Page 122 of Redeeming 6

Something was wrong—I was sure of it—but aside from sending out a search party, which I clearly didn’t have the means to do, there was nothing I could do but sit and wait for him to return.

With my back to the kitchen door and my arms up to the elbows in sudsy bubbles, I swayed my hips to the rhythm of the Cranberries’ “Linger” as it played on the radio. Foot tapping to the beat, I hummed along to the music.

A few moments later, when the sound of the front door opening and then closing filled my ears, I visibly sagged in relief.

“About damn time, guys,” I called over my shoulder, setting a plate on the draining board and shaking the water from my hands. “I thought you were dead or something.” I moved to turn around then, but his big body was on me, slamming me roughly against the sink. “Jesus, Joe,” I chuckled, with my back to him. “Miss me much?”

His hot mouth was on my neck then, but it didn’t feel right. His sharp, wet tongue trailing down the side of my neck felt all wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, my body assured me.

It was at that moment that I took sight of the reflection in the window over the sink and my blood ran cold.

“Oh my god,” I screamed. “Get the fuck off me, Teddy!”

I moved to twist away, but he wrapped his beefy arms around my arms and chest, keeping me pinned to the sink. Fear spiraled inside of me at a rapid pace.

“Let go,” I tried again, keeping my tone as hard and forceful as I could manage, when all I wanted to do was scream and cry. “Now, asshole.”

“I’ve wanted a taste of ya since I first saw ya,” Joey’s father slurred, and the smell of whiskey that wafted from his breath was stifling. “Look at the body on ya.” He hardened behind me and I felt like vomiting. “Wasted on my young fella.”

His hand moved to my breast and that’s when I flipped the fuck out. “I said get your hands off me,” I snarled, trying and failing to break free of his hold. “I swear to god, if you so much as think about—”

My words were swept away when he clutched my throat with his hand and squeezed. Paralyzed with fear, I dragged my feet against the tiles when he walked us over to the kitchen table.

“Here’s how this is going to go, ya little cunt,” he snarled, slamming the side of my face against the table. “You’re going to keep your mouth shut and take what I give ya.” Reaching for the waistband of my sweats, he roughly pushed them down my thighs. “Prancing around my house like you’re God’s fucking gift.”

“Fuck…you,” I strangled out. With my cheek pressed to the table, I clawed and tore at his hand, trying to inflict as much pain as I possibly could, while locking my legs together, desperate to protect myself while in this helpless position. “Don’t touch me!”

“I always wanted to touch this hair,” he slurred, releasing my neck, only to roughly twist my hair around his fist until the nape of my neck burned from the pain. “Smooth like silk. Mmm. Fucking lovely.”

“Please.” My stomach heaved and I gagged and gawked in disgust. “Let me go!”

His hand moved to my knickers and he roughly dragged the fabric down, while keeping a death grip on my hair. “Open your legs.”

“Drop dead!”

Hooking an arm around my waist, he forced me back up. “Open your fucking legs, cunt!”

“No…no!” I choked out, repulsed by the feel of his hands on my body as he pushed his knees between my legs, forcing them open, leaving me vulnerable and exposed to him. “D-don’t do this!”

I could feel the rough fabric of his jeans against my bare skin, and then the sound of a zip unfastening filled my ears.

“Don’t,” I cried, bucking to break free. “Don’t touch me—”

The sound of the front door slamming followed by a familiar voice roaring, “Get the fuck off her!” had me collapsing in a heap against the table.

His hands were gone not a second later, and I crumpled to the floor, shaking violently as I scrambled to pull my underwear and sweats back into place. Through my tears, I could see Joey and his father fighting, smashing and crashing into the counters as they literally tore strips out of each other.

They were shouting, but I couldn’t hear a word of it. The sound of ringing in my ears was deafening me as I trembled uncontrollably, feeling violated.

“Aoife,” Mrs. Lynch sniffled, eyes wide in horror as she hurried toward me. “Are you alright?”

No, I wasn’t alright.

How the fuck could I be alright?

Her husband had been seconds away from raping me.

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