Page 83 of A Whim and a Prayer

Striding down the hall, Beck was seething, heart battering like a jackhammer as he rattled the knob to McCarthy’s room. “Open up, McCarthy—now!”

“Go ’way,” the muffled response came, and fury pulsed hot in Beck’s veins as he jerked his leg high to pulverize the door with kick after kick until it banged against the wall, busted.

Like McCarthy soon will be.

The room was pitch dark and reeked of alcohol, and when Beck flipped on the light switch, the first thing he spotted was a three-quarter empty bottle of whiskey on an old dresser.

“Wha the devil?” Brayden slurred, rising from the bed with chest bare and a sheet covering both him and …

Beck’s heart hitched as he glanced at the rumpled bed, rage shooting through his veins like liquid fire at the sight of Winnie lying prone beneath the sheet, back and shoulders bare. With a feral growl, he ripped the slimeball out of the bed and flung him against the wall with a loud crack, the smell of whiskey and cheap cologne so strong in the room, Beck was ready to puke. “What did you do to her?” he screamed, voice hoarse from the bile climbing up his throat.

The scumball groaned as he attempted to get up. “Nothin’, I swear—jus booze …”

“Liar!” Spittle flew from Beck’s mouth as his fury exploded, and hauling the sleazeball up, he slammed him hard against the wall once again. “She’s naked and so are you. Did you rape her?”

“No, no, I swear—” Drool leaked from the moron’s mouth as he held up an arm to ward Beck off. “Jus foolin’ round, I swear.” He attempted to rise.

A swear word hissed through Beck’s teeth as he discharged a vicious kick to McCarthy’s groin that slammed the lowlife flat on his back with a gargled groan. “So help me, God, if you raped her, I will kill you …”

Turning away, Beck bent over the bed where Winnie lay on her stomach, those golden curls splayed across a pillow as filthy as the lowlife groaning on the floor. Pulling the sheet up to cover her, he gently shook her. “Winnie—wake up.”

No answer.

“Winnie, sweetheart—wake up,” he said again, rustling her shoulder harder.

Still no answer.

Needles of fear prickled his skin as he felt for a pulse, relief surging when he detected one, slow but strong. He sat down on the bed and jostled her hard. “Winnie—wake up!”

She jerked awake with the barest of groans, only to curl into a ball on her side and go back to sleep. “Leave me ’lone …”

Beck spun around on the bed, eyes burning with rage. “What did you do to her? Why is she out cold?”

“I tol’ ya—too much booze.”

“You’re lying!” He bent to smell Winnie’s breath. Nothing. Just a hint of the peppermints she loved so much.

He shot up like a madman, and the slimeball gasped when Beck yanked him up once more and crashed him against the wall. “There’s no alcohol on her breath, you worthless sack of dung,” he hissed, punctuating it with words that seldom crossed his lips. “She’s out cold and won’t wake up, so what did you give her?!”

“C-Chloral h-hydrate,” McCarthy said, saucer eyes spidered with red. “Left over from a surgery I had. But only a little. She was keyed up, so jus’ wanted to calm her, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. You wanted her comatose so you could rape her, you lowlife.” His voice was a near shriek.

“No, no … I swear! Wanted to make out, sure—and so did she—but just gave a little to relax her, like I said. But then she wasn’t feeling so great, so I got her aspirin powder for her headache—”

“And more chloral hydrate, I bet.”

Eyes frantic, Braydon shook his head hard, inching back against the wall. “No, just a little, that’s all.”

Beck rattled him like a ragdoll, his head banging against the wall. “She’s not moving, McCarthy, and she could die. Tell me now—how much did you give her?”

Fear widened his eyes even further, more efficient than a hot poker to shake the scum out of his stupor. “I … I don’t know—a teaspoon maybe?” He gave a shaky nod toward the dresser. “No more than it says on the bottle over there, I swear …”

Beck whirled around to snatch the bottle, reading the dosage before holding it up. “No more than a teaspoon—you swear?”

McCarthy’s head bobbed wildly. “I swear. No more because she”—a knot ducked in his throat—“well, she passed out cold.”

Fists taut, Beck could feel the hate burning in his eyes. “So you raped her,” he said, his voice deadly quiet to his own ears.