Free Perfect Timing by Laura Spinella Page B

She’d never been so intimidated, not by any man. Physical force against her will; she was going to lose. “Please don’t do this,” she said, her head wrenching left and right, his mouth capturing hers.
    “That’s it, baby, you make me work for it. A little fight gets the blood movin’.”
    Turning her head hard, instinct urged Isabel to gather the self-worth her mother had talked about. Carrie was right. She had plenty. “Don’t you do this!” Her head thumped hard against the wall, spitting into Rick’s face. She watched a wad of saliva run across his broad nose, down his cheek. He looked stunned, the grin evaporating. In one angry motion Rick let go of the dress, wiped the spit, and backhanded her across the face. The sting was fantastic, delivering a brain-rattling reply. She wanted to scream, but just as fast her jaw was pinched between two vice-like fingers, her teeth cracking.
    “It was my intention to ask nicely, but fuck that now. Take the dress off, Bella. Or we can just go around it.” With angry intent, Rick pillaged through layers of dress, groping, until his hand made contact with her thigh, the dress bunched at her waist. Unlike at the restaurant, there was no margin for “
pardon me
” error, his hand thrusting between her legs. It was as if he had eight hands—or ten. One held hers to the wall. The others worked together, holding up the dress, grabbing at her underwear . . . unzipping his pants. “This will happen, sweetie. Promise, you’ll like it more than you think.” His liquored breath was hot in her face, his physical size consuming hers. “’Course,” he said, exposing himself, “probably not as much as me.”
    But Isabel wasn’t done fighting, impelled by the sharp image of her immediate future. “If you do this, I’ll tell the entire town. I won’t be quiet about it. I’ll tell my mother and the sheriff, and anyone who will listen!”
    His eyes creased, but his mouth bowed wider. “Try it, you little bitch. I’ve lived in Catswallow my whole life. Your word’s nothing against mine. You’ll be the Yankee slut who came on to me!” Additional spitfire worked against her, Rick surrounding her body, spinning her around. “But if you’re that opposed, maybe it’s better you don’t watch!” Pressed between him and the wall, Isabel couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t get away. It was like being trapped under the cover of a swimming pool, the idea of everything going black suddenly having great appeal.
    A truck door slammed. It was an earsplitting creak she’d know anywhere, more rust than painted metal. With her cheek pressed to the paneling, she screamed Aidan’s name. Rick’s hand came around, clamping over Isabel’s mouth. She felt him jerk his pants up. Saliva and sweat oozed from beneath his palm. He whispered, “No worries, honey, I can take him—maybe make him watch.” The front door burst open, Rick having no choice but to spin the two of them around. The knob went right through the wall, the force causing it to crash shut behind Aidan.
    “What the fuck?”
    He spoke and moved so fast Isabel couldn’t comprehend how he absorbed what was happening. She broke from his hold, and Aidan rammed Rick like an opposing linebacker, putting his head right through the wood-tone paneling. Stunned and drunk, Rick staggered; Aidan rushed forward and hit him again. It was a small room with too much furniture. The two crashed over and into things, Aidan pummeling him with a ferociousness that was completely foreign to Isabel. Rick gained momentum, long enough to connect one terrific punch to Aidan’s face. He stumbled, falling backward over the already toppled coffee table. Rick lunged, but not at Aidan. He dove for the bar stool where his jacket hung. Moving toward him, Isabel jerked to a halt as Aidan froze, prone on the floor. Rick stood over him, his gun aimed at Aidan’s head.
    “Those were some serious punches,” he choked, spitting blood onto the carpet,