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Authors: Willow Wilde
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Four Alphas Rescuing Me
By Willow Wilde
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Four Alphas Rescuing Me
After spending my entire young life fighting my way out of northeastern Utah, life's cruel little ironies decided to send me right the hell back. Growing up in a little forest town had been soul-draining to a young, rebellious woman who had blared her alternate 90s rock on high – Soundgarden, Audioslave, and even Alice in Chains were mainstays of my frustration at my surroundings. You can imagine how a kid like me would struggle to claw her way out of Utah and as far away as she could go.
It didn’t help that I had always been curvy. The boys growing up around me had always overlooked me for the thinner, skinnier girls. I knew I could throw down with the best of them, but as I grew up neglected by male attention, dressing more and more like a slut for them…I realized the truth – they didn’t appreciate me. Even
I
barely appreciated me. I was twice the woman any of them were, but that didn’t convey well. I was eighteen before I lost my virginity, and the guy was drunk, making it less fulfilling than it was already doomed to be.
But life has a way of making you appreciate the things you thought you hated, and isn't afraid to batter you over the head with them if you don't get the hint. I had tried so hard to get out of that Utah town, working my skin to the bone for a major record label until they decided to branch out. Unfortunately, they needed a presence in the west, and Utah offered the best tax breaks...so, back off to Utah I was shipped.
It wasn't all awful though. I was still young, in my mid-twenties with something to prove. Shopping around online for an apartment, I happened across this gorgeous little home by the edge of the woods in a small forest town called Checker’s Grove. Doing the math, I realized that the mortgage would be about what I'd spend for a two bedroom apartment around there. After browsing all the pictures and the interior digital tour one last time (okay, a bunch of times), I started making phone calls. Combined with my high credit score and some first-time home buyer tax breaks, I was just able to scrap together enough money to throw a half-decent offer at the middle-aged couple who owned it.
I flew in to meet them and tour the actual home. After thirty minutes with them, they accepted my offer on the spot. If I’d known what I was getting myself into, I might have just said “screw it” and found another, lesser-paying job. But little woodsy towns have their secrets sometimes, and I was about to learn that the hard,
unprotected
way…
* * * *
After the difficult part – driving a moving truck halfway across the country without wanting to kill somebody – it only took me a miserable four-day weekend to get the house put together. A few towns over I had access to the Interstate, where I could hit the road and order the important stuff, like actual furniture. I was lucky enough to find some good deals late on a Thursday, ready to have them shipped out that Saturday morning.
Those first two nights were just a few books, an uncomfortable air mattress, and me; after the bed came in and I got everything assembled and in the right place, it was on to organizing the rest of my new home. The house was an older property — lots of beautiful crown molding, hardwood floors, the works. I wasn’t interested in going too gung-ho on the whole
modernization
front, so I intended to leave it pretty much as-is.
We like to keep it close to nature,
the older couple had said.
With the woods so close, and how old the house is…it’s something from an older era.
It did certainly seem that way, although I had no idea what they really meant by “close to nature.”
Taking a break for a short while, I sat in a patio chair on the back deck and gazed off into the woods. My personal little paradise came with a thick patch of woods that stretched along the edge of the neighborhood. In the distance loomed one of several mountains, and I wondered if I would ever dare to make my way towards it.
Sipping from my drink and reading a good romance novel, I didn't notice my exhaustion creep up on me. It slowly tugged at my eyelids until I droopily plunked the book on the glass-top end table beside me. The cool air was just warm enough to be comfortable, with the lightest tickle of a breeze, and I soon found myself drifting off to a new paradise.
* * * *
When I woke up, the sun was already setting, casting a beautiful glimmer across the descending night sky. Stifling a yawn as I let myself back inside, I thought back to my dream, or the very little of it that I could remember. It was just one picture...opening my eyes to see four wickedly handsome faces grinning down at me. The wild, topless men were muscular, with broad shoulders and varying degrees of thick facial hair – primarily rugged beards. It had felt so real that I swore I had woken up halfway through, but I hadn't felt alarmed or petrified – instead, my mind was pleasantly at ease.
One had slipped a hand across my bare leg, running the strong skin of his calloused hand up my smooth thigh.
why couldn't
THAT
have continued on?
As I dropped to my knees beside the bookcase in my kitchen, popping open the box with the word “Cookbooks” hastily scribbled across it, I noticed one that I thought I had thrown away. It was this delightful cookbook-slash-memoir from an actress whom I’d always taken a liking to. It was part of a birthday gift I’d received about a year ago. As I briefly thought of that night, I felt a pang of anger.
Jim.
The asshole that I was supposed to spend my entire life with. The entire two years we had dated, I thought I had finally found a man who appreciated my curves, even with somewhat unfulfilling sex. Instinctively, I reached for the ring on my finger, feeling its absence as a harsh reminder of his deceit — and his filthy, soul-crushing lies.
Caught in bed with my best friend.
The betrayal had crushed me. It hadn’t helped that she was seriously skinnier than I was, and it had the extra layer of pulling up every last insecurity in the book.
Was that why I was here?
My gaze lifted from the books in my hands to stare across my house. I had been so upset that I barely fought being sent back to backwoods, rural Utah. After all those years dreaming my way out, two traitors caught in my bed had sent me spiraling right back into its welcome arms.
I set the books in my hands in their spots of the shelf, next to the others. Rising from the floor, I poured myself a glass of iced tea and sauntered towards the back patio again. Gazing over the edge of my glass as I sipped, I decided to myself that I was
finally home.
I wouldn’t let the past guide me anymore. All those miserable years here…the heartbreak after I had planned my entire life…all that wasted time. None of it mattered anymore. What was important was how I felt about where I was — this beautiful house being a major part of that.
No, all that matters is the present. And for that, well…this is my home now.
I took another long sip from the iced tea, my eyes gazing out towards the trees.
For the slightest hint of a second, I thought I saw those faces again, grinning from the woods.
* * * *
A week later, I strolled into the house, ready to make myself something to eat. I was feeling a bit peckish, and had been meaning to try out this new recipe one of the women at the grocery store had told me.
That’s what I love about these small towns,
I told myself.
Everyone’s so friendly.
But the sound of something falling a few rooms over made me freeze, my head deep in the refrigerator.
What the hell was that?
I poked my head out, gazing towards a hallway, and heard nothing else. Eager to figure out what was going on, I closed the refrigerator and wandered towards the source of the noise.
This house IS pretty old,
I told myself.
Maybe something fell off the wall. Surely THAT’S it.
It sounded like it had been my bedroom-turned-office. Flicking on the light, I froze with a gasp.
The room had been torn apart. The drawers were pulled free from my cabinet; their contents were scuffled around the bed. The spare closet door was standing open, and the place was ransacked for whatever was available. The packed boxes on the floor had been ripped open, half-emptied and strewn about on the floor.
Someone’s robbed me!
I shouted in my head.
What other rooms have they hit?
“Get on the floor,” I heard from a gravelly, older voice. Instinctively I whirled around, coming face to face with the gun that was emerging from behind the door. Attached to it was a grizzly older male, a ski mask pulled down over his face. Tufts of shoulder-length, graying hair poked out from beneath the rim of his mask, but my attention was pulled immediately to his demanding eyes.
“Lady, I said
get down on the fucking floor
,” he repeated. My eyes immediately flew towards anything,
anything
within grasp, but I knew it was fruitless. By the time I had my hands around a candlestick holder or the handle of a knife, even if any of that stuff was in here, I would already be dropping to the ground with a few fresh bullets inside me.
I felt myself lowering down to the floor.
“Hands on your head,” he commanded, and I did as I was told.
“You're a...chubby little minx, aren't ya?” The robber told me, out of the blue. “Isn't that right?”
“...Yes,” I answered, shivering with fear.
“That's right, you are...maybe the floor ain't so good a place for you. Maybe I should take you to the bedroom, eh? Want to head in there for a little bit? Of course, my little friend here is gonna be around if you try any funny stuff...” He waved the gun around slightly to give me the picture.
“No, please,” I started to beg. “Take whatever you want. It doesn't matter. Just please don't hurt me.”
The assailant slipped down to a kneeling position beside me, the tip of his gun barely gracing my hair. I shivered in a mixture of fear and...what else? It couldn't be excitement…
With the gun in my back, he had me lead him towards the bedroom, which entailed going back through the main area – including the kitchen, right by the back patio access. As we passed by, something seemed to catch his attention.
“The fuck was that?” I heard him growl. Rising back up, he stumbled towards the glass sliding door onto my backyard, peering towards the woods. “Swear I saw a...a couple of...there's no way. Not near
houses
,” he muttered to himself.
The intruder was caught in some silent conflict, turning between the glass, holding back the darkness outside, and my thick, shivering body in front.
“Alright, something weird's going on, and you're going to help me get to the bottom of it.”
Are you for real?
I thought to myself. His smoldering glare told me a quick, resounding YES, which was enough to rouse me to action. He motioned with the gun and nodded to the glass door, expecting me to go out first.
Did he really see something?
I trembled to the door and fumbled with the mechanism before pushing it open. The motion detector flickered the outdoor light on, and the backyard was as plain as ever.
“Go on,” he growled again, and I reluctantly obeyed. It was beginning to become an unfortunate habit with the unwelcome intruder.
I stepped out onto the patio, and heard the creak of the wood behind me as he followed. Every step further towards the woods sent chills down my spine – I was increasingly aware how easy it would be to dispose of me out there, and wondered how long it would take anyone to find me.
Was I about to become wolf grub?
I thought to myself.
Are there even wolves out there?
“Pick up the pace,” he irritably grumbled, and I started walking faster. My confidence was shot. Every footfall, I was now convinced, planted me firmer in my grave.
He's going to take me out here and rape me, and then he's going to kill me. Oh god, somebody please help me.