15. Elle
ELLE
The lift doors slide open, and Tiernan pulls me into the penthouse.
The silver chain rattles between our wrists.
My feet throb in these red heels. I want to kick them off, but I don’t want to show him any more weakness.
He leads me into the living area and stops near the sofa with my backpack on.
I glance at it and then tear my gaze away in case he somehow knows about the money in there.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small key.
I watch his fingers as he inserts it into the lock on my wrist. The metal drops away with a heavy click.
I touch the red mark on my skin. It burns.
Tiernan doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, staring at me with those green eyes that see too much.
“Go to the bedroom,” he says.
I don’t move. “Where’s Lorcan?”
“He’ll be here later. Try to get some rest.”
“You keep saying that to me. I can’t rest. I’ve been abducted, violated, and put on show for a man who owns this city.”
He frowns. “Violated.”
I hiss at him. “Yes, violated. I may not have fought or tried to push him away, but I didn’t exactly get much choice.”
“You came?”
My cheeks go hot. “What in the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“So you enjoyed it?”
“My God!” I yell, shoving my hands into my hair and finally kicking my shoes off. I reach down and scoop one up, brandishing it like a weapon. “How dare you!” My senses are gone as I launch myself at him, spiked heel aimed at his face.
He looks startled for a second before he grabs my wrist and holds me with a bored expression on his face that makes me even more pissed off. I don’t scare him. He isn’t afraid I’ll gouge his eye out with my heel.
“Really?” he comments, but it’s not said in any demeaning way. It’s like he’s actually asking me.
“Yes, really,” I snarl. “You had no right to say that to me.”
“You’re right,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of my wrist. He pulls me closer. “If you want to hit me with your shoe, do it. Make yourself feel better. You won’t hurt me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I grit out.
“No, I’m telling you to do it. You will feel better hitting something.”
I glare at him. “Are you insane?”
“Only partly.”
“Partly insane,” I choke. “I hate you.”
“So hit me.” His gaze is wicked, and he is almost smirking at me.
It makes me want to hit him harder. He releases my wrist, and I draw my arm back. He sees it, and he doesn’t stop me.
I smack him as hard as I can on the upper arm with the heel, and he grunts.
But it’s not a noise of impatience or pain.
It’s pleasure.
It shocks me to my core.
“Again,” he whispers. “Harder this time.”
I hesitate. “Stop it,” I say. “Just stop it.”
“Hit me, Elle. Make us both feel better.”
Our eyes lock. Time seems to stand still for a second as a world of pain passes between us. Mine. His. Everyone’s.
“You’re fucked in the head,” I say weakly.
“And yet I’m the one who just gave you a reason to keep moving forward.”
“I hate you.”
“Prove it. Hit me.”
I grip the shoe tighter, and it’s like something snaps inside me. All the rage, all the fear, all the pain of the last decade, and more.
I hit him as hard as I can, hurting myself in the process, but I don’t stop.
I strike him again, the sharp heel thudding against his shoulder.
Then I aim for his chest, the impact jarring up my arm.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even move.
He stands there like a mountain, taking every blow I throw with a dark, terrifying intensity.
“More,” he growls.
I scream, a raw, jagged sound that tears out of my throat.
I slam the shoe into him until my muscles burn and my vision blurs with hot, stinging tears.
Each strike is for the landlord, for the maths teacher, for the damp walls of my flat, and for the man standing in front of me who thinks he can own the wreckage.
Finally, the shoe slips from my numb fingers. I collapse against him, my forehead hitting his hard chest. I’m sobbing in great, racking gasps that make my ribs ache. I expect him to push me away or laugh.
Instead, his arms wrap around me. He holds me with a brutal strength that should be frightening, but right now, it’s the only thing keeping me upright. My hands fist in his shirt, bunching the expensive fabric as I let the hysteria take over.
“That’s it,” he murmurs into my hair. “Let it out, girlie.”
I push against his chest, but my legs won’t hold me. His body is solid. I hate that his heart beats so steadily under my ear while mine is too fast.
“Finished?” he asks.
I pull back and wipe my face with the back of my hand. My eyes are swollen. I feel raw. “I want to be alone.”
“Never again, Elle. You are with us now.” He picks up my shoes from the floor and hands them back to me, and then he reaches for my backpack. I freeze, and then snatch it from him as he holds it out.
I look at where I hit him. There is likely bruising. He doesn’t seem to care.
“Why did you let me do that?” I ask.
He steps into my space. I don’t move. I’m too drained to run. “Because you need to know that you can’t break me, Elle. No matter how hard you try.”
He reaches out. I flinch. He stops his hand inches from my cheek.
“Go,” he says. “I will be here if you need more.”
“More?”
“More.”
I turn and walk toward the stairs. My feet are bare on the cold marble.
I don’t look back. I reach the bedroom and shut the doors.
The silence in the room feels heavy. I drop my backpack on the bed and unzip it.
I pull out everything except the cash, and put it all away next to the expensive clothes.
I feel like a fraud. A fraudulent whore.
I shove the backpack, cash still inside, into the back of a drawer that holds bedding, then crawl onto the silk sheets, still wearing the red dress.
The weight of the diamonds around my neck is a constant pressure, a reminder of the price tag Lorcan placed on my silence.
My arm aches from hitting Tiernan, a dull throb that matches the pulse in my temple.
I thought hitting him would make me feel powerful.
Instead, I just feel empty. My life was miserable and cold before all this, but at least it was mine.
Now, I’m waiting for a man to come and take what he thinks he owns because I let him think that.
The bedroom door opens. I don’t have to look to know it’s Lorcan. I stay on my side, staring at the wall, listening to the sound of him approaching. He stops by the bed and crouches down.
“You hit Tiernan.”
“He deserved it.”
“With your shoe.” His amusement is plain.
“You find it funny?”
“I find it hilarious. I wish I’d seen it.”
“You’re an arse.”
“I’ve been called worse tonight.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“How do you know Alex Snowden?”
I frown and sit up. “I don’t. We’ve been through this.”
“He asked for your name,” Lorcan says, his voice dropping an octave. “He thinks you’re familiar. I want to know why.”
“I told you, I don’t know him.” I grip the silk duvet, the fabric bunching under my nails. “I’ve worked a dozen different clubs over the years. Men see me, Lorcan. That’s the job. I don’t remember their faces, and they don’t remember mine. I’m just a pair of tits to them.”
“Snowden isn’t the type of man who frequents the places you worked.” He reaches out and circles my ankle with his hand, his thumb pressing against the bone. It’s a possessive, heavy weight. “If he thinks he knows you, there’s a reason.”
“Are you jealous, Lorcan?”
His eyes turn into chips of ice. “I don’t get jealous, Elle.”
I stare at him. His face stays hard. He’s a liar. Or he’s just a man who doesn’t feel things normal people do.
“Then why are you here?” I ask. My voice sounds thin in the huge room. “Why do you care if some man thinks he knows me?”
He doesn’t answer. He moves his hand higher. The silk of the red dress gathers under his palm. I want to pull away, but I stay still. He doesn’t let me move anyway.
“Because you’re mine,” he says. He states it as a fact. “I don’t like other men looking at what I own.”
I ignore that because it is pointless arguing with him.
He stands and looks down at me. He reaches for the buckle of his belt. I swallow. I know what happens next. I should fight, but my body is heavy. I’m exhausted.
“Take the necklace off,” he commands.
I reach for the clasp. My fingers tremble. I can’t get the small metal piece to move. He reaches out and does it for me. The diamonds fall onto the silk sheets. He drops his belt to the floor and starts on the buttons of his shirt.
“On your knees, Elle. I want that smart mouth on my cock.”
“And if I don’t?”
He holds my shaky gaze. “Then you don’t.” He keeps undressing. “But don’t lie to yourself and say that you don’t want me. I know different.”
He stands naked in front of me, and I take in his hard, ink-covered body.
His cock is stiff, ready. I don’t want to look.
I don’t want to want him, but he is right.
I do want him. Even though I hate him. He is the first man I’ve had since Harry Thompson, who made me feel something. Anything. Even if it was self-loathing.
“Who hurt you, Elle?” he whispers as I drop to my knees. His hand cups my face, his fingers tangling in my hair.
“Why do you care?”
“Because I want to be the only one with the capability to hurt you. Tell me who he is, and I will take care of it.”
“That is not the sanest sentiment to have ever existed.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. It’s meant to show you that I mean it when I say you are mine. Mine to protect.”
“That’s a new one,” I murmur and grip him harder than necessary at the base of his cock.
He sucks in a breath as my mouth closes over him and then groans as my tongue sweeps over him.
His hand tightens in my hair, pulling my head back.
Those blue eyes are dark. He looks down at me with a hunger that makes my skin prickle.
I don’t stop. I use my hands and my mouth.
It’s the only currency I have left in this room.
“You think this lets you off the hook,” he says. His voice is a low rumble. “You think you can swallow the truth.”
I look up at him. He knows I’m hiding. I pull away for a second, my chest heaving. “You haven’t earned the information.”
It is the right thing to say.
His eyes flash with danger before they darken considerably. “Earn it,” he murmurs. “Is that a challenge?”
He pushes back into my mouth, deeper this time. I gag. He doesn’t stop. He wants me to understand the rules. I belong to him now.
The silence in the room stays heavy. I focus on the rhythm he sets as he fucks my face, slowly, deeply. He hits the back of my throat and tears spring into my eyes, but I’m not crying. Not now. This is the escape that I’ve been crying out for; I just didn’t know it.