Rampage: A Romance Thriller

Author's Note: This is the edited version of Rampage. The original is explicit and unrated, not for the faint of heart (or underage) and is available for free download by the reader's discretion at Amazon

PART I:  ENOUGH IS ENOUGH
ONE

It was a warm day out there and he wanted to throw the ball around for a while, which really meant that he wanted to practice his pitches and then spend an hour making fun of how she couldn’t throw the balls back to him.  He loved to point out that she wasn’t holding the baseball correctly.  That she wasn’t letting her wrist do the work.  That she better hope her life never depended on throwing a fastball because if that was the case, well, sugar pie, you should pack it in now.

Allie put up with Preston’s critiques as she always did:  she employed her best ah, shucks shrugs and pathetic little half-smiles that said she was trying to be a good sport but she was, after all, just a girl.

At twenty-eight, she couldn’t count herself as much of a girl anymore, but she liked the way Preston treated her as if she were one, the way he did things for her in public, like order her meals or recommend which dress she should buy, and the way he held her in his strong arms and told her not to worry her little head over anything.

Sometimes late at night, she watched him sleep.  He snored most nights and that kept her awake but that wasn’t all of it.  She liked to watch him sleep, his mouth half open, head tilted back against the pillow so his Adam’s apple protruded out.  Sometimes she touched him, though never enough to wake him.  Not unless she wanted his sex and occasionally she did.  He wanted her more often and she never refused him, only hoped he wouldn’t be too rough about it.

During those quiet late-night hours when he snored and she stared, she allowed herself to think about what her friend Gretta said.  About getting out and getting away.  She wouldn’t entertain those ideas during daytime as if Preston might see the thoughts on her face.  Only at night when he couldn’t see her.  That was when it was safe to imagine what life could be like.  What life might be for a woman who didn’t have to wear long sleeves in July to cover the finger-shaped bruises on her arms.  What it would be like to go into the bathroom and not fear that the urine would be dark brown.

She wasn’t stupid.  She knew Preston was a mean asshole sometimes.  He had abused her, yes, she could acknowledge that.  He had a tendency to get too rough with her and often his touch hurt, but he always took care of her afterwards.  Always got the ice pack or drew a warm bath for her.  He never seriously hurt her.  Never broke any bones and the few cuts had been superficial.

“I know, I know,” she said to Gretta more times than she could remember.  They spoke on the phone when Preston was at the batting cages.

“I will help you get away from him.  We’ll create some kind of plan to mislead him or something.  He’s a prick and an abuser and you need to leave him.”

This conversation with only slight variation had happened many times.  Gretta played her part as the concerned best friend and Allie always assured Gretta that she knew she had to leave and she would one day but it wasn’t time yet.

“Then when?”  Gretta said.  “When the coroner takes you away?”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Allie said.  “Preston has anger problems but he’s not a killer.”

“I’m not saying he’s going to slice your throat, but he might go too far some night.  I know how he gets.  Like he’s in a trance.”

“That was one time.”

Gretta made an exasperated noise.  “I know it wasn’t just one time and that’s besides the point.  One time is enough.”

Gretta was talking about the Thanksgiving episode, as Allie had come to think of it.  Gretta didn’t know, but clearly sensed, that the one-time-only Thanksgiving incident had happened more than just that one time.  In fact, it had come again in various forms at least three more times.  Luckily, no one else had been around to witness.

“I’m not in danger,” Allie said.  She told herself the same thing during the night while she stared at his Adam’s apple.

“It was like he was fucking possessed,” Gretta said, still stuck on Thanksgiving.

“Everything is fine.”

Gretta didn’t say anything for several seconds and Allie hoped that meant she was moving on to another topic.  “When’s the last time he hit you?”

“Gretta, please.”

“He may not have been a football player but he outweighs you by at least sixty pounds so don’t tell me his hits don’t hurt.  You still look like you’re waiting for your breasts to mature.”

“Thanks.”

“You should say thanks.  Better to be a little thing like you then have these double D’s like me.  And the double-sized ass to boot.”

“I look like a boy,” Allie said.

“Preston tell you that, too?”

“Let it go, please.”

“I will help you get away.  He’ll never find you.”

“He’s not some crazed stalker.  If I want to leave, he’s not going to come after me.”

“You think so, huh?”

She let the question hang there a moment.  “Wouldn’t that mean he loves me?  He wouldn’t just turn away if I tried to leave.”

“Shit, girl,” Gretta said.  “You’re fucked in the head.”

“Thanks.”

“And one of these days you’re going to end up in a hospital and that’s when all your bullshit excuses get pushed aside and I take over.  I’ll have the cops all over him and slam his ass in jail so fast he won’t know what the hell happened.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“That’s me,” Gretta said.  “A real sweetheart.”

Gretta was a good friend, had been for most of Allie’s life, but she didn’t understand everything like she thought she did.  Preston had a temper, that was unarguable, but he could be such a sweet guy, had been so charming and gentle for a long time when they first got together.  He had problems, sure--hell, who didn’t?--but that didn’t mean she should just throw him back into the sea and cast out her bachelorette fishing pole again.  Relationships were about commitment.  That’s what Mom always said.

And Allie wasn’t in denial.  She knew the reasons women stayed in dangerous relationships.  Gretta had given her many pamphlets since the Thanksgiving incident, forwarded her too many sad-sop e-mails about abused women and all the programs available to help them.  Allie knew all the reasons and had gone through them painstakingly.  She thought about each one long and hard and concluded that while her relationship with Preston might not be the most healthy or well-balanced, she wasn’t one of those women telling people that she had tripped over her own feet and smacked her head into a doorknob.  If that were the case, she would leave.

No question.