3. Josie
"Let her go," a voice ordered, and the men released me at once, stepping back like they didn't want to risk being a second too slow.
I slumped against the cold brick wall, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I looked up.
A man stepped into the faint light of the streetlamp.
He was tall, dressed in all black, with shoulders that seemed to take up the entire alleyway.
He looked dangerous like a predator that had just found something worth killing.
His dark eyes were fixed on the three men as if they were already dead.
The first guy, the one who had been touching my leg puffed out his chest and stepped toward the stranger. "Who the hell are you? Get lost, man. This doesn't involve you," he reached out and gave the stranger a hard shove.
The mystery man didn't even stumble, he just looked down at where the guy's hand had touched his chest, then back up with a look that made my blood run cold.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said, his voice cold, dead.
Holy hell, his voice was so deep and sexy it made my whole body melt. One word from him and my knees felt like they were going to give out.
Before the guy could even pull his hand back, the stranger moved. It was a blur. He grabbed the guy's wrist, twisted it until a sickening pop echoed off the walls, and slammed a heavy fist into his jaw. The guy's head snapped back, and he hit the pavement like a sack of rocks.
Out cold.
Whew!
"You're dead!" the second one yelled, lunging forward with a wild swing.
The stranger stepped to the side with a smooth, bored grace.
He caught the man's arm, yanked him off balance, and drove a knee hard into his stomach.
As the guy doubled over, gasping for air, the stranger grabbed the back of his head and smashed his face into the brick wall.
The man crumbled to the ground... motionless.
The third guy stood there, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. He looked at his two friends unconscious on the floor, then at the man standing over them without even breaking a sweat.
"I-I'm out! I'm gone!" the third guy stammered. He didn't even look back as he turned and bolted down the alley, his boots splashing through puddles as he ran for his life.
The alley went silent, except for the sound of my own frantic breathing. The stranger didn't chase him. He just stood there, his chest rising and falling slowly. He adjusted the sleeves of his black jacket, his knuckles slightly bruised and bloody.
The stranger stepped even closer, and I looked up at him in the dark. He looked like a God... if Gods wore expensive, perfect suits and had eyes that could melt metal.
My drunk brain thought it was a great time to be flirty, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scary," I managed to say.
I tried to give him a sexy smile, but my stomach had other plans. He was so handso-before I could finish the thought, I got sick. I threw up right all over his shiny, expensive shoes.
"Oh God," I whispered. I was horrified as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, "I'm so sorry. I'll buy you new ones. I'm rich, I have the money. I'm Josephine Van Alen. Are those Louboutins?"
He glanced down at his now-ruined shoes, then back at me, his face a mask of indifference. No anger, no disgust, just a chilling calm that somehow made him even hotter.
"You know," I started, my words spilling out in a slurry, "I didn't mean to throw up on you.
I mean, who does that? Who saves a girl and gets puke as a thank you?
I'm really sorry about that. I promise I'm not usually this.
.. messy." I hiccuped at the word, as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
"Okay, maybe a little messy. Emotionally messy.
Life messy. But not, like, vomit messy."
He extended his hand, the offer so unexpectedly polite given the circumstances. I hesitated for a split second, my foggy brain still processing his lack of reaction to the whole vomit-on-shoes situation, but I reached out anyway, grasping his hand.
His grip was hard, strong, grounding me in a way I hadn't felt all night.
I winced as my knees wobbled beneath me.
He caught me with an ease that was almost insulting, effortlessly holding me upright as he guided me out of the alley.
His touch was warm, confident, like he'd done this a thousand times before.
We stumbled onto the main street, my thoughts drifted, my drunken mind swirling with half-formed ideas.
It was almost laughable... here I was, at my absolute worst, and the universe decided to drop a man who looked like he'd stepped out of a dark fantasy into my path.
Was this some kind of cosmic joke?
I blinked up at him, trying to focus on his face, on those intense eyes that seemed to see right through everywhere he looked, and before I could catch myself, the words tumbled out, slurred and reckless.
"You know, they say the best way to get over one man is to get under another," I blurted out.
His eyebrows raised slightly, the only sign he'd even heard me.
I could almost see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, wondering what kind of crazy drunk girl he'd decided to save tonight.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late.
My brain was already several sentences ahead of my good sense.
"Not that I'm suggesting anything, obviously," I continued, voice a little high-pitched now, like I could somehow laugh this off, "I mean, look at you.
You could probably get anyone, right? And look at me.
I'm just... ugh," I made a gesture with my hands, like that somehow explained everything.
"And, hey, I'm not the kind of girl who just..
. you know, jumps under a guy for fun. I mean, I've never even been under a guy, to be honest. Oh God, why did I say that?
I've been under a guy before, two guys actually!
But not at the same time! Look, it's not like I'm desperate or anything. I don't even like men right now!"
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, his expression still unreadable, but he didn't say a word. His hand remained firm around my arm, guiding me along with a surprising gentleness for someone who looked like they belonged in an action movie.
Maybe, just maybe, there was a silver lining to this disastrous night after all.
A sleek black car glided up to the curb. He opened the door and helped me slide into the backseat.
I collapsed against the seat, and felt the luxurious softness of the leather cradling my body. It was like sinking into a cloud, the kind of comfort that made my eyelids droop.
For a second, I forgot all about the alley, the vomit, the embarrassment. The soft hum of the engine, combined with the plush interior, lulled me into a drowsy haze. If this was how the night was going to end, maybe I wasn't so unlucky after all.
"Wow," I mumbled, my fingers brushing over the buttery leather. "This is so soft. I could totally sleep here. Actually, I think I'm going to..."
My words faded into a mumble as my head lolled back against the seat, the exhaustion and alcohol finally catching up with me.
The world around me began to blur, the edges softening like I was seeing everything through frosted glass before everything went dark, pulling me into a deep, drunken sleep.
Some time later, I vaguely registered the feeling of strong arms sliding under me, lifting me, my head lolled against his chest, and I inhaled his scent... spicy, dark, and intoxicating. I wanted to eat him.
He laid me down carefully on a bed, the softness of the mattress enveloping me as I sank into it. I tried to push myself up onto my elbows, but my arms were not cooperating. The effort was too much, my body didn't want to listen.
His hands were gentle as he guided me to lie back down. I felt his fingers at the buttons of my blouse, slowly unbuttoning them with a care that seemed out of place. Panic bubbled up in my chest.
"Wait," I mumbled, trying to sound stronger than I felt. The words barely made it past my lips, slurred and almost incoherent, "What are you doing?"
"You can't sleep in those clothes," he replied, his tone flat and devoid of emotion, like he was stating a simple fact.
His touch remained gentle as he slipped the shirt down my body, and the skirt followed, leaving me in just my underwear and bra. I shivered, partly from the cool air that kissed my exposed skin and partly from the vulnerability of the moment.
I felt the weight of my shoes disappear and then a soft, warm blanket settled over me, its warmth instantly comforting.
His touch disappeared for a moment, and I blinked, struggling to keep my eyes open, when he returned, his voice fell on my ear, "Arms up," he stated and I complied without thinking, my body moving on autopilot.
He carefully pulled a t-shirt over my head and down my body, the fabric soft and oversized, carrying a faint scent of him... clean, masculine, a hint of something smoky.
I wanted to thank him, to say something, anything, but the words stuck in my throat, refusing to form.
My eyes fluttered shut despite my best efforts to stay awake, the pull of sleep too strong to resist.
Just as I was about to slip back into unconsciousness, I felt a soft caress against my cheek, a gentle touch, almost hesitant. His finger traced the curve of my face, down to my chin, before tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
His hand stayed there for a moment, warm and calm, before he pulled away and everything faded into darkness once more.
The sunlight came through the small gaps in the heavy curtains. It was bright and annoying, and it made me want to choke the light. Wait, can you even choke light? No, you can't.
Fuck.
I blinked against the bright light and looked around the strange room. The bed under me was too soft, and the sheets felt smooth and costly. Panic slowly filled me when I realized I had no idea where I was.
I slowly sat up, and the room started to spin with every small move. The room was big and nicely decorated. A crystal light hung from the ceiling, throwing soft light across the pale walls. Everything was neat and in place, like a picture in a magazine but none of it belonged to me.
My heart beat faster when I looked down at myself and saw I wasn't wearing my clothes from last night.
Instead, I had on a large black t-shirt that slipped off my shoulders and reached my thighs.
It wasn't mine. I could smell a light scent of cologne on it.
The smell was not mine, but now it was on my skin.
Fragments of the previous night flickered in my mind like a broken film reel, voices, laughter, hands gripping me too tightly.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to piece it all together, but the memories were fragmented. Flashes of the bar, the men, their hands on me... but after that, that guy... he saved me.
My stomach churned as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. I needed air.
I spotted a set of double doors across the room, and without thinking, I moved toward them, my body protesting every step.
I reached for the handle, and a rush of cool morning air hit me as I stepped out onto a spacious balcony, the sudden breeze doing little to calm the storm inside me as I remembered my mother and my so-called boyfriend's betrayal.
I gripped the railing, the view was beautiful in a haunting way, rows of manicured gardens, tall trees that stretched toward the sky, and carefully tended hedges that looked like they belonged in a painting.
And then my eyes fell on the barbed wire. It lined the tops of the tall fences that encircled the property.
Beyond the wire, I could see signs posted along the perimeter, large boards that read "Private Property" in bold red letters.
A shiver ran down my spine as I realized how isolated the estate was. There were no neighbors in sight, no sign of civilization beyond the towering trees. Whoever owned this place didn't want to be found, and they sure as hell didn't want anyone leaving.
I clung to the railing, my knuckles turning white as I forced myself to take deep breaths. The scent of pine and freshly cut grass drifted up from the gardens below. How could everything look so perfect, so peaceful, when I felt like the ground was crumbling beneath me?
Sighing, I returned to the bedroom, knowing full well that by now my mother had probably alerted every police officer in the country to find me. The thought of the chaos she'd be causing made my head hurt.
As I stepped back into the hallway, my eyes couldn't help but take in the details of the house. The place was gorgeous, almost intimidating in its elegance. Dark wood panels, tasteful art pieces hung at intervals, the low lights.
I wasn't used to feeling out of place in houses like this, but here, I did. I was used to wealth, hell, I grew up in it but this felt different.
There was a coldness to it, a detachment that made me uneasy.
Then I heard it. Heavy breathing. I froze, instinctively holding my breath. It wasn't the kind of breathing that came from sleep; it was heavy, controlled, the sound of someone exerting themselves.
Grunts. Deep, sexy grunts. My heart started racing as I stood there, trying to decide what to do.
A wild thought hit my brain. What if he's in there masturbating? My face went hot.
My curiosity flared, and despite the voice in my head screaming at me to turn back, I found myself reaching for the handle.
The door creaked open just a crack, and I peeked through the small gap.
There, on the floor, was a man. A stranger. The mystery man from last night. He was shirtless, his body glistening with sweat as he pushed himself up and down in a series of push-ups.
His muscles rippled with each movement, the tattoos on his back shifting like dark waves across his skin.
He was... hot. He had the kind of body that looked like it was carved out of stone, broad shoulders, a chiseled chest, and abs that I could only describe as unfair.
The sweat slicking his skin made everything more defined, more intense.
I couldn't look away. My gaze traced the ink that curled around his biceps, the way his back muscles tightened and relaxed with every push-up.
The way his shorts clung to his hips, leaving little to the imagination.
I hated that my heart started racing for reasons other than fear. He was just so... raw.
The cologne on the shirt I was wearing, it had to be his. I tried to shake off the thoughts creeping into my head. I was supposed to be figuring out what happened, not ogling some stranger like a schoolgirl with a crush.
But before I could tear my eyes away, he stopped. His movements stilled, and he lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine through the crack in the door.
Time seemed to freeze.
His gaze was intense, piercing, as if he could see right through my clothes. My breath caught in my throat, and I stood there, paralyzed, my heart pounding in my chest.
He didn't move. He just stared at me, his expression indifferent and panic surged through me.
Shit, he caught me ogling at him.
My body reacted before my brain did, and I stumbled back, pulling the door shut with a clumsy thud. I pressed my back against the door, my heart racing, my face burning with embarrassment.
I pressed my palms to my cheeks, feeling the lingering heat and embarrassment. Ugh.
If he caught me staring, why the hell did I panic and slam the door like an idiot?
Now, instead of just being the girl who woke up in his house, I was the girl who creeped on him mid-workout and then made it ten times worse by running away.
Realizing I had no choice but to face the music, I took a deep breath and stepped away from the door only to face it. Before I could even steady myself, the door swung open, and I found myself crashing right into his chest.
Hard, warm, and very much real.
I stumbled back, but his hand shot out, gripping my arm just enough to keep me from toppling over. The sudden contact made my heart leap into my throat.
I looked up, my gaze colliding with his. Deep hazel eyes stared back at me. His dark hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, and his skin glistened in the morning light.
My brain stuttered for a moment, completely overwhelmed by the sight of him up close.
His eyebrow arched, and I realized I'd been staring way too long. Shit. I quickly averted my gaze, trying to find something clever to say, but all that came out was a garbled, "Uh... where... where am I? And, uh, how did I get here?"
He let go of my arm, "You're in my house," he said, "I brought you here last night."
The bluntness of his answer made my mind spin, "Okay... and who changed my clothes?"
His gaze didn't waver, "I did."
The room suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. I swallowed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a flush of heat up my neck. "You-you changed me?"
"Yes," he said, utterly unfazed by my growing discomfort. "You vomited on yourself and on me, barely conscious. Seemed like a bad idea to leave you like that."
I blinked, mortified, "Right. Okay. Thanks... I guess," my brain finally caught up with the situation, "What exactly happened? I don't remember much after..." I trailed off, recalling those men, their hands on me, and the haze of alcohol clouding my mind.
His eyes narrowed slightly, "You got so drunk out of your mind last night that you could've found yourself dead in a ditch if I hadn't stepped in."
Just cold, hard fact.
The embarrassment washed over me in waves as I tugged at the hem of the oversized t-shirt, trying to avoid his gaze. "I... I've had a really bad day," I mumbled, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks again.
He didn't say anything at first, just studied me with his dead but intense eyes.
I glanced down at the floor, trying to collect myself, "I'm really not in the habit of making a mess of myself and ending up in a stranger's house. This is... new for me, so thank you for saving me last night."
"Don't thank me yet," he said, "You don't even know what kind of man I am. For all you know, this could have ended way worse. You got lucky last night, but luck runs out. You need to be more careful."
"Right," I muttered, glancing away, "Do you always take care of girls who can't protect themselves while they're inebriated?"
He looked at me like I was the stupidest person he'd ever met. "I usually don't care," he said, "But when it happens in my nightclub, I have to step in."
I pressed my lips together. Great. Not only did I puke on him, but he actually owned the club where I'd made a total fool of myself.
"Thank you," I said, my voice was much softer this time, "I mean it. I would've been in huge trouble if you hadn't stepped in."
Right then, my stomach let out a loud, angry growl. I quickly wrapped my arms around my middle to try and muffled the sound. I hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning. I prayed he hadn't heard that, but with those sharp, intense eyes, I knew he didn't miss a thing.
The silence that followed was suffocating. I felt the weight of his stare, felt the heat rising in my chest.
"I think I should go home now."
His eyes narrowed slightly, "Your clothes are being dry-cleaned. I'll need my t-shirt back before you leave," his tone was cold, clipped, like he couldn't care less if I stayed or left, as long as he got his shirt back.
"Oh. Right. Of course." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and gave him a small, awkward smile, "Thanks for... you know. Letting me borrow it."
He didn't react.
He turned to back into his bedroom.
"Um-wait." I stepped forward instinctively. "I don't have my phone. And I don't really have a way to get home," I gave a small, hopeful shrug. "Could you maybe call me an Uber while I wait?"
He stopped but didn't turn immediately. When he did, his face was blank.
"Phones don't work here."
"Oh," I blinked, "Like... at all?"
"No."
"Wow. That's very off-the-grid of you," I said lightly, when he didn't respond, I cleared my throat, "Okay. So. Plan B," I smiled again, smaller this time, "Could you drop me somewhere? Anywhere with signal is great. I'm not picky."
A long second passed.
"After breakfast."
I frowned slightly, "No, it's-"
"The kitchen's down the hall," he cut me off, "Eat. Then I'll drive you."
"You don't have to-"
"You need to eat."
It wasn't a concern. It was an order.
I studied him for a moment, searching for sarcasm. There wasn't any. There wasn't much of anything.
"Okay," I said gently, "Breakfast sounds nice."
I only agreed because for all I knew, he was a murderer and I didn't want to die today.
He gave a short nod, stepped back into the room, and slammed the door right in my face.
That's when it hit me, I hadn't even asked for his name.