CHAPTER 20
LOLA
The bashful looks I kept casting Drew felt awfully immature, and yet, I couldn’t stop them. Every time he looked away, I couldn’t help but admire his strong physique. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and his short, groomed beard was a little longer and untamed, making him appear wild and beautiful at the same time. He looked wild and beautiful all at the same time. All we’d done last night was sleep together, eyes closed, bodies covered, genuine sleep. The way I felt myself blush all the way to my toes each time he caught me staring would have you think we’d spent the night thumping thighs. I’d never slept beside a man, though, and most especially had never ended up in a tangle of limbs upon waking. Apparently, I became somewhat of a leech during sleep and attached myself to the nearest, warm blooded object, that being Drew. He didn’t seem to mind, even staying glued to his spot on the bed long after he woke because he didn’t want to disturb me. I sighed at the memory of waking up plastered to Drew King. It had been pure bliss. There had been no fear, simply comfort accompanied with a strong sense of wanting. Wanting for what, I wasn’t sure, and I was too afraid to ask him for anything but his tender hug.
I filled up the basket I was carrying with more fruit, while Drew selected fresh meat for dinner. It was such a domesticated thing we had done together several times over the last couple of months, and yet now, everything felt different, and different in a good way. The only way I could explain it was ‘more.’ More significant, more exciting, more refreshing . . . just more.
Like a compass fixed on due north, my gaze was pulled to Drew again, and this time he caught me fair and square, a somewhat amused expression on his otherwise grim face. Of course, I blushed, but I also arched one brow and gave him my best ‘so what’ look. The corner of his mouth twitched with the need to smile before turning his attention back to the meat.
Who would have thought that sleeping with a man, and actually engaging in the act of sleeping, would have such a powerful effect on those involved? We were like a pair of love-sick teenagers. If this is what love-sick felt like, I didn’t want the cure. It was invigorating.
Stepping down a long aisle, I found the ice-cream at the very end and began searching for cookies and cream. Smiling as my eyes settled on a small container, I placed the plastic basket by my side and reached to pull open the freezer door. My fingers, however, missed the handle just as a big arm reached around my neck and began to pull me away. For a moment, confusion swept over me; however, it was immediately replaced by adrenaline and fear. Opening my mouth to scream, my effort was cut off as a big meaty hand pressed hard against my lips. Nothing more than a muted call for help escaped. I kicked hard and thrashed as much as possible in the incredibly tight grip as I was dragged unceremoniously down a dark corridor at the back of the shop.
“Hey, what’s going on there?” called out an unfamiliar voice from a doorway to my left. The man who had hold of me, and by the thick, hairy arms surrounding me, it was definitely a man, pressed his hand harder against my open mouth and the flesh of his palm slipped between my lips. I did the only thing I could think of, and bit, hard.
He grunted, his fingers immediately slipping away, and I screamed for all that it was worth. I screamed long and loud, a sound of sheer terror and desperation. The end of the corridor was suddenly filled with a familiar figure that brought a sob to my lips. Drew stood there, looking like the devil himself, with his gun raised and his intense gaze on the man holding me hostage. Time stopped. I was no longer being dragged away; instead, I was being used as a shield, my feet barely touching the floor as a strong arm under my chin practically blocked my airway.
“You won’t get far. My people are on their way,” Drew said in a far too calm voice.
The figure behind me held me so tight I knew it would leave bruises, and I gasped for air. Drew continued to step forward until he was so close my limbs begged to reach out and touch him. He remained completely focused on the threat behind me. Suddenly, I was thrust forward, and my body tensed as I prepared to hit the ground. I never did, though. Drew King’s unyielding arms caught me.
“Larz, he’s on foot, back of Saul’s Mini-Mart,” Drew spoke into his cellphone as he held me tight. Slipping the phone into his pocket, Drew lowered his lips to my forehead. “Did he hurt you?” he murmured before gently kissing my temple.
Shaking, I tried to take stock of my body. I wasn’t really hurting anywhere, but I was numb with fear and couldn’t be sure.
“I don’t know,” I confessed on a shaky breath.
Drew pulled away and began to check me over.
“I’ve called the police,” said the same unfamiliar voice I had heard moments before.
“Thank you, Saul,” Drew murmured. “I don’t see any blood. I think you’re okay, Mouse.”
“Drew?” Larz’s roughhewn voice came from the door behind us.
“You see him?” Drew asked.
“Nope, but Dillon and Bomber are both on foot checking the perimeter for any sign of him. Let’s get moving.”
“Come on, Mouse, let’s get out of here.”
“Our g-groceries,” I stammered.
“I’ll have someone come back and pick up what we need later.”
Drew turned me around and encouraged me forward, his hand on my lower back. It wasn’t enough. I didn’t feel safe without his sure arms wrapped around me, and yet I didn’t want to appear weak in front of the two men. So, on less than steady legs, I moved in a state of shock in the direction Drew herded me. Larz stood waiting at the end of the corridor, the sunlight spilling through the open door at his side.
“We clear?” asked Drew.
“Clear,” Larz answered with a nod.
Larz reached for my hand, and with only some reluctance, I took it. He pulled me out into the open alleyway behind the grocery store, and Drew stepped out alongside me. His gun was still in his hand, his hard eyes observing every rooftop and shadow.
“I feel like we’ve had this dance already, Mouse,” Drew murmured as Larz pulled me away from the store, dropping my hand as he too held a gun out in front of him.
“I’m tired of this dance,” I whispered.
“Me too, Mouse. I think it’s time we got proactive and changed the damn music.”
***
“How the fuck do they keep finding her?” Drew growled.
The fury mixed with potent determination reminded me of our brief time together in Thailand. That almost seemed like a lifetime ago now.
Annie sat by my side, her fingers linked with mine as she watched the showdown going on before us. Dillon sat behind his desk, and Sam was sitting next to him, an android tablet balanced on one knee as he stared off into the distance thinking about god knows what. The man was a certifiable IT genius; his mind worked in ways I couldn’t comprehend. Braiden leaned against the door frame, looking calm as always. Only Larz and Drew looked frazzled, though Larz was hiding his worry and frustration better than Drew.
“We don’t know,” Dillon calmly answered.
“Did they hack into the system again?” Drew demanded, his fury now directed at Sam who simply snorted.
“Of course not.”
“They know she’s back in Claymont. It's not like we’ve got Lola living in a prison. She's been allowed to come and go. They obviously had someone here watching her,” Braiden explained.
My skin itched, a feeling of filth over being watched without me knowing coated me like an invisible layer of grime.
“We need to attack. This waiting around for someone to take her out is bullshit. We know who’s behind this. Let's finish it,” Drew snarled.
“Taking out a public figure isn’t going to be easy, and we don’t want that kind of heat to come back on Montgomery’s.”
“You’re worried about your fucking business? This is a human life we’re talking about here. This is Lola’s fucking life!”
“Drew,” I pleaded. It wasn’t Dillon’s fault what was happening to me, and I hated seeing his rage directed at someone who was just trying to help.
“Maybe we can move her again,” Sam suggested.
“And then what? Just keep moving her each time she’s found? That’s no kind of life to live,” Braiden answered.
“She needs to file a report,” Dillon said with a sigh. “If we get this out in the open, make it official, it will make it harder for Ben to take her out. It will be too suspicious if something were to happen to Lola while he was up on charges of aggravated sexual assault.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling Dillon’s statement hit me like a physical punch. He had a valid point and the thought of making my assault official, of talking about the specifics of that night, terrified me. But as David had said, I was battling my fears one by one. Perhaps it was time to tackle this fear.
“What do I need to do to press charges? It’s been over a year.”
The room went quiet, and Annie’s grip on my hand tightened.
“We’ve got documented evidence, as do the police. Pictures, the sexual assault kit, your testimony, that’s all we need. I can have Sergeant Maitland take a statement this afternoon and a warrant will be issued for Ben’s arrest.”
“But he’ll get out on bail,” I pointed out, feeling sick to my stomach thinking about what I was considering and the repercussions.
“More than likely, but he’ll still have to face the charges.”
“Which comes down to my word against his,” I said, feeling defeated. No one was going to believe a runaway foster kid over a man running for senator.
“There are others.” Sam’s words were a sharp knife to my heart.
“Dammit, Sam,” Dillon growled. “Have a little tact.”
“She should know. It will strengthen her case,” Sam said defensively.
“She should know,” Drew agreed in a determined voice.
My gaze crossed to his and the strength and power in just those eyes gave me what I needed.
“What others?”
Sam took a deep breath and leaned forward, pushing his glasses up his nose. “There are four other women that I’ve been able to locate who pressed charges against Ben Crane for sexual assault. None of those charges ever saw the light of day, though. One of the women died in a fire.” Sam gave me a knowing nod. My adopted parents had died in a fire. Coincidence? From Sam’s look, I thought not. “The other two gained significant wealth upon dropping their charges.” I shook my head with frustration. “And then there was Rachel, Rachel Dorson, nineteen-years-old, blonde hair, blue eyes, cheerleader . . .” Sam tapped away on his tablet, then turned it so I could see the screen.
A small breath of air left my lips; her features were so eerily similar to mine and I found myself unable to look away. She was fine-boned, her tiny nose lifted upwards slightly on the tip, and her lips were not too thick but not too thin. A few freckles dotted her nose and under her eyes. Her skin was pale like mine, but where my hair was a darker strawberry blonde, Rachel’s was a sun-kissed yellow blonde.
“This was Ben’s last victim. She's so traumatized by the event that she too refuses to press charges. Again, there was no evidence left at the scene, but,” Sam pinned me with a sharp stare, “a man matching Ben Crane’s description was spotted at the apartment complex where the assault took place. There was no reason for him to be there, but the lack of evidence, and the girl’s silence, makes it hard for the police to point the finger at Ben. He has powerful connections; the police need an air-tight case.”
“But there is no evidence from my assault,” I whispered.
“No, but your attacks were very similar, right down to the scars on your chest. Ben Crane is the only person linking you both. Rachel was one of Ben’s foster sisters before the Cranes adopted him.”
And in that moment, my world was once again ripped apart. He’d hurt other women, and he’d carved one up just like he had me.