Missy Johnson - Provoke

He raised his eyebrows, his hand resting on his chin as his gaze burned into me. “I noticed.” He chuckled, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I fibbed. Bullshit. I was feeling worse than I had all day.

“You look like shit,” he commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Gee, thanks,” I snapped. “Why are you here? Didn’t you get my message?” I’d told him I was sick.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He cocked his head and sat forward, his hands now joined in his lap. “Did you go to my house yesterday?”

Why the hell had I gone all domestic cleaner on him?? I’d done his washing, for fucks sake, and I thought he’d never know I’d been there? Was I insane?

Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I could feel my face heating up as I struggled to keep myself calm, when all I wanted to do was let him have it. I wanted answers. Now I definitely looked as though I was hiding something.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I needed to get some work done and my laptop died. I didn’t think you’d mind me using yours. I, uh, didn’t think it would be a problem.”

He stiffened, managing a sharp nod. “No, it’s fine.” His eyes fell on my new laptop lying on the floor. “Here, I’ll have a look at it—”

“No!” I practically screamed, launching myself at the laptop. Fuck, Leeta. Get a grip. “That’s a new one. The old one is in the bin,” I stammered, hugging the Mac to my chest. He nodded slowly. I almost felt the need to race outside and show him I wasn’t lying.

“Well, anyway, I brought you over some food. I thought you might be hungry.” An awkward silence followed. He stared at me, and I avoided eye contact. I couldn’t even look at him. All I could see were the faces of those girls, just lying there.

Please just leave. Please, please, please.

“I might go to bed, try and sleep this off. You don’t mind, do you? I’ll call you later, okay?” For a moment I thought he was going to argue, but then he simply nodded.

We both stood up. He walked over to me and attempted to kiss me. I freaked out and backed away. Way to go, Leets. You’re doing an awesome job at being inconspicuous.

“Leet, what the hell is up with you?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. His forehead creased as he waited for me to answer. He towered over me, his presence enough to make me weak at the knees. The worst thing was I didn’t know if that was lust, or the fact that he might be a rapist.

“Nothing. I just don’t want you catching whatever this is,” I mumbled weakly. God, I was such a bad liar. How was it that I managed to successfully practice law?

“I’ll risk it.” He grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward him until I was flush up against his chest. I froze as his hand cupped my chin. He leaned down, his lips pressing against mine. My body reacted the way it always did when he touched me—with anticipation and want—in complete contrast to the negative thoughts that were racing through my head.

Yet there I stood, kissing him back. It was such an innate response, and left me feeling completely confused. I hated him…didn’t I? Then why was I standing here, kissing him with more passion and lust than I ever had? I couldn’t break myself away and it scared the hell out of me.

I whimpered as his hands wandered under my shirt, the feel of his skin against mine electrifying. Desire consumed me. I wanted him so badly. God, I was so wet . . . What the fuck was wrong with me? He pulled away, staring at me one last time as his thumb tweaked my cheek.

“Go get some rest, Leets. You’re acting really weird.”

#

I’m acting weird . . .

His words rang in my head. The last thing I wanted to do was arouse his suspicion. I wiped a thin film of sweat off the back of my neck. God, it was hot in there. Walking over to the back door, I slid it open and left the security door locked.

I needed a plan. I needed something set out. I worked best when I had things set out in action.

My skills at gathering information from the videos had pretty much exceeded their limits. I needed outside help. And there was only one person that stuck in my mind: the last person I ever wanted to speak to again.

Ben.

It had been two years since we’d last spoken. The man my parents thought was utterly perfect. I laughed. If only they knew. That dude was all kinds of fucked up.

If anyone knew the how to find out what I needed to know, it would be him. His obsession with porn had become scary. Even scarier was the role-playing he had insisted we act out. Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Ben was into this kind of shit too.

In the beginning, he had been the perfect boyfriend: sweet, caring, and everyone loved him. He won my parents over easily. It seemed like there wasn’t a single thing the guy could do wrong.

About six months into our relationship, he proposed. I said yes. No hesitation. He was perfect for me. We were great together.

Things started unravelling shortly after. He had served in Iraq for a few months, and when he came back he was a totally different person. The loveable, fun guy had been replaced with a dark, empty, spiteful shell.

His paranoia was the worst. He’d been convinced I was cheating on him. On several occasions he went as far as almost physically harming me. I swore to him then that if he laid so much as a finger on me, I’d be gone, and he would never see me again. He promised he’d get help. And he did. Things improved from there.

It took all of a month for shit to get really bad. By that stage, he no longer worked. He spent his days surfing the Internet, watching porn, sleeping, and drinking. Then he began to get really violent. Sexually violent. He would choke me during sex, among other things. He had gone from a gentle, intimate lover to a violent creep who got off on causing me pain.

Telling Mom and Dad that I’d broken things off with their dream boyfriend had been fun. I’d seriously thought Dad was going to start crying. Then the lectures began—about how insensitive I was for breaking up with a man who was obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.

The thing was, he didn’t want my help. Over and over I tried to help him, but he kept pushing me away. What else was I supposed to do? I was a twenty-year-old girl who was too afraid to sleep in the same bed as her fiancé in case he went too far.

I was living a nightmare, waiting for the day when I’d wake up with his hands around my neck. The fact that I could even think he was capable of that had been a wake up call to get the hell out of that relationship.

So I had. And I vowed never to put myself in that kind of situation again.

I sure knew how to pick them.

#

Now for the fun part.

Tracking Ben down would be no problem: he was a decorated army officer who had worked with my father for years—hence Dad’s love for the guy. Tracking down email addresses of current army officers was surprisingly easy. Which had always struck me as weird, considering the whole protecting-the-nation thing.

I grabbed my laptop and navigated to trusty Google. It took all of five minutes for me to be staring at his email address. Did I really want to do this?

Where Mace was scary and short-tempered, Ben had been the complete opposite. Way too calm and collected. His ‘interests’ had scared the fuck out of me—enough for me to get the hell out of that relationship.

But I didn’t see another way. As much as our relationship had gone downhill   fast, in an odd way, Ben was the only person I felt I could trust—probably because I could ruin his reputation in half a second if I wanted to. Having that kind of power over someone made them a very trustworthy confidante.

Okay, do this before you change your mind, Leets.

Ben,

Long time, huh? Hope you are well. You’re probably wondering why the hell I’m contacting you after so long, and well, I need a favour. A big one. Get back to me. My number is still the same.

Leeta

Short and sweet.

There was no point going into detail without knowing if he was willing to help me or not. Sighing, I closed the laptop and put it on charge. I needed sleep. I was so past tired, it wasn’t even funny.

I changed into my pyjamas and climbed into bed, exhausted. Fumbling through my bedside table, I found my stash of Valium. I rarely used sleeping aids, but I had so much crammed into my head right then that sleep felt impossible without assistance.

I lay there waiting for the tablet to take effect. It didn’t take long for me start to feel woozy. I closed my eyes and tried to force all the negative thoughts out of my head.

All this, I’d deal with tomorrow. Right then, nothing seemed as important as getting some sleep.

Mace

She knows.

It all added up. She had to know. She was at my house, my computer had been used, she didn’t want to see me . . . and then when I’d turned up, she couldn’t stand to be touched by me. It all added up to one thing.

She fucking knew. She had to have seen the videos. I hit the steering wheel in frustration. Christ, why hadn’t I deleted them?

This was a nightmare.

A fucking mess.

There was no way to put a positive spin on this. No matter which way you swung it, what I was involved in was unforgivable. Of course, what she was thinking was a thousand times worse than the actual reality, but the reality was still pretty bad. I wanted to tell her, but what would I say?