To a point, both Isabelle and Chelsea were regular customers at the spa, but Liza and Ashley spent far more time pamp
ering themselves than either of them did.
“I’m not nearly as worried about this as I am my sister. What are you going to do about this, Isabelle?” Chelsea asked as both she and Liza stared back at her in concern. “If I know Holden, he won’t just leave you alone. He’s going to keep coming at you until he catches you off guard again. And when he does, he’ll make certain he hurts you. We both know he will.”
For some reason, Holden Mayhew had it in his head that she belonged to him. It had taken only a single date for Isabelle to realize he was a man that wouldn’t take no for an answer. The second date, an attempt to reason with him, had proven her right.
“I don’t know, Chelsea.” Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she was drawn back to the window.
“You could tell Uncle Ray,” she suggested.
It wasn’t the first time her sister, or God forbid, her brother, Linc, had made that suggestion.
“Or your father,” Liza pointed out with a hint of mockery.
They all knew if she told her father, then Terran Martinez would likely attempt to kill Holden himself. And that was something she didn’t want to have to face. There was always the chance Holden would harm her father or catch her brother unaware and hurt him. Or the chance that her father or brother would kill Holden and be willing to face prison to do so. Protecting her and Chelsea was all they seemed to think about at times. As though the haunting specter of Morningstar Martinez’s kidnapping and disappearance more than thirty years before somehow threatened Isabelle and Chelsea as well.
“I wish the two of you didn’t know about it.” Isabel sighed.
“That would be hard to accomplish,” Chelsea drawled. “If we hadn’t shown up, sis, that night would have had a far different ending for you.”
She would have been raped.
It had been Chelsea who had bashed Holden over the head with a lamp and Liza who had pulled the rifle on him that her father had given her when she moved into the apartment with Isabelle and Chelsea.
Naked, reeling from the attack, Isabelle had jerked the gun from Liza, cocked it and would have killed him herself if Chelsea hadn’t stepped between the gun and Holden. It had given him a chance to run out before she could put the rest of the female population out of any more misery that he could deliver.
She would have shot his balls off.
“A far different ending for him if you had just stayed out from in front of that gun,” she stated though she didn’t turn back to them. “I should have just killed him before you had a chance to step between us.”
There were nights she wished she hadn’t allowed her sister to stop her. Nights that she had lay frightened, listening to his truck as it rumbled up their street. Her bedroom was at the front of the house, the other two at the back. Her sister and Liza never knew about the nights Holden tormented her, and she didn’t want them to know.
If he had just let it go. If he had just left her alone. But since that night he refused to give her any peace. He was stalking her, his determination to rape her becoming an obsession she knew she was going to have to deal with soon.
“You should tell your uncle at least,” Liza told her as Isabelle watched her reflection in the window.
Her friend rose from her chair and collected her purse from the floor. Dressed in jeans as well and a stylish cami, the other woman drew the straps of her purse over her bare shoulder before saying, “I have to get to bed if I’m going to be up in time to be in the conference room in the morning. Think about it, Isabelle. That, or find a man, or a Breed, that Holden won’t fuck with. Otherwise, you’re going to end in far more trouble than Chelsea and I saved you from that night. It’s pretty clear Holden’s fucked up in the head, and men like that won’t let you rest until one of you is dead.”
That was Liza. She didn’t hold much back. And though she might appear cool, or unfeeling, Isabelle knew differently. Her friend rarely let herself show emotion. She had lost her family when she was no more than a teenager and she often had nightmares over it.
“Yeah, I have to head to bed too.” Chelsea sighed as she looked around the room. “But I’m staying right here unless tall, blond and Breedy shows up.”
Stubborn determination tightened Chelsea’s normally pouty lips as she stared back at her sister, silently daring her to try to make her leave.
Isabelle turned back to both women. “What would I do without the two of you?” Tears flooded her eyes though she forced them back rather than letting them fall.
Liza had been their best friend for years. Though Chelsea was younger, Isabelle had never denied her sister the chance to tag along with them, and because of that, she had become part of the bonds of friendship that tied them together. Their friendship was set in stone, and their concern for each other was always there.
“You would be miserable, lonely and probably living by yourself with a house full of cats instead of two crazy women,” Liza grunted as she headed for the connecting door. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll leave the door open. If you need me, just scream.”
She moved to the connecting room as Isabelle turned to her sister. “You could just do the same.” She all but laughed at her sister’s mutinous expression. “You’re not tall, blond and Breedy, so I’m not sharing my bed with you.”
“And you’d share it with him?” Her sister rolled her eyes. “You might have been all hot and bothered with him, but you forget, Isabelle, I’m your sister. You’re not going to give it up to him any more than you’ve given yourself to any other man. But you’re right. I can just leave the door open.” She moved to the connecting door on the opposite side of the room. “Get some sleep, sis. I’ll see you in the morning.”
In the morning.
Isabelle turned back to the window and stared out at the desert landscape once again. Lifting her hand, she laid it against the window and pressed her forehead into the glass.