CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

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DELANEY POUNDED AT the door, screaming for her mother. She'd tried everything. Anger. Tears. Threats. All were met with silence. But Delaney kept trying.

"I know you have the key. Please, Mom. If you don't let me out, Munch will kill Travis. You go to church every Sunday. What would God tell you to do?"

Again, silence.

After the last week, Delaney was at her wit's end. Knowing Travis was in trouble and there was nothing she could do, she felt sick—both mentally and physically—beyond reason.

The day Munch met her in the hall—home from Mexico ahead of schedule—she was certain he would rape her. Instead, he took her to see Dr. Crenshaw for an examination to determine if she were still a virgin.

Outraged, Delaney protested. She only relented when Munch gave her a choice. Let the doctor look, or he would.

The experience wasn't horrible. Dr. Crenshaw acted professionally. Quick and mostly painless. However, Delaney didn't think she'd willingly get a pelvic examination for many, many years to come.

Munch didn't say anything about her hair. In fact, Munch didn't say much at all. Back home, he locked her in her room. And there she stayed.

What Munch had told the school, she didn't know. But her meals were left outside her door three times a day. She didn't know what she would have done if she hadn't had access to a toilet. The idea of using a chamber pot was almost as horrifying as her trip to Dr. Crenshaw.

Delaney had been staring out the window when Munch knocked on her door.

"Time to take care of your boyfriend, Laney. I hope you said a nice goodbye because you won't ever see him again."

"No!" Delaney screamed, her fists hitting the door.

An hour later, her hands and voice were raw. Traces of blood marred the pink paint, but she wouldn't stop. Not even if she hit bone.

"Please," Delaney cried. "Please."

The sound of the key turning in the lock made her freeze, certain wishful thinking made her hear something that wasn't true.

"I don't know what Munch will say," Alma whispered as she cautiously opened the door.

Delaney hugged her mother, knowing the courage it took to defy Munch. Courage she hadn't thought Alma possessed.

"Thank you," Delaney gave her fierce hug.

Alma nodded, biting her lip.

"I don't know where Munch went."

"I do."

The high school, Delaney thought, racing from the house. She knew Green Hill won the championship thanks to the little transistor radio she kept hidden in her room. She'd danced around her room when she heard the news, so happy for Travis.

The announcer had mentioned there would be a huge rally at the school this afternoon. Munch would find Travis there. She only hoped she'd be in time to warn him.

Delaney took the same route to and from school more times than she could count. But she didn't remember the trip taking so long. Her legs felt like limp noodles, her feet as though they were encased in cement. With each step, she chanted to herself.

Please keep him safe. Please keep him safe.

"What's your hurry, Dippy?"

Pete Doran yelled from the corner. Miles Weller—Pete's right-hand jerk—and the rest of his friends laughed. Delaney couldn't have said why she stopped. He was a bully. A slacker. He probably got his jollies by pulling the wings off helpless insects.

However, at the moment, why didn't matter. She needed help, and Pete was her only port in the storm.

"Come with me," she panted, grabbing his hand.

"Sorry, honey. You ain't my type. Especially with that haircut," Pete snickered, the sycophants he ran with joining in. "Did you use a hacksaw or did you chew the ends off?"

The last thing Delaney was worried about was her hair. Or Pete's snarky attitude. Or that any other time, she would have kept her head down and avoided him at all costs.

"For once in your life, shut up and listen."

Pete's lazy gaze hardened.

"You want a slap upside your head, Dippy?"

"You could try." She'd stared down Munch. After dealing with the biggest bully God ever put on this Earth, Pete was a piece of cake. "Travis is in trouble, and I need your help."

"Now, why would I lift a finger to help Travis Forsythe?" Pete seemed to find the idea beyond ridiculous.

"Because I know you aren't a bully. Not deep inside."

Pete laughed. "What am I?"

"A hero."

"What?" he scoffed, but in his eyes, Delaney saw a flicker of something that gave her hope.

"Hear that, Pete?" Miles Weller cackled, a dribble of chewing tobacco running down his chin, mingling into a week's worth of a scruffy beard. "Dippy thinks you're a hee-row. She really is as crazy as everyone says."

"Shut up," Pete said sharply.

"A hero," she said, seeing her chance as she tried to convince them both. "Help me, Pete. Show your friends—this town—who you really are."

Desperate, Delaney tugged on his hand—this time with all her might. She'd never know what made him move. Had she magically developed irresistible powers of persuasion? Or maybe the taunt from Miles spurred him into action.

Either way, when she pulled, his considerable weight moved in her direction.

"What the hell. I ain't got nothin' else to do. Where are we headed?" he asked, chugging alongside her, his big stomach jiggling, his breathing heavy.

"I—" Out of the corner of her eye, Delaney caught a flash of red. Munch's truck, parked on the street. Near the alley. "There."

 

TRAVIS JUMPED TO his feet ready to run. Or fight. He pivoted, sticking his foot out, sending a lunging Munch to the ground. After that, everything happened in a blur.

Delaney rushed into the alley. Followed by Pete Doran. What the hell? They were the most unlikely cavalry in history, but he wasn't in any position to argue. And damn, Del looked spectacular. Eyes blazing. Her short cap of hair a mass of wild spikes. A warrior princess ready for battle.

"Watch your back," Travis called out.

Surprisingly spry, Pete picked up an old piece of lumber and took out Munch's pal with one swing. Thunk. On the way down, the goon hit his head on the side of a brick wall. Out for the count.

Munch tried to rise. Travis shoved him with his foot. Holding nothing back, he kicked his adversary in the ribs, the sound of bones cracking like music to his ears.

"Are you okay?" Delaney asked. Out of breath, her eyes were an intense amethyst—bright with worry.

"I am now."

"I'm so sorry, Travis. Munch came after you because of me."

"Bullshit." Travis wouldn't let Delaney take the blame. He swallowed, not sure how to ask what he had to know. "Del. Did he…? Has he…?"

"No."

One word. And the cool touch of her hand on his was all the assurance Travis needed. For the first time since he left the high school, he felt he could breathe.

Delaney gasped, her grip tightening on his arm. Munch had grabbed her ankle.

"Mine," Munch ground out through gritted teeth. He tried to rise, but the pain was too much. Travis knew from experience. Broken ribs were a bitch. And slow to heal. "You can't have her, you little fuck. Laney is mine."

Travis would have gleefully kicked Munch again—this time in the mouth. However, Pete beat him to the punch. Literally. Bending to one knee, he balled his hand into a fist, smashing Munch in the nose, producing another crunching noise, blood pouring from both nostrils.

"Sick bastard," Pete spat out. "You want me to break his arm for good measure?"

"Let me." Delaney held out her hand. With a shrug, a spark of admiration in his dark gaze—Pete handed her the board. "I think a broken leg will neutralize him longer. Don't you?"

"Knock him in the head," Pete suggested, his tone matter of fact as if he discussed this kind of thing every day. "You might put him out of commission for good."

"Self-defense?" Travis asked, just as casually. He might as well add his two cents worth. Though he didn't think Munch was worth more than a penny. If that.

Pete nodded.

"I don't think so," Delaney tossed the board as far as she could—out of temptation's way. "If we put him down, we'll be the ones who suffer."

"Mm." Pete didn't sound one hundred percent convinced. "I guess."

"Delaney has the smarts." Travis hugged her close. Damn, she felt good. "Thank you. You saved my ass. You too, Pete."

Pete shrugged, but Delaney would have sworn the flush on his cheeks was more from pleased embarrassment than any amount of exertion.

"Hear that?" Pete cocked his head to one side as the sound of sirens filled the alley. "Must have caught somebody's attention. Cops are coming."

"You can go if you want."

"Nah," Pete waved off Delaney's suggestion. "The law in this town is wonky. The more witnesses you have, the better."

Without a backward glance, Travis, Delaney, and Pete left the two men where they lay, walking out to meet the police. Two cars pulled to a stop. Luck stayed with them. Sheriff Brill wasn't driving either one.

"Travis didn't start the fight, Officer Stevens," Delaney said before any accusations could be handed out. Like Pete, she knew how this town worked. She wanted to get their side of the story told before the truth could be muddied by convenient lies. "Munch is the one you need to arrest."

"Jake," Cory Stevens nodded toward the other deputy. "Go take a look in the alley." He placed a hand on Travis' shoulder, his expression grim. "I have bad news. Your father was in an accident."

"Dad?" Travis felt his breath catch in his chest. "Is he okay? Where is he? At the hospital?"

"I'm sorry, son." The deputy's eyes filled with sympathy. "He didn't make it. He's dead."