Page 22 of Our Little Secret
Her eyes flew open.
Gideon was on top of her, gunmetal-gray clouds whirling above his head, blood trickling down his chin, mirrored glasses reflecting the horror in her face as the world came back into razor-sharp focus.
“Get off me,” she ordered. Was he really going to rape her?Oh, Jesus. No way!She struggled, fighting. He was on top of her, breathing hard, his weight pinning her down, his hands pulling her wrists over her head.
What?
“Gideon, stop!” She was frantic, kicking and trying to roll away. “Get off me. You can’t . . . get the fuck off me!”
“You love it.”
“Are you insane?”
“Brooke!”
“Get. The Fuck. Off. Me.” She was panting, her pulse thundering in her brain, but she fought. “This is assault! I’ll go to the police!”
“Like hell you will.” A small, cruel smile crawled across his lips. “So this is how it’s gonna be, huh? A little rough. You like that?” His voice was a growl.
Bile rose up her throat. “Ihatethis!”
“Do you?” He mocked, blood dripping onto her sweater.
“I swear, Gideon, if you don’t get off me this second—”
“You’ll do what?” He leaned closer and she reacted, biting his lower lip again. Harder, as she swung up one leg. Her knee connected with his crotch.
He squealed. “Whaaa—?” He fell to the side.
She scrambled backward as his body convulsed, his legs bending, his body curling, his grip slightly loosened. She didn’t wait but gave him another swift kick to the nuts with her boot.
“Ooowoow.” Recoiling, he howled in agony.
She rolled swiftly away.
“You goddamned bitch!” he hissed, spittle flying.
Staggering to her feet, she took off.
“This isn’t over!” he yelled after her, gasping as he rose up on his knees. “It will never be over!”
She tore down the ramp, mindful of the older guy with the ring of red hair. He’d been washing his boat and had stopped, sponge in hand, soap dripping onto the dock, as she raced by.
“Hey—hey, are you okay?”
She didn’t answer, just kept running, her feet pounding down the long dock, fear propelling her, pain radiating up one leg. She kept going, across the small bridge spanning the water between the shore and the boats and into the parking lot.
She heard the man call out, “What the hell’s going on?”
She didn’t turn around. Didn’t look. Just ran. She ran as if her life depended on it. Pain screamed up one leg. She ignored it. Clenching her jaw, limping, her mind racing, she ran. The flock of gulls took off from the roof of the shed in a thunder of wings and caws.
Still she ran, past his damned bike, over the potholes, tears blinding her, her fingers fumbling in her pocket for her key chain.
At the Explorer she hit the remote. The lock clicked. She threw herself inside and yanked the door closed. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she murmured, her insides shredding as she caught a glimpse of Gideon through the passenger window. He was crouching, gasping for breath, his face red, his eyes fixed on her.
She rammed her SUV into reverse and gunned it.
“Hey!” a throaty, panicked voice yelled.
