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I quickly rattle off the address to Momma's and for once I'm glad she's not home because I can only imagine what she'd have to say about the drunk state I'm in.
My eyes feel like they're being weighed down by bricks, and I'm sinking even further into whatever this feeling is during the entire drive home.
Relief flows through me when we finally pull up the long driveway leading to Momma's house.
He shifts the truck into park and cuts the engine off. “Home, sweet home.”
“Thanks, Atti—”
I'm silenced by the hand that's slowly making it's way up my thigh.
“What—what are you doing?”
His hand slides under my tiny black work shorts and he leans in close and whispers, “You've been begging for my dick all night, sweetheart. Teasing me with that sexy little body of yours, I'm just giving you what you want.”
Panic grips me...or at least it should...but my body doesn't seem to get the memo.
The memo that's screaming—something's not right—this isn't the same Atticus.
What happened to the Southern gentleman?
“No—” I start to say, until I think about his statement.
This is what I wanted...isn't it? I wanted to forget about Ricardo...and he's not exactly wrong...I've been flirting with him all night.
And clearly my body isn't opposed to the idea of having sex with him, because I'm not fighting him off.
Quite the opposite actually, I'm extremely calm.
Almost too calm.
That is until he shifts and leans in closer...and his lips are only a centimeter away from mine.
I want him to be my first kiss, my last kiss, and every single kiss in between for the rest of my life.
Ricardo.
“Please don't kiss me,” I choke out.
He grunts, gets out of his truck, and slams the door angrily.
I'm about to follow suit...but I can't.
Because I can't move.
Or rather, it's not that I can't move...it's just that my reflexes are extremely slow.
I open my mouth but all that comes out is a slurred sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper.
Alarm bells are firing off now but there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
And that's when my own door swings open and Atticus lifts me out of the seat and into his arms.
“Atticus,” I say, fighting like hell to hold on to reality and not this tu
“Shh, sweetheart,” he says. “I'm go
“No, put me down.”
He ignores me and kicks the door to his truck closed instead.
“Put me down...now,” I say again, more forcefully this time, despite my own body betraying me by acting so tranquil.
He sputters a curse and does as I ask...but only so he can pin me up against the side of his truck. “This would go a lot smoother if you'd quit fighting me,” he barks in my ear.
I want to laugh—because if he thinks this is me fighting...boy he's got another thing coming.
I haven't even begun to fight yet.
I want to laugh—but I can't because that floaty, euphoric, immobilizing, feeling is doing a real number on me.
I bring up my hand in an attempt to punch him but it barely moves an inch before that too is slammed against his truck along with the rest of my body.
I want to cry because it feels like my body is paralyzed...and yet I can make out what's happening to me through all the murky fuzziness...but I can't stop it. I'm completely helpless.
Especially now that I can feel myself sinking lower and lower. I'm barely holding on...almost on empty...almost out of time...almost out of fight.
To anyone else looking at us, this entire act would look consensual. Like two lovers caught in the heat of the moment.
His free hand skims along the sliver of my stomach that's exposed by my work shirt and he drops his head and kisses my neck.
“Atticus,” I warn, although it comes out like a sigh.
My gun. If I could muster enough muscle control and coordination to get it out of my purse...I can make this all stop.
“That's right, you keep moaning my name through those pretty lips of yours.”
His Southern accent...it's gone.
I hear the sound of a zipper being undone and a moment later his entire hand disappears inside my shorts. “Maybe if you make this fuck worth my while...I won't do what it is that I was hired to do. I'll keep this hot cunt of yours all for myself and make them both kill each other over it.”
What?
I don't know what he's talking about...the only thing I know for sure now is that I wish Ricardo was here.
I don't care how desperate and pathetic it makes me. I need Ricardo right now.
He smirks and I feel myself drift off...but not before I sob, “Ricardo.” At the same time I hear a deep and very familiar voice shout, “Lou-Lou.”
I feel something sharp pierce my flesh and I faintly register the sound of a gun being fired somewhere in the far off distance.
And then I free fall...into nothing but pitch black.