Chapter 13

Of course everysingle door upstairs is closed, so I have to open each one as I go. The last door on the left is the right one. I shove it open and there sits Grace on the edge of a bed, her hand on Carter’s knee. The smallest tickle of relief moves through me when I see that they are both still fully clothed, and though she’s touching him, Carter is not touching her.
Even drunk off her ass, Grace is proselytizing. Reaching out and trying to share with this asshole what helped her through her own struggles. Her voice is soft and dreamy as she tells him, “It’s just the greatest joy you can fathom, Carter. I can’t even explain it.”
I don’t know who to glare at first, but I go with Carter since he’s the devil. His gaze drifts to me as soon as the door opens. Casually as can be, as if I didn’t just interrupt, he says to Grace, “Is that right?”
She nods enthusiastically, visibly blissed out. “Open your heart to Jesus and you’ll see. You’ll receive His blessings, too.”
I shake my head in disgust, walking over and grabbing the Solo cup out of Grace’s hand. I peek at the red liquid inside, sniff it, but of course I can’t tell if he did anything to it.
Placing a hand on Grace’s shoulder, I tell her, “Come on, honey, up off the bed. Don’t go into bedrooms with boys at parties, okay? Can we just make that a general rule?”
“Justice and I used to sneak off at parties all the time.”
Since that was her boyfriend, I cock an eyebrow. “Oh. Okay, well… don’t sneak off with boys who are not your boyfriend, and never Carter, Jake, or Shayne. Never ever. Even if they tell you there’s a fire, and the only way to safety is into a room alone with them.”
Grace widens her eyes at me. “Zoey, he’s sitting right here.”
“He knows my opinion of him,” I answer, yanking on her arm. “Off the bed. Come on. How much of this punch did you have?”
“I’m not sure. It’s not alcoholic though!”
I glare at Carter. He smirks. I am not amused. “How much of this did she drink?” I demand.
“I wasn’t keeping track,” he tells me.
“Great. That’s just great. You’re unbelievable.”
Leaning back on his elbows on the bed and eyeing me up like his next meal, he says, “Relax, Ellis. All that worrying’s gonna give you an ulcer.”
“I can’t relax,” I snap. “She’s not supposed to have a lot of sugary drinks, and you’ve been dumping fruit punch down her throat. She’s too drunk to keep track herself—this is all your fault.”
“It’s punch,” he states, like I’m being ridiculous.
“She’s diabetic!”
Now he sits up, a little less chill. “Oh. Shit, well, I didn’t know that.”
I shake my head, dragging Grace toward the door. “Of course you didn’t. Not like you would have cared even if you did though, right? As long as you got your way, who cares who gets hurt along the way? That’s the Carter Mahoney mission statement, isn’t it?”
Grace chides me. “You’re bein’ so mean, Zoey.”
“I don’t really want to hear it from you, Grace. I told you it wasn’t safe to come to this party and you ignored me, and now we’re both in a bad situation. Do you have your insulin? Do you need your insulin? Or a snack? I don’t know how alcohol plays into this. You need to drink some water. You didn’t have iced coffee today, did you?”
“I hate insulin,” she mutters. “I want to be normal.”
“You are normal,” I murmur, leading her out into the hall and toward the stairs.
Before I make it to the landing, Carter grabs me from behind, shaking his head. “Nope. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Haven’t you done enough? Get your hands off me,” I snap.
Jake is right at the bottom of the stairs, like he was waiting for me. He glances up now and takes the first couple of steps. “Everything okay up here?”
Carter’s grip on me tightens even as I try to wiggle out of his grip. He looks down the stairs at Jake. “Yeah, come get Grace. She needs water. Take her to the kitchen and get her a bottle.”
Glaring back at Carter, I tell him, “Let go of me. I am going to get her a bottle of water, and then I am taking her home.”
He couldn’t be more dismissive. “After all I had to do to get you here? No, you’re not.” Meeting Jake’s gaze as he reluctantly takes Grace’s arm to guide her down the stairs, Carter tells him, “Don’t get handsy, Parsons. Remember what happened last time. And keep a close eye on her. I didn’t know, but she’s diabetic. Don’t let her have any more punch. If she starts acting weird, text me.”
“I am not leaving Grace with him, and I’m not goin’ anywhere with you. I have to keep an eye on her and make sure she’s okay.”
“Parsons is gonna do it,” he tells me. “That’s his job now.”
“Carter, dammit,” I object as he locks his arm around me and drags me back down the hall. “Let me go. Let me take care of my friend!”
“You’re going to take care of me instead,” he informs me.
Fury explodes in my veins. “No, I am not. Help! Somebody—”
His hand covers my mouth immediately. He sounds annoyed when he says, “That’s a waste of fucking time, Ellis. Did anyone help you last time? People don’t help. Try to keep up.”
“I hate you,” I cry out against his hand.
“Stop being so dramatic,” he tells me, dragging me back inside the bedroom and closing the door. This time, he turns the lock. I struggle to get away from him, but he’s too strong, his hold on me too tight. I thrash some more, but he holds me tightly against his body and drags me back toward the bed.
It’s a strange thing to think in this moment, but it feels weird and wrong on even more than obvious levels that this has to be Erika’s bedroom. There are trophies, sashes, ribbons, and pom poms displayed all over, a lavender bedspread covering her mattress. They probably had sex on this bed when they were together.
I no more than think that and Carter shifts my weight and shoves me down on the bed. Since he gave me a push, I hit the mattress hard. I immediately shove up to my hands and knees, trying to climb back off, but he’s right there to stop me.
Fear explodes inside me as he comes down on top of me, flattening my body against the pillowy surface. I’m tummy down and he’s straddling my ass, grabbing my arms, pinning them at my sides.
I shake my head in denial. Not like this. It can’t happen like this. “Carter, please.”
His voice is harder, more commanding than I expect. “Calm down.” Then instead of keeping me pinned here like this, he flips me over on my back. He still pins me before I can get away from him, but at least now he’s looking at me. I can see his face. I don’t have any more control than I had a moment ago, I guess, but it feels like I have more ground this way. I stand a better chance of appealing to him if he can see the emotions playing out on my face.
Actually, probably not. He’s a fucking maniac.
Instead of feeding him more fear, which I know he likes, I do my best to clear that off my face. I shake my head and level my heaviest look of disappointment at him. “Was it all fake, then? Was every interaction since that classroom bullshit? This is all you wanted—why didn’t you just take it at lunch Wednesday? You had me alone in your car.”
“I told you, I was trying to be nice,” he states. “And no, it was not all fake. None of it was fake. I made it clear I liked you. I must have asked you out half a dozen times. You said no every time.”
My eyes bug out. “Yes, Carter. I said no.”
He shrugs. “So, I had to get creative. You could’ve just gone to the movies with me last night and then Grace wouldn’t be drunk right now, but you always have to fight tooth and nail.”
Shaking my head, I tell him, “That’s not trying, Carter. Are you really so spoiled that you consider that a great effort?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says casually. “You’re here now, little virgin.”
I swallow, a feeling of foreboding sweeping over me as I look up at him. I’m full of anger because I knew this would happen if I came here tonight, but Grace gave me no other choice. I could let him hurt her, or show up and risk him hurting me.
It’s too late, so there’s no point thinking about that anymore. I need to get out of this and I don’t know how. My skin is still hot from the surge of adrenaline, from the effort of fighting him off. It’s hard to think with him on top of me like this, and then he makes matters worse, reaching down and casually slipping two buttons through their holes on my skirt.
“Carter, no.” I shove his hand away and start to rebutton, but before I can get even the first one fixed, he shifts, grabs my wrists, and shoves them over my head on the mattress. The movement brings his body closer, brings his face close to mine.
My heart skips several beats at how easily he holds me down when I’m fighting against him with all my strength. His dark eyes hold mine captive. I can’t look away. They don’t betray even a shadow of conflict. Instead, they sparkle, like he couldn’t be more pleased that this is happening. It’s terrifying, his disregard for right and wrong. The pleasure he gets out of making me powerless. He knows I am. I try to push his hands away with another burst of effort and his arms don’t move an inch, even using all my strength to shove at him.
“You like having me at your mercy?” I demand, my tone scathing.
Without remorse, he says, “I do.”
I try to free myself again, but it’s like trying to push a truck off me—useless. I don’t have the physical strength or stamina to match his. My body doesn’t go through the same rigorous training, so every burst of effort takes much more out of me than it does him. Cartwright’s words ring out in my mind: We’re champions.
I’m losing energy—and heart—with every failed attempt to get him off me. I’m breathing hard, flooded with so many different emotions; meanwhile, Carter hasn’t broken a sweat. He’s just waiting me out.
This is so unfair.
“Done fighting, princess?” he asks, casually, as if he could do this all day.
“What happened to you?” I demand. “What made you like this? Were you born this way, or did someone create this monster?”
Now he rolls his eyes, pulling my hands close enough together that he only needs to hold them with one, freeing his other hand up. “Let’s not get into another counseling session, okay, Ellis? You’re not getting paid by the hour.”
“Don’t do this,” I implore him.
Ignoring me, he uses his free hand to resume unbuttoning my skirt. He pushes it open and smirks at the plain, white cotton panties beneath. “Of course. Virgin panties.”
I flush with embarrassment, and that makes me even angrier. He slides his hand between my legs, cupping the last part of my body he should be touching. I draw in a few shallow breaths, drowning in humiliation. Tears sting my eyes, but I will them away. His knees are between my legs, so I can’t even squeeze them shut. I can’t stop him from touching me.
“Have you ever let a guy get you off?” he asks casually.
I refuse to dignify that question with an answer, glaring silently at the ceiling.
“Probably not, huh?” he replies, unbothered by my lack of participation. “You’re a bit of an ice princess. Doesn’t bother me, but… you are.”
I almost manage to ignore him, but then he slides a finger up under the fabric and I panic, moving my hips to try to get his hand off me. “Carter, please.”
He teases me, playing with the elastic, letting his finger brush the inside of my thigh. “Well, since you said please…”
I eye him warily, but he moves his hand away from my panties and trails it up my abdomen. He runs the flat of his palm all the way up until he can cup my breast, then he caresses one in his hand.
“Mm, I’ve missed these,” he tells me.
I’m still wearing a shirt, but it’s the black one that laces up at the bust. Carter begins working the lace free from the top, and when he’s done, the shirt gapes open all the way to my waist. He slides his hand inside and cups my left breast, palming it and sending a shard of ice straight through me.
I don’t know whether to ask him to stop again or stop feeding him. Maybe I should just shut him out. He’s probably going to do whatever he wants to me anyway. This is out of my control now. There’s nothing I can say or do—there hasn’t been, since he got a taste for this in that damn empty classroom. He may as well have held me down and inflicted all the crude bullshit he desired that day, because now on top of everything else, I feel like a fool. A fool for being intrigued by him, for letting myself feel even a sliver of sympathy for him, for letting myself wonder if there might be more to him, if maybe that day in the classroom, he got carried away, too.
He didn’t. This is who he is, and I don’t think he’s sorry.
He releases my hands and despite all the doom and gloom of the moment, I’m hit by a swell of hope. Is he letting me go? Is he stopping?
Then I meet his gaze, and he smiles faintly. “Now, let’s get this shirt all the way off.”