Stop!”

I move my head and can see the mirror by my bed. I see him, Jaxon, but he’s a monster—pure evil—and beside me on the bed lies Gray. Motionless. Pale. Cold.

“No!” I scream out, bolting upright in my bed, kicking the sheet away.

I feel Gray sit up and stand, I think out of pure instinct. “Fuck! Mills! What is it? Are you okay?”

He rounds to my side of the bed and touches my shoulders, but I shrug him off. “No. Don’t touch me. I can’t.”

I need to get away. I need a moment to breathe. I’m shaking. Terrified.

I pull on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, my body moving on autopilot.

“Amelia. Stop. Talk to me. What happened?” He is in front of me before I even realize it.

“Gray, please. I just need a minute alone, okay?” I can feel the wet trails of tears on my cheeks.

“At least tell me where you’re going, so I know you’re safe. Please.”

The place I know will soothe me right now. The place I hope will give me answers in the form of crashing waves.

“The beach. I just need a minute alone, okay?” I wipe my cheeks.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks, cupping my face in both of his hands.

“I am.” I turn my head to kiss his palm. “I’ll be back soon. You can stay if you want, or go. I’d understand.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I see proof that you’ll be all right.”

***

I step out onto my front porch and take a deep breath. The sun is just barely starting to rise, casting an orange glow over the island.

I descend the stairs and turn right out of my driveway, walking the fifty feet back to the small wooden walkway that leads down to the shoreline.

The minute I feel the breeze on my cheeks, my shoulders relax a little. The seagulls are squawking their morning songs and the waves are crashing on the sand. It’s beautiful music.

I slip off my flip-flops and step barefoot into the cool sand, wiggling my toes then setting off toward the closest swing.

I don’t know why they are here, but wooden, two-seat swings line the shoreline here on this side of Tybee Island. There’s one every two hundred yards or so. They sit far enough back that they are against the dunes and out of the line of fire, even at high tide.

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