Read Online Return to Me by Christy Reece - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christy Reece
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want to see him smile wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate.
Samara showed him where the guest room was, the towels and other things he might need. Whispering good night, she closed the door to her bedroom, ignoring the dangerous notion of following him into the guest room and finding out exactly what those dark looks he’d flashed her today really meant. Noah had made it more than clear he wanted nothing to happen between them. Samara’s mind was totally convinced and on board with that concept. Now she just needed to persuade the rest of her body to cooperate.
Darkness swirled around him. Like bubbling black tar, it coated his entire being, pulling him deeper into a thick black abyss. A small part of his subconscious knew he was dreaming, but refused to release him from the vicious claws. Helpless to escape, the nightmare flooded his senses, choking, smothering.
Farrell Stoddard stood before him. Belt in hand, he flicked it against his own leg and barely made a grimace each time it hit. The anticipatory gleam in his evil, dark eyes told Noah exactly what to expect. Noah tensed, his mind screaming for him to wake up, even as he heard the whoosh of the first strike.
Pain seared his skin. Squealing, excited giggles sounded beside him. Noah twisted his head. Mitchell stood on the other side of the bed, knife in one hand, his other hand covering his crotch. He wore Noah’s clothes … the light blue shirt he’d worked for a month at the gas station to be able to afford. The shirt Noah wore the first time he’d flirted with Rebecca.
Another sound … a sob. Noah turned. His mother stood at the door. Her dress torn, hanging in shreds from her thin body, welt marks on her face, chest, and stomach. Her eyes were hollowed out, defeated, empty.
A young girl stood beside her.
Rebecca
. Long blond hair, dirty and tousled, hung down over her thin shoulders. Her sallow complexion made her look years older than fifteen. Her eyes accused, reproached, destroyed. She was nude; semen and blood dripped down her legs.
He had failed them. His mother and Rebecca. Failed to protect them, failed to keep them safe. Noah twisted the sheets, willing himself to wake up, telling himself it was all a dream.
Samara stood beside the bed. Her pretty face marred with tears and bruises. Her expression hurt, reproachful. “Why?” she whispered.
Noah woke on a stifled shout. He threw the sheet off and slammed his feet down on the solid, carpeted floor. Hell and damnation, he’d not had a dream like that in years. Why now? Because he was so close? Or for another reason? Was he putting Samara in jeopardy? No, she would be safe. He would make sure she was safe. She was his chance, perhaps his only chance, to catch these bastards. He was accustomed to using people, so why should this be any different?
Knowing he wouldn’t sleep any more tonight, Noah pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and headed back to his laptop in the living room. He switched on the lamp and checked his watch. Five-thirty. He’d slept about three hours … enough to get him through another day.
He clicked on his laptop and signed on. His pulse kicked up. Three new messages waited. Had they gotten a nibble? The email addresses were innocuous enough. [email protected] , [email protected] , and [email protected]
Noah clicked on and read the first.
Hi Carly, I saw your post on teen things chatroom. My name is Brian Sanders. I go to Madison High in Montgomery. I’m seventeen and play football. … I’m a running back. Email me back if you’d like to talk more
.
The second email read like a typical lonely, horny teenager. The third one was an invitation to come to a church revival and repent. Since he was pretty sure the last one wouldn’t attract a sixteen-year-old, he ignored that one. The lonely teen … he read again:
Carly, I’m John. U sound cut. R U?
Noah shook his head. No, too illiterate. He went back to Brian’s message and read it again. Sounded
Samara showed him where the guest room was, the towels and other things he might need. Whispering good night, she closed the door to her bedroom, ignoring the dangerous notion of following him into the guest room and finding out exactly what those dark looks he’d flashed her today really meant. Noah had made it more than clear he wanted nothing to happen between them. Samara’s mind was totally convinced and on board with that concept. Now she just needed to persuade the rest of her body to cooperate.
Darkness swirled around him. Like bubbling black tar, it coated his entire being, pulling him deeper into a thick black abyss. A small part of his subconscious knew he was dreaming, but refused to release him from the vicious claws. Helpless to escape, the nightmare flooded his senses, choking, smothering.
Farrell Stoddard stood before him. Belt in hand, he flicked it against his own leg and barely made a grimace each time it hit. The anticipatory gleam in his evil, dark eyes told Noah exactly what to expect. Noah tensed, his mind screaming for him to wake up, even as he heard the whoosh of the first strike.
Pain seared his skin. Squealing, excited giggles sounded beside him. Noah twisted his head. Mitchell stood on the other side of the bed, knife in one hand, his other hand covering his crotch. He wore Noah’s clothes … the light blue shirt he’d worked for a month at the gas station to be able to afford. The shirt Noah wore the first time he’d flirted with Rebecca.
Another sound … a sob. Noah turned. His mother stood at the door. Her dress torn, hanging in shreds from her thin body, welt marks on her face, chest, and stomach. Her eyes were hollowed out, defeated, empty.
A young girl stood beside her.
Rebecca
. Long blond hair, dirty and tousled, hung down over her thin shoulders. Her sallow complexion made her look years older than fifteen. Her eyes accused, reproached, destroyed. She was nude; semen and blood dripped down her legs.
He had failed them. His mother and Rebecca. Failed to protect them, failed to keep them safe. Noah twisted the sheets, willing himself to wake up, telling himself it was all a dream.
Samara stood beside the bed. Her pretty face marred with tears and bruises. Her expression hurt, reproachful. “Why?” she whispered.
Noah woke on a stifled shout. He threw the sheet off and slammed his feet down on the solid, carpeted floor. Hell and damnation, he’d not had a dream like that in years. Why now? Because he was so close? Or for another reason? Was he putting Samara in jeopardy? No, she would be safe. He would make sure she was safe. She was his chance, perhaps his only chance, to catch these bastards. He was accustomed to using people, so why should this be any different?
Knowing he wouldn’t sleep any more tonight, Noah pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and headed back to his laptop in the living room. He switched on the lamp and checked his watch. Five-thirty. He’d slept about three hours … enough to get him through another day.
He clicked on his laptop and signed on. His pulse kicked up. Three new messages waited. Had they gotten a nibble? The email addresses were innocuous enough. [email protected] , [email protected] , and [email protected]
Noah clicked on and read the first.
Hi Carly, I saw your post on teen things chatroom. My name is Brian Sanders. I go to Madison High in Montgomery. I’m seventeen and play football. … I’m a running back. Email me back if you’d like to talk more
.
The second email read like a typical lonely, horny teenager. The third one was an invitation to come to a church revival and repent. Since he was pretty sure the last one wouldn’t attract a sixteen-year-old, he ignored that one. The lonely teen … he read again:
Carly, I’m John. U sound cut. R U?
Noah shook his head. No, too illiterate. He went back to Brian’s message and read it again. Sounded
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