Read Online Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2) by R.K. Lilley - Free Book Online
Authors: R.K. Lilley
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Could you be more obsessed with your girl, man?”
“Doubtful,” he replied mildly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DANIKA
The shit really hit the fan the next morning.
I was digging through my overnight bag, fishing out workout clothes. The plan was to hit the gym together, and then the shower, but we never got to do either.
I pulled out the black tank top that had been ripped down the middle, unfolding it before I realized which shirt it was. Rolled up, it had looked roughly the same as my workout top. I tried to rebury it just as quickly, but I was too late.
It was wrenched out of my hand before I could put it back.
Tristan loomed above me. He’d been dressing, too, and wore nothing but some dark blue athletic shorts and tennis shoes.
He was shirtless and his chest and abdominal muscles clenched, his biceps twitching, as he gripped the shirt. In spite of my better judgement, even knowing the day was about to be ruined, I was turned on by the sight.
“What is this?” he asked, unfolding the material, examining every inch of it, as though to make some sense of the rip that ran down the front.
I sighed, my eyes closing in dread. “It’s a shirt,” I explained, my tone resigned.
“Why is it ripped in half?” he bit out. I could already tell by his blank eyes that his temper had taken him to a place I couldn’t reach.
“Long story.”
He gave me a very pained smile, his eyes scary. “I’ve got all day, sweetheart.”
“Let’s not do this, Tristan. It’s over with, and it was nothing that was worth you going to jail for.”
“Fine. Have it your way. You give me no explanations, so I can only assume the absolute worst. Just answer me one question. Were you raped?”
“No! It didn’t get that far.”
Far from appeasing him, that statement seemed to set him off and I realized that I’d finally admitted there was an attack, a statement that I could not take back.
He pointed at me, his hand shaking. “Stay here.”
I sat on his bed, stunned by the turn of events for a solid ten minutes after he’d left.
I was spurred into action as I realized that I knew where he was going, and if I got to Jerry first, I could stop this train wreck in its tracks.
I started calling Bev’s phone, and then Jerry’s, over and over again on the drive, but no one was picking up. When I got to the house, a stressed out and confused Bev met me in the driveway. Tristan and Jerry had already left.
We didn’t hear a thing from them for hours. And when we finally did, it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear.
Tristan was in jail.
TRISTAN
My world had narrowed down to a red haze, my mind working like a broken record, focused on three things: Danika had been attacked, her shirt torn in half, her body bruised.
Some man had put his hands on her.
I couldn’t quite believe it, but I had no trouble reacting to it.
And her only explanation: It didn’t get that far.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around that, because it clearly implied that it had gotten somewhere. The steering wheel of my car was some faceless man’s neck. I held it in a death grip and drove straight to Jerry.
He answered the door himself, his face lighting up in a friendly smile at the sight of me.
I didn’t waste any time, holding the torn shirt up for him to see. “Where did Danika go on Friday?”
“Friday?” he asked, just looking confused.
“It may have been Thursday, but I doubt it, because I didn’t see the bruises on Friday, which makes me think they happened right before she came to see me.”
“Bruises?”
I shook the shirt at him. “And a fucking torn shirt. She was attacked, Jerry. Where the fuck was she on Friday morning?”
He swallowed hard, looking ill as dawning horror overtook his face. “Attacked? My God…is she all right?”
“Where, Jerry? Where
“Doubtful,” he replied mildly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DANIKA
The shit really hit the fan the next morning.
I was digging through my overnight bag, fishing out workout clothes. The plan was to hit the gym together, and then the shower, but we never got to do either.
I pulled out the black tank top that had been ripped down the middle, unfolding it before I realized which shirt it was. Rolled up, it had looked roughly the same as my workout top. I tried to rebury it just as quickly, but I was too late.
It was wrenched out of my hand before I could put it back.
Tristan loomed above me. He’d been dressing, too, and wore nothing but some dark blue athletic shorts and tennis shoes.
He was shirtless and his chest and abdominal muscles clenched, his biceps twitching, as he gripped the shirt. In spite of my better judgement, even knowing the day was about to be ruined, I was turned on by the sight.
“What is this?” he asked, unfolding the material, examining every inch of it, as though to make some sense of the rip that ran down the front.
I sighed, my eyes closing in dread. “It’s a shirt,” I explained, my tone resigned.
“Why is it ripped in half?” he bit out. I could already tell by his blank eyes that his temper had taken him to a place I couldn’t reach.
“Long story.”
He gave me a very pained smile, his eyes scary. “I’ve got all day, sweetheart.”
“Let’s not do this, Tristan. It’s over with, and it was nothing that was worth you going to jail for.”
“Fine. Have it your way. You give me no explanations, so I can only assume the absolute worst. Just answer me one question. Were you raped?”
“No! It didn’t get that far.”
Far from appeasing him, that statement seemed to set him off and I realized that I’d finally admitted there was an attack, a statement that I could not take back.
He pointed at me, his hand shaking. “Stay here.”
I sat on his bed, stunned by the turn of events for a solid ten minutes after he’d left.
I was spurred into action as I realized that I knew where he was going, and if I got to Jerry first, I could stop this train wreck in its tracks.
I started calling Bev’s phone, and then Jerry’s, over and over again on the drive, but no one was picking up. When I got to the house, a stressed out and confused Bev met me in the driveway. Tristan and Jerry had already left.
We didn’t hear a thing from them for hours. And when we finally did, it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear.
Tristan was in jail.
TRISTAN
My world had narrowed down to a red haze, my mind working like a broken record, focused on three things: Danika had been attacked, her shirt torn in half, her body bruised.
Some man had put his hands on her.
I couldn’t quite believe it, but I had no trouble reacting to it.
And her only explanation: It didn’t get that far.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around that, because it clearly implied that it had gotten somewhere. The steering wheel of my car was some faceless man’s neck. I held it in a death grip and drove straight to Jerry.
He answered the door himself, his face lighting up in a friendly smile at the sight of me.
I didn’t waste any time, holding the torn shirt up for him to see. “Where did Danika go on Friday?”
“Friday?” he asked, just looking confused.
“It may have been Thursday, but I doubt it, because I didn’t see the bruises on Friday, which makes me think they happened right before she came to see me.”
“Bruises?”
I shook the shirt at him. “And a fucking torn shirt. She was attacked, Jerry. Where the fuck was she on Friday morning?”
He swallowed hard, looking ill as dawning horror overtook his face. “Attacked? My God…is she all right?”
“Where, Jerry? Where
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