Read Online Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) by T. K. Lukas - Free Book Online
Authors: T. K. Lukas
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scratched and bruised her tender flesh.
Jacques raced in circles, barking, lunging, biting at his bootleg, grabbing the fabric in his teeth, pulling backward. Seamus shook the little dog off, then kicked hard, booting him a solid blow to the side. Jacques landed in the sand, quiet, unmoving.
Leighselle screamed. His hand over her mouth muffled her cries. The more she struggled, the rougher he got. “I see the way you look at me, teasing me, begging me for this. It’s in your eyes that you want me to fuck you. Say it. Say you want me to fuck you.”
Leighselle shook her head, frantic, tried to say no, tried to scream, but his hand clamped down on her mouth again. Sand clogged her nostrils, grated her eyes.
“You’re mine, Leighselle. After today, no one else will want you. You’ll belong to me.” Seamus took her in the roughest way he could. “Do you understand? Mine.”
Pain ripped through her body. With each push and shove, Leighselle felt as if she might slip into unconsciousness—she prayed that she would. A silent cry formed in her throat and stayed there, even though her mouth, wide open in horror and fear, allowed for its release.
A noise coming from the trail leading down to the river drew Seamus’s attention. He pressed his hand hard against Leighselle’s mouth, and it covered her nose. She struggled to breathe.
“We forgot one basket of your mama’s linens,” said Addy-Frank as she stepped from the dense overgrowth of the trail onto the sun-drenched bank. “The big ol’ heavy one. Massah Beauclaire say he going to send Ole Isaiah down with the wagon to lift it ’cause it be— Oh!” She stopped midstride, frozen, her eyes taking in the horrible scene.
Seamus shoved away from Leighselle, fastening his belt, then slipped like a shadow into the darkness of the thicket. Moments later, the clattering of hooves echoed down into the ravine as he galloped across the wooden span. The loud commotion flushed a murder of nesting crows into the sky.
Addy-Frank splashed across the river, grabbing Leighselle, pulling her up off the sand. “What he done to you? He hurt you?”
Leighselle opened her mouth but no words formed. No one could ever know about this. No one . She pulled away from Addy-Frank’s grasp and tugged at the torn slip that was ripped down the front, trying to cover herself.
“Who done this? You know him?” Addy-Frank grabbed Leighselle’s shoulders. “Who?”
“He comes from Texas to buy cattle.” Leighselle began to shake, a sound like that of an injured dove rising softly from within. “I couldn’t stop him. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t.”
“Your daddy’s shotgun sure stop him. I go get Massah.”
“No! You never saw anything. Father—his business. We can’t speak of this to anyone. It’ll shame him. He—”
“Miss Leighselle, you need to tell your—”
“Tell no one. Go back to the house like you never left.”
Addy-Frank opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and then walked back up the trail toward the house, leaving the river behind.
Leighselle knelt by Jacques, who was whimpering, his paws twitching. She stroked the dog’s side, feeling for broken ribs. “You’ll be all right. Lay still, little dog, and catch your breath.”
Stepping into the warm current, she located the large flat-topped boulder that sat submerged a few inches under the water’s surface, the rock she played on and dove from—the rock that snapping turtles sunned themselves on and where frogs would sit and catch dragonflies.
She lay down on the rock, letting the warm, slow-flowing waters of the Vermillion wash the ocher sand from her hair, from her skin, from her slip. She imagined the water washing away the horrid nightmare, flowing it out to sea.
Leighselle closed her eyes against the glaring sun, against the indigo sky, against the red river, against the ocher sand and sunflowers bending over the banks, and against all that was fine and
Jacques raced in circles, barking, lunging, biting at his bootleg, grabbing the fabric in his teeth, pulling backward. Seamus shook the little dog off, then kicked hard, booting him a solid blow to the side. Jacques landed in the sand, quiet, unmoving.
Leighselle screamed. His hand over her mouth muffled her cries. The more she struggled, the rougher he got. “I see the way you look at me, teasing me, begging me for this. It’s in your eyes that you want me to fuck you. Say it. Say you want me to fuck you.”
Leighselle shook her head, frantic, tried to say no, tried to scream, but his hand clamped down on her mouth again. Sand clogged her nostrils, grated her eyes.
“You’re mine, Leighselle. After today, no one else will want you. You’ll belong to me.” Seamus took her in the roughest way he could. “Do you understand? Mine.”
Pain ripped through her body. With each push and shove, Leighselle felt as if she might slip into unconsciousness—she prayed that she would. A silent cry formed in her throat and stayed there, even though her mouth, wide open in horror and fear, allowed for its release.
A noise coming from the trail leading down to the river drew Seamus’s attention. He pressed his hand hard against Leighselle’s mouth, and it covered her nose. She struggled to breathe.
“We forgot one basket of your mama’s linens,” said Addy-Frank as she stepped from the dense overgrowth of the trail onto the sun-drenched bank. “The big ol’ heavy one. Massah Beauclaire say he going to send Ole Isaiah down with the wagon to lift it ’cause it be— Oh!” She stopped midstride, frozen, her eyes taking in the horrible scene.
Seamus shoved away from Leighselle, fastening his belt, then slipped like a shadow into the darkness of the thicket. Moments later, the clattering of hooves echoed down into the ravine as he galloped across the wooden span. The loud commotion flushed a murder of nesting crows into the sky.
Addy-Frank splashed across the river, grabbing Leighselle, pulling her up off the sand. “What he done to you? He hurt you?”
Leighselle opened her mouth but no words formed. No one could ever know about this. No one . She pulled away from Addy-Frank’s grasp and tugged at the torn slip that was ripped down the front, trying to cover herself.
“Who done this? You know him?” Addy-Frank grabbed Leighselle’s shoulders. “Who?”
“He comes from Texas to buy cattle.” Leighselle began to shake, a sound like that of an injured dove rising softly from within. “I couldn’t stop him. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t.”
“Your daddy’s shotgun sure stop him. I go get Massah.”
“No! You never saw anything. Father—his business. We can’t speak of this to anyone. It’ll shame him. He—”
“Miss Leighselle, you need to tell your—”
“Tell no one. Go back to the house like you never left.”
Addy-Frank opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and then walked back up the trail toward the house, leaving the river behind.
Leighselle knelt by Jacques, who was whimpering, his paws twitching. She stroked the dog’s side, feeling for broken ribs. “You’ll be all right. Lay still, little dog, and catch your breath.”
Stepping into the warm current, she located the large flat-topped boulder that sat submerged a few inches under the water’s surface, the rock she played on and dove from—the rock that snapping turtles sunned themselves on and where frogs would sit and catch dragonflies.
She lay down on the rock, letting the warm, slow-flowing waters of the Vermillion wash the ocher sand from her hair, from her skin, from her slip. She imagined the water washing away the horrid nightmare, flowing it out to sea.
Leighselle closed her eyes against the glaring sun, against the indigo sky, against the red river, against the ocher sand and sunflowers bending over the banks, and against all that was fine and
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