Sweet Revenge

make quite a team.” He wet his lips, then deliberately rubbed his free hand over his crotch. “I could teach you more than you’ll find in these books.”
    “You have sex with my mother.”
    His teeth flashed. He liked the way she called a spade a spade. “That’s right. We’ll just keep it in the family.”
    “You’re disgusting.” She yanked her hand away and lifted the books like a shield. “When I tell my mother—”
    “You won’t tell your old lady a thing.” He kept smiling. The drug made him feel tall and strong and sexy; the alcohol made him feel confident and tough and determined. “I’m the meal ticket, remember.”
    “You work for my mother; she doesn’t work for you.”
    “Get real. Without me Phoebe Spring couldn’t get a job peddling garbage bags in a thirty-second commercial. She’s washed up, and you and I both know it. I put a roof over your head, honeybunch. Get her a job now and again and keep the fact that she’s a pill junkie and a booze hound out of the press. You should show a little gratitude.”
    He lunged, so quickly that Adrianne’s scream caught in her throat. The books flew as he dragged her across the table. She bucked, kicking out, raking with her hands, but managed only a glancing scrape down his face before he pinned her arms.
    “You’re going to thank me for this,” he told her before he closed his mouth over hers.
    She felt the sickness rise up, hot and bitter in her throat. It clogged there so that she had to gasp to draw in even a breath of air. He bent over her on the table. When she kept her lips locked, he moved on, sucking at her breast through her shirt. There was pain, sharp pain, but deeper was the shame.
    She began to scream, over and over, squirming, twisting, desperate to free herself. The glass he’d set on the table went shattering to the floor. The sound of it tossed her back to Jaquir, her mother’s room.
    Through her terrified eyes she saw her father looming over her, felt his hands violate her as they ripped at her shirt.Her screams turned to sobs as his hand slid up her leg and under her shorts to probe and penetrate.
    Her struggles were driving him into a sexual frenzy. To him she was like young fruit, firm, smooth, moist. Her body was as slim as a boy’s but soft as butter. He felt hard and heavy as stone. There was nothing like a virgin, he thought as he dragged her to the floor. Nothing quite like a virgin. Panting, he squeezed her small breasts in his hands and watched the tears stream down her face. The fight was going out of her. He pulled her back under him easily as she tried to crawl away.
    She hardly felt him now. Body and mind had separated. She heard weeping, but it seemed to come from someone else. There was pain, but it was dull, cushioned by shock.
    A woman was weaker than a man, bound to a man, made to be guided by a man.
    Then he was gone. She heard screaming, crashing. It didn’t concern her. Rolling to her side, Adrianne curled into a ball.
    “You bastard.” Phoebe had him by the throat. Eyes wild, teeth bared, she squeezed the breath out of him. Caught off guard, Larry stumbled back. He managed to pry her off and draw in air just before her freshly manicured nails sliced down his face.
    “Crazy fucking bitch.” On a howl of pain he knocked her back. “She asked for it. She wanted it.”
    Phoebe was on him like a tiger, fists pounding, sinking in teeth and nails. She ripped at him, tearing clothes and flesh. They were nearly even when it came to height and weight, but she was driven by a rage so hot, so deep, only murder would quench it.
    “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you for putting your filthy hands on my baby.” She bit deep into his shoulder and tasted his blood.
    Cursing, he struck out and through more luck than skill caught her on the jaw hard enough to stun her. “Useless cunt.” He was crying himself, deep, gulping sobs, amazed that a woman could have hurt him. His face was bleeding and his chest and arms felt like putty. A shooting pain ran up his leg as he struggled to his feet. “Jealous ’cause I wanted a little taste of the kid.” He swiped a hand under his nose, thenfumbled for a handkerchief to staunch the blood. “You broke my fucking nose.”
    Panting, Phoebe stumbled to her feet. She saw the bourbon open on the counter. Taking the bottle, she smashed it down, then held out the broken shard. Her glorious face was twisted with fury, and a smear of blood, his blood, was on her lip.