Rage

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

D uring my panic attack about my secret admirer , Ross had called my secretary to make sure we were still on for dinner tonight. Naturally, he also informed her he wouldn’t be able to pick me up, but he would meet me at the restaurant. The rage I felt from not only him making me drive myself to the dinner date he planned, but also from him never mentioning my monumental meeting, has me ready to drive my car off Lakeshore Drive and straight into Lake Michigan.

I park the car and gather my belongings before my phone rings through the car speakers. I throw my head back against the headrest while rolling my eyes and let out a sigh before answering. “Hi Dad,” I say with closed eyes.

“Mavis, what is this I hear about you backing out of your wedding?” he scolds throughout the car. My head snaps up at his question.

“Who said I was backing out of the wedding?”

“Your mother let me know that you don’t plan on giving Ross any children. Is that right?” he asks, anger lacing his tone.

“Well, that was a conversation that Ross and I were having, but that’s correct. I’ve never really wanted kids, and up until a month or so ago he didn’t care,” I explain in an aggravated tone. Why am I having to explain decisions about my uterus to my father?

“Mavis, the whole point of having a wife is for her to bear children. Am I missing something here?”

The rage that consumes my mind has me seeing red.

“Mavis, are you there? Do not fuck up your chance at living an easy life. Your mother and I provided you with that at home, but our coddling you stops here.”

“Coddling?” I yell into the air. “You and mom forced me to move back home because you were paranoid that I would end up with someone who wasn’t up to your standards. I never asked for the handouts you gave me when I returned home. The handouts that abruptly stopped after college, by the way.”

My breathing is so elevated that my windows are beginning to fog. “If you and mom want us to have children so bad, adopt them and give them to us yourselves,” I say before ending the call. I let out a scream in my car, attempting to alleviate the frustration of being an only child with overbearing parents. I gather my things again and ignore another incoming call from my father.

Thankfully it’s still daylight and I don’t have to run to my doorstep in fear of someone following, but I’m still cautious, casting multiple glances over my shoulder. I close the door behind me and turn off the alarm, kicking off my shoes before I head into the kitchen. As I do, a deep voice rattles through the room, shaking me to my core.

“Hello, Duchess. Before you get any ideas, slowly set your phone on the table behind you.”

I turn to see a man seated in the loveseat by the bay window. His black and white mask covers his entire face but leaves his short, dark hair hanging freely around it. He’s sprawled out with an arm on each one of the arms of the chair, his long legs spread in front of him.

Tears spring to my eyes; my paranoia has finally come to life, and it’s sitting right in front of me. “P-please don’t hurt me. Whatever you?—”

He cuts me off before the rest of my begging ensues. “I’m going to stop you right there before you tell me I can have whatever I want,” he says with a tilt of his head. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and it’s then I realize exactly how big he is. He’s in an all-black sweatsuit, but I can still see how muscular he is beneath all the fabric. “I’m not here for money or material things. So be a good girl for me and put the phone on the table like I asked.”

Shakily, I reach into my blazer pocket and place my cell phone on the end table nearby. As I glance at the door and then back at him, he releases a husky laugh. “I assure you, I’m faster than you, so let’s not try it. Lose the blazer and have a seat on the couch.”

His words send a chill down my spine as I accept my loss and follow his instructions. As soon as I sit down, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Before we start this conversation, I need you to understand something. If you scream, I’ll have to tape your mouth shut, and that's the last thing I want to do. I'd much rather stare at those pretty, full lips of yours instead,” he says as his gaze falls to my lips. It lingers for a moment before moving to my breasts, which are spilling over the blouse Janna loaned to me. I quickly adjust my shirt, pulling it as high up as I can go, and earning a low growl from him.

Focusing back on my intruder, I notice his eyes are the only detail of his face I can see due to his mask. They’re such a deep, emerald green that I get lost in them for a moment. My gaze travels to his large hands hanging between his legs, the ivory skin the only other part of him I can see, aside from his neck.

“So, Mavis,” he begins, and my heart flutters at the sound of my name on his lips. “What do you do for work?”

The nonchalant question has my mouth agape and eyes blinking in confusion.

“I’m not here to hurt you, so let’s be adults and have a civilized conversation. What do you do for work, beautiful?”

I swallow before I tell him I’m an accounting manager and analyst, informing him of the company name when he asks. His questions are non-invasive until his eyes drift to my left hand. “What’s the ring for?” he questions in an annoyed tone. My eyes glance down at the gaudy diamond ring on my finger. A single tear rolls down my cheek and my mouth runs dry as he adds, “Who’s the lucky man? Woman?”

I’m not sure why, but his voice sounds annoyed at the realization of the ring. When I don’t answer him, he lifts a leg and kicks the coffee table across the room, causing me to jump and fall back onto the couch in fear.

“Take it off,” he seethes. My hands shake at the change in his demeanor along with his command, but I stay frozen in place. He stands from his seat and stalks over to me, placing a hand on each side of my head on the back of the couch. “Take the fucking ring off, or I’ll do it for you.”

Shaky hands get to work as I remove the ring from my finger and clasp it in a fist. Holding out his hand, he points with an index finger to his palm, waiting for me to hand over the ring. More tears fall as I place the ring in his hand and cower even further into the couch cushions. Pocketing the ring, he grabs my ponytail at the base and yanks my head to the side while turning me until I’m flat on my back on the couch. The room spins, and I shut my eyes as tight as I can, accepting the assault I’m sure is about to take place as I feel him climb on top of me.

His lips press to my ear, and I flinch as he starts to speak. “I’ve waited so long to feel your body pinned beneath mine, Duchess. Let’s play a game, shall we?” he asks in a mockingly playful voice. My eyes remain tightly shut, counting the seconds as I listen to the synchronization of our breaths. I lose count quickly, unsure of how long I’ve remained silent when I feel his hand grip my jaw. His grip tightens as my eyes open wide with fear, and when I don’t respond, his lips peel back with a growl. “Open your fucking eyes and look at me.”

My breathing is so sporadic I’m convinced a panic attack is about to consume me. Opening my eyes, I’m met with his green ones. “The game is truth or dare ,” he says before producing a knife from his pocket. I can’t help but scream, and he claps his hand over my mouth. “Remember our deal, yeah?” he asks, and I quickly nod my head in understanding. “Now, any time one of us doesn’t complete a dare or answer a question, the other gets to have a little slice of fun with a body part of their choosing.”

I whimper at his words. “I’ll go first. And so help me, if you scream when I remove my hand…” he says, before slowly peeling his hand from my mouth as I dart my tongue out to lick my dry lips. A sound suspiciously close to a groan comes from his throat as he eyes my tongue.

“Are you happy?”

His question is such a hard blow. I feel like he took his fist and hit me in the temple as hard as he could. More tears fall as I ponder his question.

“Are you happy, with him?” he asks again.

The clarification sends me over the edge, and sobs begin to rack my body. When minutes go by without me answering, he presses the tip of the knife into the hollow of my throat, and I yelp. “I really don’t want to mark this pretty brown skin, Mavis. But I’ll happily draw blood if I must, and then clean it up with my tongue just to get a taste of you.”

His statement sends a jolt of panic through my system.

“No!” I yell in answer, my breathing so fast that I can see my chest rising and falling while my entire body shakes.

“No what, Mavis?”

“No, I’m not happy.”

A rumbling, husky chuckle vibrates his body atop mine before he drags the knife to the middle of my chest without drawing any blood, pulling my blouse down to expose my bra as he goes. His gaze stays there until I release another sob, and his eyes find mine once more.

“Don’t worry, Duchess. My time here is up. We’ll have to finish the rest of our game later,” he says, before fixing my blouse and climbing off the couch. He pockets his knife and then reaches out to run his thumb across my bottom lip. He turns to leave, but when he reaches the door, he looks back at me one last time.

“You know you’re worth more, right?”

I never turn to look at him, fearful of what he might do if I move.

“W-What?”

“You’re worth more than that asshole could ever give you. You deserve better. You know it and I know it. Don’t be as stupid as he makes you out to be,” he says while twisting the doorknob. A sea of tears spill down each cheek as his words repeat in my head.

How does he know about my relationship?

“Don’t bother calling the police. Wouldn’t want any bad blood between us. See you soon,” he says before he exits. I stay where I am, remaining on my back in shock while staring up at the blank, white ceiling.