Damaged (5 page)

A bright smile lit her face.
“No, thank
you
, sugar. You two come back anytime now,” she chirped before stuffing the bill into her apron and hurrying to the next table.

Monica sat across
from him, seething, staring daggers at him while he nonchalantly scooped the pie into the white Styrofoam container. It only seemed to irritate her more when he continued to act as though nothing were amiss. Trying to keep a grin from breaking free, Seth pushed the box toward her. “I’ll get you a cab.”

Monica shot him an irritated glare as she rose from the booth, but didn’t say a word until they stepped onto the sidewalk.
Holding the small white box close to her chest, she leaned back against the building under the awning. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she mused quietly. “Am I the first stray dog you’ve tried to rescue? Or have there been others?”

Seth hailed the first cab he saw approaching, relieved when it pulled to a stop at the curb in front of them. Pulling the back door open for her, he turned the collar of his jacket up and motioned for her to get in. He was already soaked to the bone, but he barely noticed. Monica hurried across the sidewalk, slipping into the backseat swiftly, still holding her pie carefully.

Leaning into the warmth of the cab, Seth pressed a fifty dollar bill into her hand. “I only rescue the beautiful ones,” he told her, before pushing the door shut and pounding on the top of the cab to give the driver the go-ahead.

Monica’s
face was passive as she turned around to watch him when the cab pulled away, like she was trying to make sense of the whole situation, but hell, so was he. He was already in too deep to claw his way back out now. Sweet, feisty little Monica plagued his thoughts, day after day, and now that he’d seen the true beauty she concealed, he was on a collision course with a high risk game of desire.

Chapter Five

Beautiful
. He’d called her beautiful.

The word repeated in her head on a loop
as she stepped out of the cab in front of her building. No one had ever called her beautiful. Well, except for the men that had taken turns with her at the urging of her depraved stepfather. Their hands on her body had made her feel anything but beautiful. Worthless, used…vile, those were the only emotions she’d felt. Just the memory of it made her stomach turn. She was nothing more than a kid back then, but there was nothing childish about what those men had done to her on the weekends.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, Monica took the ch
ange from the driver and slid it into her back pocket. The cab ride had only been a mere eight dollars, leaving her with forty-two, just enough to pay the water bill. So why did she feel so damn guilty? She hadn’t asked him for the money. He’d shoved it in her hand and sent her on her way.

Conflicting emotions filled her brain as she made her way to the door. He hadn’t even denied the fact that he was a cop, yet he still insisted on helping her. Why?
What was his fascination with her? Carefully holding her pie, Monica pulled the heavy glass door open, stepping right back into the disgust and filth that was the reality of her life. Holding her breath against the onslaught of odors that assailed her, she moved quickly, doing her best to tune out the sounds around her. All she wanted was a shower, even if it was just a lukewarm one, and her bed.

Monica shivered as the chill from her rain
-soaked clothes seeped into her skin, and started up the stairs to her apartment. It was dark in the stairwell. Darker than usual, making pin-pricks of awareness raise the hair on the back of her neck. Something was wrong.

It was when she hit the first landing that she caught sight of the red glow of a cigarette, and by then it was too late.
An unseen force lurched from the darkness, slamming her face-first into the wall. Monica cried out in pain as her cheek made contact with the plaster and stars exploded before her eyes. In an instant, he had her hands pinned behind her back, sending the pie she’d so carefully carried home, smashing onto the filthy carpet below. Completely immobile, panic squeezed her chest, making it even more difficult to breathe. “Please don’t,” she pleaded, choking on the tears clogging her throat.

The man gurgled a sinister chuckle from behind her. “You had your chance to do this the easy way. Now we do it my way.
You scream and I’ll fucking gut you.”

Monica sobbed as he reached around to the front of her jeans, fumbling with the button
. Her throat was raw, leaving her barely able to manage a raspy whisper. “No!”

“Shut up!” he hissed before slamming her face into the wall once more. “I warned you.”

Pain throbbed in her cheek, which was no doubt swelling more and more by the second. The helplessness made her wish she was dead, and by instinct alone, she went still. If he was going to do it, she’d just let him get it over with. He was too big to fight off alone.

Cool damp air slithered over her flesh when he finally worked the button free and lowered her zipper before tugging her jeans and panties down
to expose her ass. Monica closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face as she awaited the inevitable. Bile stung at the back of her throat as the urge to vomit had her stomach heaving uncontrollably. Pure disgust at her own weakness coursed through her veins like a thick sludge.

“This is gonna feel so fucking good,” he whispered, his acrid breath hot on her ear as the sound of his zipper lowering rent the air. “I bet you’re a tight little thing too, aren’t you?”

Just get it over with. Don’t fight him
.

Everything seemed to come to a halt when she felt the slap of his cock against her ass cheek. He was toying with her. “I should make you beg for it, ya know?” he taunted, running his tongue up the side of her neck. “I should make you beg like the little bitch you are.”

Breathe, Monica. You’ve gotten through this before. Breathe
. Her inner monologue chanted the words over and over as she recoiled into her own mind, desperately seeking solace from the horror of what was about to happen.

His free hand cupped her breast, then traveled down her belly. Unable to stop the flow of tears, Monica bit her lip, fighting the scream that threatened to break free as his hand traveled lower. She could feel his cock pressing against her ass, hard and ready to invade.

“Beg for it, bitch,” he growled.

Her mouth opened to speak the words he wanted to hear, praying that he wouldn’t hurt her if she complied, when the distinct click of a gun cocking broke through the silence.

“Get your hands off her, or I’ll paint the wall with your fucking brains.” The voice was low, lethal.

Monica’
s eyes flew open as recognition set in. Seth.

Her attacker moved away, leaving her exposed. Before she could even turn to face the man who had come to her rescue, Monica pulled her jeans back up and attempted to fasten the button with hands that were shaking
so furiously it took her three attempts. She was embarrassed, face flushed red as she turned around. She didn’t know how much Seth had seen, but she didn’t want to stick around to find out, either.

Seth had the man from apartment twenty-six pinned to the wall with the barrel of his gun pressed against the asshole’s head. A sick satisfaction settled into her gut at the sight. Part of her wished he’d pull the fucking trigger.

“Get on up to your apartment. I’ll take care of this,”
Seth spat through clenched teeth, not once taking his eyes from the man who was now whimpering as she had been only moments before.

Monica h
esitated, glancing up the stairway. “What are you going to do to him?”

Seth turned his head to meet her gaze
, and her blood ran cold. The look in his eyes was nothing short of deadly. His hand tightened on the butt of the gun slightly. “Get out of here. Now, Monica.”

Without a second thought, she ran up the stairs, tears of relief welling in her eyes. The thought of what would have happened if Seth hadn’
t showed up made her sick. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Monica ran until she reached the door to her apartment. Out of breath and fumbling with her keys, she tried desperately to calm the trembling in her hands long enough to unlock each lock. Twice she dropped them, cursing when she had to pick them back up. She just wanted to be safe inside where she could wash the filth from her attacker off her flesh. She could still smell him on her clothes, stale smoke and sour breath.

“Dammit! Just fucking open!” she cursed, using both hands to steady the key. Barely able to see through the haze of tears¸ she sucked in a thankful breath when the last lock clicked free. Swinging the door open, Monica slammed it shut
again, wasting no time engaging the locks that had held her captive for what had felt like forever. Safe once again, she leaned back against the door before sliding down to her butt, holding her head in her hands.

Deep calming breaths did little to quell the shaking of her body
or the tears that poured from her eyes. She felt dirty, useless. Why her? Why did this have to be her life? Why did she have to struggle when others had it so damn easy?

Wrapping her arms around her knees, she cried. She cried for the child she
had never been allowed to be. She cried for the life she’d never had, but most of all, she cried for Sarah and Jack. She was weak. What had just taken place in the stairwell had proven that. Who would protect them if something happened to her?

A soft tap on the door had her yanking her head
up from her knees. Fear skittered over her body like spiders under her skin. She stayed silent, hoping whoever it was would just go away. No such luck.

“Monica?” Seth’s low voice drifted through the door. He sounded calmer now. “Open the door, sweetheart.”
How the hell had he found her apartment?

Just what she needed. Letting a cop into her apartment so he could see the shit conditions Sarah and Jack were living in was not happening. She’d lose them for sure.

“I’m fine. Please leave me alone,” she said weakly, her voice more of a squeak than anything. Her throat was dry, raw, and she didn’t want to wake the kids. Looking around their meager apartment with its thread-bare couch and peeling paint, she shook her head in shame.

“Open the door. Please, Monica.”

Monica closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the door. Seth was becoming a world class pain in the ass. “I said I’m fine. Go away.”

She hear
d him curse, but he didn’t move. “I’m not leaving this spot until you open this door.”

Unable to yell to get her point across, Monica stared at the ceiling and took a calming breath. “What is with you? Why do you even care?” she asked quietly, tears welling in her eyes once more.

“I guess sometimes I just care too much.” Monica went still at his statement. He sounded sad, staying quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “Did he hurt you?” Seth questioned, his voice filled with concern.

Instinctively her hand went to her face, flinching as it came into contact with her
bruised, swollen cheek. Dammit. She was hurt. She hadn’t even realized it when the adrenaline had been coursing through her veins. Now that she was breathing easier, her face throbbed with every beat of her heart.

“It’s just a small cut. Nothing I can’t handle,” she told him.

“I’d feel better if you’d open the door so I can see for myself, Monica. Or I can bust it in. Your choice,” he warned.

With a sigh, Monica pulled herself up from the floor, running a hand over her head. Somewhere in the struggle, she’d lost her favorite hat too. Now her hair was a mess, falling free of the ponytail. One by one she disengaged the locks, until she pulled the
door open slightly, just enough for him to see that she was alive and well. Then maybe he’d leave. “There, happy?”

He was lounging in the doorway, one arm braced over his head on
the door jamb. His clothes and hair were disheveled, making him look like a bad boy as he stood there, watching her with those clear blue eyes. He looked sexy as hell, and about two hundred percent done with the day.

Seth’s
eyes narrowed as he looked her face over. “Shit, you’re blee—”

“I’ll live,” she retorted before he could even finish the statement.
Something about the way he looked at her made her uneasy. Not in the same way as guys in the past had. This was…different. His gaze was soft, caring. For a second she found herself distracted before she remembered that he needed to be leaving. “Can I go to bed now?”

Still not budging, his eyes flickered over her head to the rest of the apartment. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

His brows rose
at her curt tone. “Why not?”

Monica licked her lips, panicking for an excuse. “
You’ll wake up my boyfriend,” she blurted out without thinking.

A slow grin curled his lips. She didn’t know why until she realized she had her fingers tangled in her fucking hair. Dammit. “
Again with the lies,” he sighed, shaking his head. “When are you going to trust me?”

“Probably never,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Seth nodded at that, shrugged, and let his gaze fall to his feet. “All right then. I guess I can just call the department to report an attempted rape in this building, and they can come to question you instead. If that’s what you want. I found this at the scene.” Monica’s stomach dropped as he held up her hat, letting it dangle from one finger. “I’m sure there’s someone who’s seen you wearing it, so it shouldn’t be hard for the police to find your apartment.”

God save her from this
stubborn-ass man. Monica rolled her eyes and huffed a muffled curse under her breath. “
Fine
,” she spat, stepping back and throwing the door open before making her way to the kitchen. “Come in. Whatever, just please be quiet.”

Pullin
g the fridge open, Monica grabbed a soda from the shelf, the only one left. Jack was going to kill her, but even pissed off she still had manners. Turning around, she found Seth standing not even three feet away. He was so quiet for such a big man. Swallowing back her gasp of surprise, she held the drink out to him. “It’s either this or water…but I definitely wouldn’t drink the water if I were you. Some scary shit goes down in this building’s pipes. Just trust me on this.” It was bad enough that they bathed in it.

Seth shook his head, waving the drink off. “I’m good, thanks. How long have you lived here?”
He slid onto a barstool that squeaked in protest under his weight.

“What happened to your knuckles?” Monica shot back, hoping to deflect the conversation. He was already getting way to
o close for comfort.

A slow smile crossed his face. One that made the hair on her arms raise.
She already knew what had happened to his knuckles. The question now was whether or not the guy was still breathing. “I busted my hands up working on a car,” he stated, clenching his big hand into a fist. “My turn. How long have you lived here?”

Monica returned the soda to the fridge and leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “A while. Look, I know it’s bad, but we
are going to move as soon as I can find a new job.”