Читать книгу The A-List Collection - Victoria Fox - Страница 47

Belleville, Ohio, 1999

‘Lester, please,’ Laura sobbed, pulling her clothes on, humiliation burning. Robbie was already dressed.

‘Lester, please,’ he mimicked, waving the gun again. ‘Please what, huh, bitch?’

Laura felt unbearably cold. The night was dark and thick. She felt Robbie’s hand on her shoulder.

‘Just cool it, Lester, OK?’ he said.

‘I’ll cool it when the hell I like,’ snarled Lester, slurring his words. ‘She’s a little whore, boy, you’re best off keepin’ away—’

In a flash Robbie rushed forward and slammed a fist into Lester’s face. It made a hard, smacking sound and Lester tumbled backwards, groping beneath him for the mossy ground. The gun flew from his grip.

‘Never speak about her like that again,’ commanded Robbie, his voice swollen with conviction.

‘You motherfucking sonofabitch—’ Lester scrambled to his feet and threw himself at Robbie, knocking him to the ground and pinning him with his knees. In a series of sickening shots, Lester pummelled Robbie, one punch after another, a hideous grin splitting his face, sharp rasps escaping with each exertion.

Laura moved quickly, hurling herself at her brother’s back, clinging there, clawing at him, biting his sour-tasting skin and begging him to break free. Eventually he did. Robbie was knocked out cold–or worse, she couldn’t tell.

‘Robbie!’ she howled, collapsing on to him. Lester dragged her off, pulling her into the trailer, grabbing her hair with his dirty fists.

‘Let me go!’ she cried, and he obliged by releasing her violently, sending her crashing to the floor and slamming her nose. She felt blood drip thickly, its iron taste in her throat.

Robbie. There might still be time.

Laura knew that speed was her strength. Lester was so drunk, on adrenalin now as well as liquor, that he could hardly stand up straight. She darted past him into her bedroom, grabbed a small bag from the top of the closet and threw some clothes into it. Taking one final look at the room she’d called home for the past seven years, she made her way back into the kitchen.

‘Don’t even think about it, bitch,’ slurred Lester, crashing into the kitchen table. Then he laughed. ‘You wouldn’t even dare. ‘

She watched him stonily.

With a burp he reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer.

‘I’m leaving,’ she told him, her expression cold. She stood with her back to the door, ready to make her escape. ‘And I’m not coming back.’

Lester squinted at her. ‘You won’t get far,’ he sneered as he chipped the top off the bottle. ‘An’ run good as you like, little girl: only place you’re endin’ up is my bed.’

He leered towards her, his breath rancid. Frantic, Laura reached behind, ready to push the door open. But before she could he grabbed her wrists and lunged, his bony chest squashing against her breasts.

‘Get your hands off me or I will make you regret it,’ she hissed. She spat in his face.

Lester blinked a couple of times, then sniggered, a cruel, throaty rasp. Shoving his bottle down on the side he pushed her to the floor, restraining her with grimy hands and shoving a knee between her legs.

‘What you gonna do, huh, baby sis? You’re a woman now, and women got things they have to do.’ He unbuckled himself. ‘Sixteen today, ain’t that right? I bet you thought I’d forgotten. Never. You’ll never be able to get away from me.’ His breath was rotten, his teeth blackened. She struggled beneath him. ‘I’m always gonna find you out.’ He landed a wet, rubbery kiss, half on her lips and half on her cheek. ‘Always.’

With all her might she tried to throw him off, kicking and punching and gnawing at his shoulder. He ripped aside her knickers, his mouth open, tongue escaping, eyes wild.

‘I’ve waited for you,’ he gasped, his voice syrupy with desire. To her horror she felt his thing. It wasn’t hard like Robbie’s, it was soft and thin and damp at the end. She gagged.

He thrust her legs apart, guiding himself in. She screamed out loud.

Then, as though an unexpected thought had occurred to him, Lester’s features were suddenly rearranged. He looked puzzled, raised a hand to his head before releasing a watery ‘Ugh’ and slumping on top of her, his face buried in her neck. There was something sticky and warm dripping on to her and as a bead of it slid into her mouth, she tasted its saltiness and realised it was blood.

‘Get him off me!’ she yelled, pushing at his bulk with all her strength. Her brother rolled on to the floor, face down, the back of his head a red, shredded mass of glass and skin and hair.

She stared at it, at him, dumb. It took her a moment to realise there was another person in the room.

Robbie Lewis. He was standing above her, shaking, a glass bottle in his hand. The top of it had come off in a jagged line and glistened black-red in the dim light.

‘What the fuck have I done?’ There was silence before he said it again. ‘What the fuck have I done? ‘