Page 109 of Remember Me
I will myself to stay calm as a sinister smile snakes across his face.
“And I didn’t rape you.” He snickers. “I didn’t even get a taste of you.”
Unsure if I want to know what he did, I counter, “But you raped Nicole Farrell! And threatened to kill her!”
He chortles. “Another stupid wannabe. This town is filled with them. How are you gonna prove it? I’ll claim I didn’t. It’ll be her word against mine. And her little stint in rehab won’t help. Plus, who gives a damn about what happened twelve years ago?” He laughs wickedly. “Sometimes, I can’t remember what I did twelve hours ago.”
Trepidation crawling back into my blood vessels, I let him continue against my better judgment.
“I only asked you to blow me.” He swipes his comb-over. “And you didn’t even do that. When you had the audacity tospray me with that mace shit, I inadvertently pulled off your wig and recognized you instantly. I told my boys to go after you. They got a little carried away. It’s all your fault your car went over a cliff.”
Though I still can’t remember that night, the pieces are coming together. The thought of his appendage anywhere near my mouth revolts me. I choke back a gag.
His beady eyes stays on me, his forehead creased in deep thought until his facial muscles relax. “You know what? Get the hell out of here before I change my mind. I have no time for personal vendettas.”
I weigh his words. My options. One thought dominates my mind. Why isn’t Billings here? It’s been close to an hour. Maybe I should take Sheldon up on his offer. Walk off this boat while I have a chance. Pray that I’ve gotten everything recorded though in my heart I’m growing more and more convinced that my carefully orchestrated plan to take Greenberg down is an epic fail. Despondency mixes with resignation. And the frightening reality that I’m not safe here given his death threat. The loves of my life—my Finn and Maddie—are far more important to me than my ego and need for revenge.
“Fine. But you can be sure the minute I get off this boat, I’m going straight to the police.”
He throws up his hands. “Sweetheart, be my guest.” Then he snorts again. “Oh, and by the way, I’m passing on your movie idea. It’s been done before.”
The mockery in his voice only adds to my defeat. I pivot on my feet, passing by a catatonic Jim.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles as he slumps in his chair.
Worthless sack of shit.
Screw him! Somewhat disoriented, the room dimly lit, I search for the way out.
“Sweetheart, let me escort you.” Sheldon’s patronizing voice. “This yacht is very confusing. And it’s dark.”
“No need,” I say, blindly walking away from him as fast as I can in my spiky heels.
Not slowing down, I hear his heavy footsteps thudding behind me. His hands touch down on my bare shoulders, and then—gasp!—I’m pushed from behind. So forcefully, I go flying ten feet forward. He tricked me! Trying to break my fall, I go tumbling in my stilettos and wince as I hit the cold, hard floor. A sharp stab of pain shoots up my leg. I think I’ve twisted my ankle. Possibly broken it. Dazed and in agony, I try to scramble to my feet. But I can’t put any pressure on my right foot; my ankle buckles. To my horror, Sheldon shoves me to the floor again and I land smack on my face. Stars spinning in my head, I let out a groan as he squats down and rolls me over. He pins me down with his broad hands and the weight of his body. Tears brimming behind my eyelids, I meet his diabolic gaze. His eyes blazing with madness. His mouth foaming like a rabid dog. The face of a monster. Terror fills every crevice of my being as the beast lifts up the skirt of my dress and squeezes my genitals. As if he’s scrunching a wet paper towel.
“It’s too bad I never got any of this.”
“You’re hurting me!” I cry out.
“Shut up!”
Without warning, his hand crashes across my cheek. The sting of the slap radiates to my toes as my head jerks away.
Whack!He slaps me again. Harder. “Look at me!”
Slowly, tearfully, I turn to face him.
“You stupid, stupid bitch. Did you really think I was going to let you get away?”
His fetid breath mixes with his cologne and perspiration, the repulsive scent nauseating me. With the hand that struck me, he whips off his belt, and then lifting my arms up by my wrists, hebegins to bind me. Writhing and screaming, I try to resist, but it’s futile. The leather rips into my flesh, bringing on fresh tears.
“Jesus, Sheldon, what the hell are you doing?” It’s Jim.
The monster continues to shackle me as my watering eyes shift to my former boss.
“Please, Jim. Help me!”
“Answer me, Sheldon!” shouts Jim.