Snowbound with the Santas (Forbidden Fantasies)

3. Rayne

3

RAYNE

“ Y ou’re a murderer, Rayne. And I covered for you. Did you forget to show some fucking gratitude?”

Ashton’s words cut through me like an ice-cold razor blade. Every single day for the past six years, I have done everything I can to forget about that terrible night, to distance myself from a past I can’t change, and take steps to make my future as good as possible. I donate to charity, volunteer, and pour my hours into teaching to give back and try to make up for what I did.

Because deep down, underneath the guilt and the shame, I know I’m not at fault for that night. Not completely.

My stomach tightens in waves and a sharp cramp spears through my gut. I’d double over from the surprise pain if Ashton didn’t have me pinned in place.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, shoving back against him. His clammy fingers brush against my bare thigh, and my heart lurches. “I’m not a murderer. Those are your victims. None of that would ever have happened if you hadn’t forced me to?—”

“Still preaching that lie, huh?” Ashton hums in my ear. “Are you hoping that if you repeat it enough, it will become the truth? Like you can manipulate reality and change what happened that day?”

“The biggest mistake I made that day was trusting you.” Gripping the shelves, I shove backward into Ashton, and he overbalances, taken by surprise. Spinning around, I face him and grit my teeth to try and keep the fear at bay.

He hasn’t changed. And when I tell everyone that he’s here, when I tell Phoebe what kind of monster she’s set to marry, maybe I’ll finally get to see him face some consequences.

“Rayne, you can’t escape the truth. You can’t escape me.”

“No!” I surge forward, fueled by fear but trying to channel it into my anger. “You ruined me, and I won’t let you do it again. You don’t own me, and I know you won’t go out there and suddenly change your story because then you’ll have to explain to everyone why you lied. Why you pretended. And you can’t do that because then you will be in just as much trouble as me, if not more.”

“Not if I tell them I was scared of you.” Ashton laughs suddenly, and it’s a cold, humorless sound. “Didn’t you think I’d consider that? I have plans and backup plans, Rayne, just in case you ever grew a conscience and tried to tell the truth.”

“I did tell the truth!” I almost dare him to reveal the truth. What a relief that would be to my past demons.

“Did you? You were pretty happy to sit back and let me take the fall.”

“Because I was traumatized ? — ”

“No,” Ashton interrupts. “It’s because you knew I’d take care of you. Because I always take care of what’s mine.”

He steps forward and cups my cheek. Suddenly, I’m twenty years old again, staring up at him in the pouring rain as he tells me he will take care of me. Back then, at that moment, it was the only thing I heard. The only thing that mattered.

He tricked me, locked invisible manacles around my wrists, and from that point on, I was trapped with him until he grew bored of me.

“Remember?” Ashton says softly. “You owe me.”

The second he leans in, I react on pure instinct. My knee flies upward again and I shove both hands hard into his chest. As my knee collides with the softness of his crotch, Ashton doubles over with a grunt, and it’s much easier to shove him away with a yell.

“I don’t owe you shit!”

I scramble over Ashton as he sinks to the ground with a whimper and stumble out of the storage closet. The bright lights of the party are blinding after time spent in the darkness, so I screw up my eyes and step forward.

“Ma’am?” A hand brushes my shoulder, and I wrench sideways, half expecting Ashton to already be beside me, but when I open my eyes, the kindly gaze of a staffer stares down at me. “Are you alright?”

I must look a sight. My skeleton feels like it’s trying to flee and leave my body behind. My heart has been racing for so long that an ache has grown in my chest, and my clammy skin flushes hotter under the staffer’s gaze.

And my cheek still throbs from Ashton’s slap.

“Yes,” I gasp, glancing over my shoulder. The door to the closet remains closed. “Y–Yes, I’m fine. I’m just…”

I can’t think, and an excuse fails me. Behind the staffer, countless people with more money than thought mill around the dancefloor. Men in exquisite, expensive suits dance with women in glamorous ballgowns and dresses. Soft Christmas music fills the air, and the entire ballroom is decorated with streams of tinsel, glittering decorations, and sparkling lights. Each of the room’s four corners houses a gigantic Christmas tree, each a different color.

For a moment, the sheer glitz of the room is numbing after my encounter with Ashton and once again, I feel trapped between two lives. The life my mother wants and has likely painted about me to her friends, and the life I lived secretly with Ashton. My rebellious years that led to an alcohol addiction and a terrifying night that trapped me with my abuser.

I want to run.

I want to get out of here and drive all the way back to the airport, get as far away from Ashton as I can.

Run until I can’t run anymore.

“Are you sure?” The staffer tilts his head and his kindly smile wavers. “Do you need me to get you anything? An ice pack, perhaps?”

I’m burning so hot that an ice pack suddenly sounds terrific. Then, behind me, a door slams. I look over my shoulder and lock eyes with Ashton. His face is twisted with fury and he adjusts his tie without breaking eye contact.

Fuck.

With so many people around, there’s not a lot he can do, but that certainly doesn’t mean I’m safe.

“Actually.” I grab the staffer's arm. “That man over there. He’s not on the guest list. I think he’s someone else staying at the lodge who’s trying to sneak in.”

The staffer follows my nod toward Ashton, then nods himself.

“Not a problem, Ma’am. I’ll take care of it.”

As he heads toward Ashton, I turn around and flee into the crowd. I need to find Mom. Given that she invited Phoebe, I highly doubt she will enjoy hearing that Ashton is here. My mother hasn’t done much for me over the years, but I can count on her hatred of Ashton to get him the fuck out of here.

At least long enough for me to think up an excuse and get out of here myself.

Barely recognizable faces swim past me as I hurry through the crowd searching for Mom. Some people smile at me, others touch my sweaty shoulder, and some even say my name as I pass. Family members or distant relatives I barely know. Something inside me shifts, and the old training from my mother rises as I search for her.

I smile and nod, forcing a calm appearance as I move from group to group seeking out my mother’s familiar face.

I come up empty.

As the host, I expected her to be neck-deep in greeting everyone while bragging about how much this party cost and how much better she is because of it.

She’s nowhere to be found.

I search from the dancers to the buffet table but continue to come up empty. The only moment of relief I get is when I glimpse Ashton through the crowd being escorted up the stairs by the staffer. At least he’s no longer in my immediate vicinity.

My searching takes me past the bar, and that trips me up.

For years I used alcohol as a crutch, and as I stand a few feet away from the bar listening to the clink of glasses and the skittering of ice, a deep, familiar yearning pulls in my gut. My racing heart slows to deep, powerful thumps and dryness sweeps down my throat.

One drink couldn’t hurt.

I deserve it after being assaulted by that bastard.

Just one drink. Something small.

Something sweet.

I need it. To calm my nerves. To keep me steady .

The urge is powerful, and I take a half-step toward the bar. Given how frayed my nerves are, it's a losing battle, and the urge to cry is raising pressure behind my eyes.

As I take another half-step forward, a dancing couple sweeps past me and lightly bumps into my shoulder. They laugh out their apologies and continue on their way, but the contact is enough to shock me out of my battle. I tear my gaze away from the bar and force down the incredible thirst that rose.

I need to find Mom.

It takes every drop of my willpower to leave the bar behind, but I manage it and head up the stairs. Stopping halfway, I glance back at the ballroom, but a quick scan confirms what I already knew. Mom is not here.

Maybe she’s in her room?

It’s the only place I can think of looking. Forcing a deep breath that presses every inch of the unforgiving bodice into my ribs, I hurry up the stairs and head for the elevator.

Each step sends my heart racing faster and faster, and by the time I reach the elevator, my chest is ready to explode. My dress is too tight, my skin is too hot, and even the teardrop earrings feel too heavy.

I need my mom.

I don’t care about anything else. I need to find her, tell her he’s here, and let her take care of it.

I’ll be a model daughter for the rest of the trip. I’ll do what she asks, behave how she needs me to, and do anything I can to make her proud.

I just need her.

The ride up to her floor is rapid, and tears have built in my eyes by the time the doors open. I’m fighting with myself, wrestling with the urge to tear my dress off while I hurry down the corridor toward her room. The closer I get, the more I lose control of my emotions.

I tried to come clean to my mother in the past about what Ashton put me through and the terrible things I did as a result, but she was a closed book. Her own prejudices made her look down on him, and right now, I need her to react the same way.

“Mom?”

I don’t stop to knock. As soon as I press on the door handle, it gives way under my grip and I shove the door open. Tears of relief flood my eyes and spill over as a sob tears out of my chest.

I can’t hold it together any longer.

“Mom, I need you. I need you to?—”

I stumble to a stop, my heels catching on the soft fluff of the plush cream carpet. The words die in my throat as my mother tears herself away from the man who just had his tongue down her throat.

A pulse of heat blooms across my already burning skin, and my next breath wobbles with a muted sob.

My mom is kissing…

“Uncle Cecil?” Through flowing tears, I take them both in while rooted to the spot in shock. “What the hell is going on?”