In His Arms

In His Arms

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 Michelle Grotewohl

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Prologue

She ran, hard and fast, through the thick forest behind the huge house that had been her prison, her hell, for five years. She didn’t know how long she’d been running, how long the pills she’d given Ludwig would keep him unconscious. She didn’t know how deep the forest was, or just how far from civilization he’d kept her.

In fact, she’d never been near the trees here, had only glimpsed them from her bedroom window. The farthest she’d been away from the house in years was the pool in the backyard where Ludwig would make her swim naked in front of his friends to show them just how much control he had over her.

She told herself it didn't matter how deep the trees were, or how long she had to run. All that mattered was she had to get away, before he woke up, before he found her gone, before he found out what she’d done.

If she wasn’t unreachable by the time he noticed her missing, he’d drag her back by her hair. He’d pull her into the house, upstairs to the bathroom, strip her naked. Then he’d throw her into the shower and run the water freezing cold… Or scalding hot if he was feeling really mean. His black eyes would glitter maliciously, and maybe he’d let one of his friends watch and laugh at her.

And even that was preferable to what would come after, because Ludwig would tear her from the relative safety of the shower stall and toss her on his bed. If she was lucky, he would simply use her body, all while telling her why he was the boss, why he was ‘the man’, before leaving her. If she was unlucky, which was more often than not, he would hit her while he did it, adding new bruises to the ones she already had, possibly breaking bones that were still healing from his last rage. And maybe, less likely but still possible, that buddy of his that had watched her lips turn blue or her skin burn red would watch her husband maul her- And do nothing.

They always did nothing.

These thoughts put even more terror into her heart, and she ran impossibly faster. The branches of the trees tore at her simple white sleeping gown, the only thing she’d taken when leaving because it was the easiest to pull on and didn’t hurt her aching body. Small tears had formed in the fabric, catching easier on the next branch, making them larger and larger the farther she went until she wore a holey rag.

Beneath her bare feet, twigs and dry pine needles stabbed into her flesh, and all she could think was maybe she’d get a deadly infection and finally be truly free of him.

On the trees, live needles and the ends of branches caught her in the face, scratching her cheeks. She knew she must look horrific: Face mottled various shades of purple, yellow, and red, and then topped off with a thousand tiny scratches.

Good, she thought, let her be scarred and ugly for the rest of her life, so no man looked at her in a sexual way ever again. As it was, she couldn’t even think about sex without growing nauseous.

She felt none of the pain, though she should have been in tears. Ludwig’s last rampage had left most of her body black and blue, and her lip had been split open when the back of his hand had swiped across her face. But her adrenaline kept her blissfully unaware, carrying her ceaselessly through the trees.

At one point, a branch caught at her tangled hair, pulling on her already sensitive scalp, and she panicked, thinking somehow Ludwig had caught her already. How could the pills he used to keep her submissive have worn off so fast when she’d used three times as many on him as he did on her? Was it because he was so much larger than she? Had she not used enough to keep him down until she was free?

No! she screamed, pulling against the pain, unaware of the bravery she was displaying.

Instantly she was free, gasping in relief even as her lungs began burning from exertion.

She felt herself tiring and begged any god that would listen for more strength. Just a little more, she prayed. She just had to get out of these trees, and to a house, or a barn, anywhere she could hide. If she stopped now, he’d find her for sure. She wasn’t even sure she could run far enough, but she was going to try.

Suddenly, she burst free of the trees, and found herself standing in a big clearing. She stumbled to a halt and looked around: She was at the very back of someone’s yard, surrounded on three sides by thick forest. The other, though, was a house, a house with a back-porch light that shone like a redeeming beacon despite the late hour.

Panting, she started trotting brokenly toward the house, only stopping once about halfway to the door to ponder the intelligence of approaching an unfamiliar house and asking a stranger for help. If this person knew her husband, or called the police, she’d be dead for sure. If Ludwig caught her running, he’d kill her, no question.

Yet even that would be preferable to being beaten and raped on a regular basis.

She bit her bottom lip indecisively, wincing in pain, then automatically released her lip, stiffening and waiting for Ludwig’s admonishment that she stop the habitual act.

But it didn’t come, and she relaxed minutely. That was why she had to go up to the door, and knock, and beg the person living there to let her in without calling the police. She had to try. If she was turned over to the police, or the person knew Ludwig… Well, she’d rather be dead, anyway, than live through that hell again.

She walked slower as she approached the door this time, not realizing it was from exhaustion instead of trepidation. She tripped once, about twenty feet from the back steps, and when it took her a full minute to pull herself back up to her feet, she knew she wouldn’t make it if she didn’t hurry.

Pushing off the cool ground with both abused hands, she stumbled across the remaining distance, then stood at the bottom of the steps, trying to find the strength to lift her foot and her admittedly-slight weight onto the porch. She purposely bit into her bottom lip hard enough to split it open again and draw blood, forcing herself awake. Then she lifted her foot and placed it on the bottom step.

She couldn’t lift her other foot enough to get to the next step right away, and so rested it beside the first for a few minutes, until she gathered the strength to go up again. One more now, she told herself, one more, and you’re there.

She lifted the first foot, slid it onto the top step, the landing, feeling victorious that she’d made it. One more foot, and she was either safe, or dead. She didn’t care which, so long as her hell was over.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her other foot and moved it forward, but didn’t quite make it. Her toes caught on the step, pitching her body forward.

In an attempt to stop herself from falling, she put a hand out toward the door. Her falling body put enough force behind her palm to rattle the door on its hinges as she slapped the wood, and all she could hope as her sight dimmed was that someone inside had heard.

Chapter One

James Norman was jolted awake by the sound of his back door rattling almost off its hinges. He turned and looked at his bedside clock: 3:22.

Rubbing his dark green eyes with one hand, he threw off the covers with the other and grabbed the baseball bat he kept beside the bed on his way out of his room.

Down the hall, as quietly as possible, toward the kitchen. This time, he vowed, he would get the little fucker. This time, he was gonna swing with all his might, knocking his head clear off his furry little shoulders.

This was the third night in a row the raccoon had come pawing at the compost bin on the back porch, full and waiting to go to the pile at the back of James’ property. It was the third week in a row. James knew if he didn’t kill the raccoon, he’d probably never get rid of the animal, especially after the creature had actually found something to nosh on a week ago, and had been back almost every night since, spilling the garbage onto the porch and leaving the mess for James to clean up.

He stepped into the dark kitchen, the only light coming from the back porch through the window over the sink.

Cautiously, lest he be sensed, he snuck over to the window, glancing out.

At first, he didn’t see anything, so he rose up onto his toes, leaning his 6’3" frame forward and to the right to see more of the porch, his dark blond hair brushing the side of the window frame.

Not a raccoon, he realized, but a woman, lying on his porch, wearing a torn gown and looking bruised under bleeding cuts and scrapes.

Oh, my god... he exclaimed quietly.

Rushing now, he went toward the back door, sliding his hand along the counter to keep himself balanced in his hurry. His palm caught the pointy end of a knife he’d neglected to pick up after dinner, cutting a long but shallow slice in his flesh.

Damn it! he hissed, not slowing.

He rounded the counter and nearly went down when the rug beneath the kitchen table slid.

Growling in irritation at his normally graceful feet, he grabbed the doorknob of the back door, turned it sharply and wrenched it open.

He came to a halt and stood for a moment, staring at her, afraid she was dead, hoping she wasn’t. She wore only a thin white nightgown, and it was torn in so many places it was practically falling off her. There were little cuts and spots of blood all over her.

Taking a calming breath, he crouched down, then hesitantly brushed her light blonde hair back from her face. Jesus, what did they do to you? he asked her quietly when he saw the bruises on her face and split lower lip- Someone had roughed her up good, possibly before dumping her body on his porch.

Lifting his eyes, he quickly searched the backyard for a possible assailant, saw nothing but darkness beyond the halo of the porch light.

Brow furrowed, he put a hand in front of her mouth, and when he felt a faint puff of heat, he let out the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding at the discovery that she was alive.

Carefully, trying not to jostle her too much in case she had broken bones he wasn’t aware of, he lifted her tiny form into his arms and carried her into the house, locking the back door behind him.

He stood there for a second, unsure of where to put her.

Spare bedroom, he decided. She’d be the most comfortable there, and he had two of them.

He carried her quickly through the house, and deposited her gently in the bed, covering her with the thick blanket before leaving to grab the cordless phone from the kitchen. He walked back into the guest bedroom and sat beside her on the bed, then turned the phone on to start dialing.

Suddenly a fragile hand grabbed his wrist, and his gaze flew to the woman lying on the bed.

Her eyes were open, but barely, and he saw they were the oddest shade of green, like a tropical sea, before he registered that she was trying to talk. He lowered his head toward her mouth.

What?

Doe… Dote call the pleece. Plehz, don’t call th… the pleece. Then her hand fell from his wrist, and her strange eyes closed. She’d passed out again.

James sat for several minutes, staring at her, wondering if she was gonna wake up again, and what he should do now.

Of course, he had to continue with his original plan. He had to know she was okay before he did anything else.

Taking a few steps away from the bed, he dialed his best friend Mike’s number.

Hello? Despite the late hour, his friend sounded wide awake.

Mike, are you working?

No. Bye.

Wait! I need you to come over. Now.

No can do, bud. I have company right now. He paused, then said, What the hell are you doing up at three-thirty in the morning, anyway?

That’s why I need you to come over. I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Just get here. James hung up before Mike could argue anymore, entirely certain his friend would come.

Ten minutes later, a sharp knock sounded at the front door, and James left the bed where he’d been sitting watching the woman sleep to answer it. He opened it to find Mike MacLean scowling at him, bulkily filling a white t-shirt, red boxers, and a pair of untied hiking boots, his black hair tousled and his blue eyes fierce.

What? he said before pushing past James and into the house. He stalked into the kitchen and began making a pot of coffee.

Sorry to drag you over here, but you have to see this. James gestured toward the bedrooms.

Mike looked at James like he’d grown a third head. What, did you bring home someone who can bend herself into a pretzel or something? He scoffed, turning the coffeemaker on. "Dude, I hope you know I had to leave Brenda to come over here. Brenda, Jim. Brenda. As in, Doctor Brenda of the double D breasts, and stripper pole exercises."

Yeah, sorry again. But this is important. Then James turned and walked out of the kitchen, knowing Mike would follow him.

He did, and when James stopped at the door to the rear spare room and leaned against the frame, Mike frowned and went to stand next to him.

God! What the hell happened to her? he asked, his doctor’s brain instantly kicking in and taking over. He moved into the room, and James followed slowly.

James shrugged. Not sure, exactly. Looks like someone beat her up and dumped her on my back porch.

Who is she?

Don’t know.

Is she alive?

Yeah. I checked for breath before I brought her in, and when I went to call you she grabbed my wrist and told me not to call the police. At least, I think that’s what she said. He frowned.

Oh, that’s not good. She doesn’t want the police? Definitely not good. What if she’s like, an escapee or something?