Rough Handling

 

Kelly needed a stiff drink. No, not just one. She needed a barrel. Her skin crawled and anger roared in her head. Rage bottled up inside, and she only knew of one solution that could get it out.  

“Come on, pick up,” Kelly said, pacing her living room. “Rene, I need you to pick up.”

The dial rang and rang. It was Sunday evening. Her best friend was probably sleeping or spending the afternoon with her large extended family. Kelly cursed and slammed her phone against the chair.

Holding her head in her hands, she did her best to calm down. That was hard to do when the object of her fury wasn’t Clayton… it was herself. She’d broken up with her man before, but never with such conviction—never with such resolve.

Nights would get lonely. Memories would creep back in when she was at her lowest—Kelly had been through the cycle before, but if she went back to Clayton this time, she was nothing but a desperate piece of crap.

How much more obvious could his lack of interest in her be? Oh, he had a ton of love for her body. He praised her adventurous style in bed. Worshipped the way she was down for whatever he wanted her to do. But when it came to caring about her, Clayton couldn’t give a flying fig.

“Idiot!” Kelly screamed to her empty apartment. “Four freaking years and you’re just seeing this? Four freaking years and you’re just noticing all he sees is your vagina? You can get attention like that from any man on the street! Idiot!” She picked up a pillow and threw it across the room.

Her fingers shook. A drink. A drink would make her feel better. And a dance. She glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned. The club was scanty on Sunday afternoon. The clients were too busy pretending to be pious after church.

Even the trashier bars—where just kissing someone there would mean catching a sexually transmitted disease—wouldn’t pick up until after ten. Forget dancing. Forget drinking. She didn’t like getting drunk anyway and wouldn’t start down that road now for scum like Clayton.

Kelly decided to try the next best thing. She stormed into her room, threw on a sports bra and yoga pants, knelt at the foyer to tie her running shoes, and took the stairs two at a time.

As she flew down the street, a familiar SUV parked in its designated spot. Blinded by her temper, Kelly barely registered the vehicle. She pumped her arms at her sides and ran in the opposite direction, toward the dusky horizon.

The air was cool, but her excessive pace caused sweat to form on her neck and back. Her ponytail bounced and came undone, but she ignored it and kept pushing. Her lungs burned and her chest felt like it would cave in, but Kelly refused to stop.

She turned onto Marine Street, a residential area filled with modest homes and lower-middle-class families. A dog barked, warning of her approach. The silence of the street was eerie and the waning sunlight emphasized the desolateness of the area.

Kelly’s confidence in her figure did not negate the fact that modesty had its place. Whether she liked it or not, running around in a sports bra alone, with night approaching, was a recipe for disaster.

She stopped abruptly and swiveled to return home when a door banged and a woman came flying out of a green bungalow across the street. Her blue shirt hung off one shoulder, the collar excessively stretched as if someone had pulled on it. Her jean shorts were unbuttoned and the flaps opened wide.

Just ignore it, Kelly. It’s none of your business.

She turned away and took a step forward when she heard the door slamming against the wall again. This time, heavy footsteps thundered onto the porch and approached the street.

Kelly felt someone tug on her arm and spun to find the woman she’d spotted a moment ago hanging behind her. She was young, not a day over eighteen with tan skin, big brown eyes, and long, brown hair. Kelly gasped when she saw the bruises on the girl’s face and wrist.

“Help,” she wheezed, a slight accent coating her words. “Please.”

Frozen, Kelly simply stood there while the girl’s—she assumed—boyfriend strode up to them. He roughly took the lady’s arm and dragged her away without acknowledging Kelly’s presence.

The girl’s pitiful whimpering coupled with the guy’s cold behavior thrust her into action. She ran after them and grabbed the woman’s other hand to keep her from being taken away.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, stepping toward Kelly. He had dark eyes—black and frightening. The fierce tattoo on his neck disappeared into his shirt. The rest of skin that she could see boasted the colorful markings.

“My name is Kelly. Who are you?”

“None of your business,” the man sneered.

“I’m Maria,” the girl cried. “He… Marco.”

Marco scoffed. “This is none of your concern. Just move along, miss.”

“No.” Kelly shook her head as adrenaline coursed through her. She imagined Clayton’s face on Marco’s body and lifted her chin. “You’ve done enough. Let her go before I call the cops.”

Marco stepped closer and a part of her shriveled up in fear. Warnings blared in her head. Still, how could she leave Maria in this evil man’s clutches? Even if he beat her up, she wouldn’t abandon the kid. What if that was Bianca, Jenna, or Courtney? Would she want someone else to walk away from them if they were in need?

“I’m asking you nicely,” Kelly said, hiding her fear. “Let that hand go.”

Marco cursed her out, using every foul word in the book. She took it in without flinching. The more noise he made, the more neighbors would realize something was wrong and call the cops.

Hopefully.

“Ay!” Maria bawled and bent over, clutching her stomach.

“What? What’s going on?” Kelly asked, crouching to see the girl’s face.

“Bebe,” Maria said, pointing to her stomach and grimacing again.

“You beat on a pregnant woman?” Kelly’s eyes widened and she lifted her hand to slap some sense into Marco. He glared at her and the instinct faded. “We have to get her to the hospital.”

“She’s fine.” Marco pushed Kelly back and hauled Maria toward the house. The woman sank to the ground, kicking and screaming. Her protests fell on deaf ears for the neighborhood remained deathly still.

Was no one going to call the police?

Kelly hauled out her phone and started dialing as she chased the couple across the street. Marco was dragging Maria on the grassy lawn of their yard when Kelly caught up to them.

“I said let her go!”

A car engine vroomed in the distance, the sound a perfect backdrop to her fury as she jumped on Marco’s back.

He cursed and flung her off, but at least she’d gotten him to let go of Maria. She scrambled to the ground, her bottom smarting from the fall and her cell phone scattering a few feet away.

Marco’s deadly glare pinned her down and all the bravado that had allowed her to fly at him seeped out.

“You’re really getting on my nerves,” he hissed as he approached, his hand rising in the air and his intent clear as day.

She braced herself for the hit when someone snatched Marco’s wrist. The young man cried out in pain and Kelly slowly opened her eyes to find Benjamin twisting Marco’s arm.

Her boss stood a good three inches taller than the young man and his fierce expression dared Marco to try and take his frustration out on any more women.

“Are you okay?” Benjamin asked without looking at her.

“Do I look okay?” Marco squealed.

“Not you.” Benjamin shook him. “Kel, did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing off her back. “But Maria—”

Before she could finish the sentence, Maria yelped and flew at Benjamin. He dropped Marco’s hands in surprise as the pregnant woman pummeled her fists into his side.

“Mi esposo not hurt him!” Maria screamed.

Marco laughed while Kelly scrambled to separate the enraged woman from her boss. When at last she had pried Maria off, the two couples separated and stared each other down.

“She won’t leave me,” Marco said, planting his arms around the woman’s shoulder. “She would never leave her husband.”

“Husband?” Kelly’s jaw dropped. Her gaze bounced to Maria’s face. Flames poured out of the kid’s brown eyes and her chest heaved allowing the droopy blouse to dip further.

Stunned that the girl’s fury was aimed at her rescuer instead of her attacker, Kelly turned speechless.

“Come on,” Benjamin said, bending over to swipe her phone and then taking her hand and pulling her to the car.

Kelly nearly tripped over her own two feet, unable to process this strange turn of events. The girl who had clutched her shirt and begged for help was now defending the man who beat her. It made no sense.

She twisted around and caught Maria’s expression. The child beamed as Marco pulled her close and whispered a word of approval in her ear.

Kelly saw a reflection of herself when she looked at the pitiful girl and, as soon as Benjamin stuffed her into the relative privacy of his car, she wept like a baby.