Chapter Thirteen Lexie #2
Palms flattening on his chest, I break away from his kiss and create a sliver of space between us.
His lips leave mine abruptly, leaving an unsettling cold where there used to be heat.
My eyes open slowly, delirious, finding Callum gazing at me.
The naked desire in his eyes is the only thing I recognize in his otherwise unreadable expression.
“We shouldn’t,” I breathe.
This is not the time or the place. If I really think about it—without the need and arousal taking over my brain—there might never be a time or place. Realistically, Callum and I don’t work and sex isn’t a good idea.
The way he’s looking at me says he knows it too. He just wasn’t going to admit it.
Callum takes his time pulling his hand from my pants, his fingers skimming over every inch of skin along the way—ass cheek, lower back, side.
His eyes keeping mine hostage, he tugs my shirt back into place but doesn’t let go immediately.
We stay there for a long moment, just staring at each other while his hand on my shirt keeps me on his lap as we fight to catch our breath.
The wheels are turning in his head, I can practically hear his thoughts warring while he stares me down.
If only I could know what he’s thinking.
He’s watching every thought cross my face as it comes, reading every emotion.
And all I get in return is indecipherable intensity and a rock-hard erection pressing hot and heady between my legs.
When his grip on my shirt finally falls away, I’m climbing off his lap and sliding across the back seat to put as much space between us as possible.
Callum’s eyes stare straight ahead as Roscoe rounds a corner, his hands working to roll his shirt sleeves back down.
The tension settles back into his broad shoulders as he buttons each cuff into place.
And just like that, he’s back to calm and controlled Callum, devoid of any warmth.
When he does shoot a glance in my direction, it’s one that looks an awful lot like regret.
Callum strides through the weathered brick building on a mission, and I’m a step behind him. With the distraction in the car, I have no idea where we are—and the man in front of me isn’t giving any hints either.
His large frame fills the narrow hallway, broad shoulders nearly touching each wall with only a few inches of clearance from the ceiling. With the giant man ahead of me blocking my view, I’m basically stumbling along blindly with Roscoe walking steadily behind me.
We take a left at the end of the claustrophobic hallway. The doors that dot the space are as dated as the rest of the building, with small windows of frosted glass yellowed with age.
Callum doesn’t hesitate to open one of the doors roughly, and I’m barely able to read the word Freight across the window in peeling vinyl before Roscoe is crowding me into the room and closing the door.
The stench of cigarette smoke and stale coffee hangs in the air. The small industrial office is drab with stained brown carpet, metal filing cabinets, and fluorescent lighting. The room is messy and cluttered until it’s claustrophobic—binders and stacks of paper taking over.
A middle-aged man behind the desk looks up startled when we enter, his eyes going straight to the bull charging right at him.
His gray-streaked brown hair looks crunchy with gel, matching the patchy facial hair on his chin.
He has a gut from a few too many beers that’s obvious on his lanky body as he slumps in his chair.
Callum stops short at the desk, staring him down.
“Hello, Sal. You haven’t been answering my calls.” The steel edge in Callum’s voice has the man behind the desk glancing at the door in hopes of finding someone to save him. Instead, all he finds is a blonde in pastel scrubs and the enforcer blocking the only exit.
“Russo.” Sal’s false friendliness falls flat in his attempt to put on a brave face. “I was just about to call you back.”
“Were you.” It’s not a question. “And what were you calling to say?”
“I—uh—I went up the ladder. There’s really nothing I can do for you.”
I can’t help but wince at the arrogance tinting his voice. The tension that settles over Callum’s shoulders has a dark cloud falling over the room. This isn’t gonna be pretty.
“That’s the wrong answer.”
Uneasiness creeps up my spine when Callum’s hands move to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt—the same ones he just buttoned in the car.
“I told you, my hands are tied,” Sal not stammering.
“You know, Sal, the easiest way to free tied hands is to simply cut them off.”
The threat isn’t directed at me, but my stomach drops just the same. My entire body stiffens at the violence in Callum’s words, spoken so casually. This is definitely not the first time he’s delivered a warning like that.
“Whoa, hey. Wait, there’s no need for that—” Sal’s sputtering doesn’t register as Callum continues, rolling one of his shirt sleeves up past his elbow.
“We won’t start there, of course, we’ll work our way up.
” Callum’s tone darkens, his head nodding to where Roscoe stands behind him.
“My friend here likes to start with the fingers, he’s actually quite good at it.
The knuckles sever nicely. Then maybe, if you’ve decided to be a little more cooperative, I’ll have my nurse stitch you back up. ”
Sal’s wide eyes dart to the door frantically.
He’s gonna make a run for it, it’s obvious to everyone in the room.
When he scrambles from his chair, with the grace of a rhino, to dash towards the only exit he doesn’t make it three strides before he’s being lifted off the ground.
Callum catches him easily by the collar and yanks him roughly backwards.
The man goes flying, slamming against the corner of a filing cabinet with a groan.
The air isn’t even back in his lungs before Callum’s hauling him up and slamming a fist into his face—once, twice, three times.
Blood spurts from his nose, coating his teeth when he howls.
The strong hand that Callum clamps around his throat violently drags him to the wall next to the desk, causing stacks of papers and folders to scatter to the floor dramatically.
A gasp escapes me at the sound of Sal’s skull cracking against the wall with the force of the blow, hard enough to fracture bone. Callum’s eyes cut to me, his dark gaze cold and unfeeling.
Terrifying.
“That was the last stupid decision I’ll tolerate, Sal.” His deadly focus returns to the man he’s choking out. “Do you understand?”
Sal’s desperate nodding is restricted against the hand clamped beneath his jaw.
“When I call, you answer it. When I ask you a question, you what?”
“Answer it.”
“Very good.” Callum’s powerful grip bleaches his knuckles as it tightens on the man’s throat. “Don’t make me come here again, Sal. Or I’ll be paying your family a visit covered in your blood.”
“I won’t.”
“Now.” Yanking him from the wall, Callum tosses the older man into the desk chair like a ragdoll.
Sal grips the armrests for dear life when the chair threatens to tip over from the force of the impact, blood running from his bashed nose and battered mouth and coating his chin where it dribbles down the front of his shirt.
“Because I’m feeling generous, I’ll let my nurse clean you up before you start making more calls. ”
When the other eyes in the room turn to focus on me, I’m caught off guard. I stand frozen, at a complete loss.
“This is why you’re here, Doc. Fix him up.” Those are the same damn words he used the night he led me into that storage room to sew up a finger and ripped me from my reality.
My feet have already carried me halfway across the room before I register that I’m moving.
When I kneel in front of the bloodied man in the chair, our eyes connect briefly.
For a split second, we share a moment of shocked horror, both trapped in the violence brought by the hands of the fixer standing behind me.
Okay, you can do this, Lexie. You can handle this, he’s just another patient.
Yanking my eyes away, it takes everything in me to keep breathing—in, then out—as I go about the task of tending to my patient. He needs three stitches, and his nose is very broken. There’s nothing I can do about the concussion or the fractures I’m sure now decorate the back of his skull.
There’s a heaviness in my chest that seems to grow with every beat of my heart until it’s crushing me under its weight. Whatever conversation happens between the three men in the room as I work doesn’t register past the blood pounding in my ears.
Even as I numbly follow Callum through the hallway back outside, I feel like a zombie. I’m no longer residing in my body when the back door of the car is held open for me to climb in. Is this what shock feels like?
Closing my door, Callum walks around to get in on the other side.
My mind is racing, the world doesn’t feel like it makes sense anymore.
The oxygen has been sucked out of the car, and the thought of sitting in a confined space with Callum threatens to suffocate me.
I can feel the vehicle shift with his weight as he sits down, the sound of his door closing behind him igniting my flight response.
Without thinking, I open the door and hop out.
“Lexie, shit.” I don’t register Roscoe’s call as I walk. My feet move, carrying me down the sidewalk, as I force in deep breaths. I just need air, what happened to all the air? My brain is trying so hard to make sense of everything, but nothing is processing as my mind glitches.
Callum and Roscoe are violent men, ruthless and cruel. Callum does whatever it takes to get something he wants, and he uses Roscoe to do it.
And now he uses me too.
What have I gotten myself into? I signed the contract and NDA, an unsuspecting mouse walking straight into a trap.
And like an idiot, I read the fine print wearing rose-colored glasses that made the boatload of red flags seem pink and harmless instead.
And the trap snapped closed without sympathy.
Now I’m stuck, completely at Callum’s mercy.
What have I done?
The question echoes through my mind as nausea churns in my stomach.
My feet carry me one step at a time, my body on autopilot.
The SUV pulls up beside me, slowing to match my pace.
The back window rolls down and Callum’s dark expression acts as a reminder of exactly what kind of hell I’m living in now.
I glance at him, but looking at his face proves to be too much.
Averting my gaze, I look straight ahead as I walk.
“Lexie, stop.” The authority in Callum’s voice rolls over me without effect. My heart is racing too fast, my thoughts becoming too panicked—and I don’t panic.
“Lexie.”
“I can’t do this,” I say, my voice breaking on the last word. I feel breathless, why can’t I breathe? I round a corner, and the car follows. Roscoe says something to Callum, making him curse under his breath.
“Get in, Lexie,” Callum orders. I simply shake my head, staring straight ahead.
I barely see the people I pass on the sidewalk, barely register the eyes on me.
Glancing down, I realize I’m still splattered in blood, my blue scrubs stained by the crimson color.
His blood. The man Callum made me patch up after threatening his entire family—all for illegal dock access for some shipment.
“Get in the car, Lexie. Or I swear to God, I’ll pick you up, throw you in the car, and buckle you in myself.”
Something in Callum’s voice makes me stop in my tracks. I finally turn to look at him, still struggling to catch my breath. I feel a little faint, like the blood was drained out of me.
Meeting Callum’s eyes, I can see he means every word. He’ll physically pick me up and place me into the car right now. And the idea of him touching me with the same hands that just held a man by the throat is enough to crack through my panic.
We stare at each other for a moment. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he reads me. And when I finally take a step towards the car and reach for the handle, I swear his face softens slightly in what looks like relief.
After I climb into the car, Roscoe locks the door the instant it’s closed behind me.
With shaky hands, I slowly reach back and grab my seat belt.
I can feel both men’s eyes on me as I slowly pull the belt around me, but I keep my eyes trained out the window.
As soon as my seat belt clicks, Roscoe is pulling out into traffic.
Callum’s eyes never leave me, burning a hole in my already crumbling psyche.
I’m exhausted, physically and mentally. I stare out the window without really seeing the cityscape pass by.
When the first tear rolls down my cheek, Callum’s voice is barely audible next to me as he rasps out another curse under his breath.
“Fuck.”