Page 103 of Beautiful Secrets
I was raped, three weeks ago.
I’ve barely been able to think about anything else since she said those words. The hitch in her voice has been playing through my head nonstop.
She doesn’t want to tell me who did it.
I shouldn’t even care.
But it’s like I’m possessed. The compulsion to know who dared defile something as precious as my little Mi—
I grit my teeth, and scour the streaming rain for a sign.
Literally.
Because I can’t stay on the road anymore. Not like this. I feel like I’m coming apart at the fucking seams. And while I might be able to live with the fact that I’m handing Mika off like a grubby letter put in the wrong post box, I won’t be able to live with myself if I kill her and her little scrog-to-be.
I need her out of my car. Out of my mind. Out of my fucking life.
It’s taken me five years to reach a point where I might actually consider myself a stable human being. But since the moment she pulled a gun on me, I might as well never have set foot in Blackmoore.
She stiffens a little when I put on the indicator.
Probably thinks we’re turning off to Daddy Dearest’s estate.
God, I wish we were.
And, at the same time, I wish we never ever reach that turnoff.
I start hunting through the rain again, desperate for another run down sign pointing out some random place we can stop off. Because now I can’t even have a smoke in the car without thinking about the fact that she’s pregnant, and that brings back the rage.
“We are close?” she murmurs, as if to herself.
“I fucking wish.”
37
Mika
There is a sudden whoosh under us. The car feels like it is floating instead of driving.
“Christ.” Cole shakes his head and starts glaring out of the windows. “We’re gonna fucking sink.”
My chest grows tight. “Is it that bad?”
“Yeah, little rabbit, it’s that bad.” His eyes touch mine again, flinching as if he wished he hadn’t used my pet name. “We’ll have to pull over and wait it out with the others.”
“How long will that take?”
“Jesus, now I’m a weatherman?” He shakes his head. “Fuck knows.”
“I need to pee again.”
He mutters something that could have been a curse, but avoids looking at me. Then he ducks his head and narrows his eyes. “Hang on. I see a sign.” He sighs. “Thank fuck. Now cross your fingers and hope it’s a gas station.”
He puts on his indicator. Squints through the water cascading over the windshield that even the manic windshield wipers cannot flick off fast enough.
“B and B,” he says.
“Is gas station?”
