Rage

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Mila

I skipped the club next Wednesday, shaken by what had happened the week before. It wasn’t like me to avoid it, but something about that man in the dark room had unnerved me. So, I locked myself in my apartment, burying myself in my work and trying to forget about the unknown man who’d held me with such tenderness.

That weekend, I received flowers—red roses, a whole bouquet, with a single white rose that stood out, dipped in blood. Tied around the stem, was my ex husband’s wedding ring.

The card sent shivers down my soul, and my stomach twisted.

One by one, I will take them down.

And I will use their bodies to build you a sanctuary.

My breath caught in my throat as I realized someone knew of my past and cared enough to... what? Do me a fucked up favor?

I was scared, but a part of me also felt... protected. My ex was an evil man and I was surprised that I didn’t feel bad about the fact he was gone. I felt… relief.

God, what was wrong with me? Too much, apparently.

Whoever this was seemed to want to exact vengeance on my behalf. But who?

I couldn’t shake the feeling that the man from the club was somehow behind it. Had he been the one to send me the roses? If so, how had he found out where I lived? And why would he go to such lengths?

I wanted to bring it up in group therapy but stayed quiet. For a few weeks, I didn’t do much besides pretend to listen and stare off into space as I contemplated what was going on in my life at the time. When I couldn’t stay cooped up in my apartment any longer, I returned to the club the following week. I needed to work out the confusion and frustration that had been building up inside me before I drove myself insane. I went to the anonymous encounter room, my pulse quickening as I anticipated seeing him again.

And there he was, waiting in the darkness. I recognized his touch, the way he moved as if he knew every inch of my body and wanted to worship it with his hands. He took his time, caressing and exploring with his gentle and possessive touch.

It was him. The same man.

I had no idea who he was or why he was doing this, but I didn’t care at that moment. All I knew was the comfort of his touch, the feeling of being cherished and avenged all at once. So I let him hold me, let him take away the pain, just for a little while.

And then I went back again the following week.

I felt him before I saw him, an electric charge in the air that crackled with familiarity. His presence filled the space, reassuring yet unsettling. I could barely make out his silhouette as he moved closer, but I could sense him.

“Thought you might not come back,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting.

“I had my reasons.” My voice came out steadier than I felt, laced with a mixture of defiance and curiosity. I didn’t even care that we were breaking the ‘No Talking’ rule.

“Yeah? What kind of reasons?” He stepped closer still, his breath warm against my cheek.

“I don’t know who you are,” I reply, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Or why you sent those flowers.”

“Flowers?” He chuckles softly. “Did they scare you?”

“Scare? No.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

He reaches for my hand and guides it to his chest. My fingers brush against something hard—a nipple piercing-- before my hand rests above his heart, which is pounding in time with mine. “What if I told you I’m coming here to help?”

“Help?” The word felt foreign, like a pebble lodged in my throat. “You think showing up here is helpful?”

He pauses, his silence heavy with intent, and his hand releases mine while I still keep my own pressed against his chest. “I think I’m treating you better than the rest of the men you’ve met here. You deserve better than what they did to you. And you have to stop seeking out pain in a way to try and erase your trauma. New trauma is not going to do anything but set you back.”

I pull back slightly but don’t drop my hand.

“What do you know about it?” I press, searching for answers hidden behind the veil of darkness around us.

“I’ve been watching.” His words fell like stones between us, heavy and unyielding, and his arms encircled my frame and brought me flush against him.

“Watching?” My body stiffened, but not from fear–from awe.

“Yes,” he continues, voice steady yet laced with emotion. “You don’t need to be alone anymore.”

I can’t decide if that promise soothed or rattled me more. The heat from his body wrapped around mine, and our breaths mingling in the confined space didn’t help my mental state either.

“What do you want from me?” The question escaped before I could stop myself.

“I want you to trust me. I know you have no reason to after what you’ve been through, and my promises are nothing compared to the hurt you have to go off of from the past. But I would rather slit my own throat than cause you an ounce of pain. And if you won’t trust me–trust that .”

It was true that I didn’t know if I could trust him, but something in his words—how he said them—made me want to. It was foolish, of course. I barely knew this man, and yet... there was something about him that drew me in. Something that made me want to believe he could be different from all the others.

“Why should I?” My voice was stronger this time, belying the uncertainty swirling inside me.

“You don’t have to. Not yet.” His hands found my waist, his thumbs brushing the bare skin just above my pelvis. “But I’m going to prove it to you. That I’m not like the rest. That I can be trusted.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

His lips curved into a shadowed smile I could barely make out, and I felt his gaze on me even though I couldn’t see his eyes. “I’ll start by telling you my name. It’s Beckett. Beckett Holden.”

Beckett.

Oh, god.

I know this man. And he’s known me–for years.

It clicked simultaneously, and the air flew from my lungs as I struggled to catch my breath.

“Well, Beckett,” I took a pause to catch my breath. “This is one way to get a girl’s attention when she turns down a date from you.”

He chuckles in answer and I can’t believe I didn’t register his voice this whole time. “I’m persistent when I want to be.”

“So, what now?”

He pulls me closer, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, “Now... I take care of you.”

I let him hold me, letting his touch soothe the doubts and fears that still lingered. His hands were gentle yet firm, and I could feel the strength in them—a promise of protection. But it was more than that. It was as if he understood the depth of my pain and was offering solace without asking for anything in return—something I had never had before.

“Why?” The word slipped out, raw and vulnerable. “Why would you do this for me?”

His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.

“Because you need it,” he whispers. “And because I want to.”

I leaned into his touch, my body yearning for the comfort he offered, even if my mind wanted to push him away. “But?—”

“Shh.” His finger presses gently against my lips, silencing my protests. “Let me make you feel safe.”

So, I do. I let him. I surrender to the darkness, to the comfort of a stranger, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself imagine that maybe—just maybe—I could be healed.

Beckett makes me finish with his mouth and his fingers before he enters me in the dark. It’s not slow like the times before. It’s fast and full of desire and hunger for each other. I love that he doesn’t treat me as if I’m about to break and allows me to take charge with him. I think he likes it, too, because he’s dripping down my thighs within minutes when I straddle him again on the couch.

We lay down together on the vinyl surface with my back pressed against his front before we speak again.

“Tell me something,” he murmurs against my hair. “What do you want?”

My heart jumps at the question. It felt too raw—too vulnerable—to answer honestly. I craved safety, love, and maybe even redemption from the choices that had led me here.

“I want…” The words tangle on my tongue before they break free. “I want to feel normal.”

His fingers trace patterns on my back as he contemplates my words. “You are normal,” he replies softly. “Just because you’ve been through hell doesn’t mean you’re not deserving of happiness. Fuck, you’re more deserving than most.”

Happiness felt like a distant dream that slipped through my fingers every time I reached for it. But there was a part of me that wanted to believe Beckett.

“Do you really think so?” I ask.

“I know so.” He shifted slightly, creating enough space for our bodies to comfortably fit on the couch as he turned me to face him.

I drew in a shaky breath, feeling exposed but strangely empowered by his promise. I couldn’t see him still in the dark, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Let’s just try being together. If I make your life harder in any way instead of better, then it just takes one word, and I’ll be gone.” He leaned closer, his forehead pressed against mine as if we were sharing secrets.

As his lips brushed against mine softly, time seemed to freeze around us—everything else faded away—and for the first time in ages, I allowed myself to believe it might be okay after all.