Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
It was an ordinary day. I woke up alone.
He finally got tired of me ruining mattresses, so I was banished to sleeping in the spare room—but that didn’t excuse my wake-up time.
Regan’s alarm went off at five, and he expected breakfast on the table.
His clothes needed to be ironed and hung up, alongside his weapons and bulletproof vest. But I couldn’t enter the bedroom while he was asleep, so I had to have my timing perfect.
I barely got the plate on the table in time—but it wasn’t good enough. His coffee wasn’t set down before his ass was in the chair. That meant big trouble.
Regan smacked the mug away, sending it flying at my stomach. Scalding liquid splashed over my lap. The plate followed, but I thankfully dodged that one.
Stinging as he grabbed my hair, and he slammed me against the counter. Regan shouted in my face, spit flying disgustingly from his mouth. I slammed my eyes shut.
He emphasized every other word by shoving me harder against the counter, drilling the sharp edge into my spine.
A lot of words were tossed around, words I’d rather not repeat, but they weren’t anything I hadn’t heard before.
With one last firm thrust, my back cracked against the counter and I crumpled to the floor.
Regan continued to mumble insults under his breath, snatching his keys and walking out the door.
My wet clothes clung to me. My back ached and my stomach burned. I tried to keep my composure as I went to my room. I’d let myself cry it out in the shower.
I grabbed a towel, then ducked into the bottom drawer of my dresser. I didn’t hear the front door, nor his usual thundering footsteps down the hall. The next thing I knew, I lurched forward and smashed my head against the handle of the antique drawer.
“Baby, wake up!”
My eyes shot open. I bolted upright in bed, grasping at my throat. I swore I felt hands around my neck again. My chest burned, desperate for oxygen. I jolted, a hand grabbing me—but it didn’t let go. The mattress dipped behind me.
Tears won out in the end, pouring down my cheeks in hot rivers.
I broke down into inconsolable sobs, thrashing against the arms holding me, but the man was that much stronger. The only thing I could do was surrender. My whole body shook. I couldn’t breathe.
Slowly, my lungs remembered how to function. I took in a deep breath, and my heart rate began to slow. When the thundering in my ears subsided, a soft voice whispered in my ear.
André.
He combed through my hair, holding me tight. Trying to focus on my breathing, I worked on bringing myself back down to earth. It was a nightmare—nothing more than a bad dream.
Vision clearing, I took in the room. André’s long legs were covered by expensive trousers. He even had on his Italian leather shoes. The clock on the nightstand read 9:25. “I’m making you late for work,” I said, throat raspy.
“Work can wait; you’re more important.”
I tossed the blanket aside and jumped out of bed, grabbing a stray pair of sweats off the floor.
“Do you want to talk about it?” André asked, getting to his feet.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Will you be okay here by yourself?”
André put his arm around my waist, but I wiggled out of his grasp. I kept my head down to avoid seeing the hurt in his eyes. All he wanted was to hold me. Hell, that’s the only thing I wanted, but my body wouldn’t let it happen.
“I’ll be okay. I promise. I think I just need to be alone.”
Confused, André accepted my request. I allowed a quick goodbye kiss to my cheek, and he left. After that, I locked myself in the bathroom. We had André’s work event that night, and the last thing I wanted to do was dress up and play arm candy.
I spent most of the day sitting there on the cold tile floor. I didn’t have my phone with me, so I stared into space. The only pictures flashing through my mind were from that day.
A neighbor had been making an early morning bottle for her baby. She heard the crashing and banging, and called the police. They didn’t wait for the building manager before kicking in the door.
According to the police reports and medical records, I wasn’t breathing when they found me. I had a pulse, but barely. I was intubated, and immediately sedated in the emergency room. My jaw was broken, along with my nose. One eardrum was ruptured, the other dangerously close.
There was a hairline fracture in one of my lumbar vertebrae, and I’d need extensive physical therapy. I was in intensive care for five days, and regular admission for another two weeks.
I was dehydrated, malnourished, and had multiple vitamin deficiencies. By the end of it all, I was so ready to go home that they discharged me with IV fluids and vitamins to continue there.
With nothing else to do, I did an inventory of all my injuries. My jaw still ached from time to time. I’ll never forget the pain of having to have it wired shut. I couldn’t eat, so I got my nutrition from a feeding tube. One of my ribs was pulverized, and had to be removed.
My right arm had been broken in two places, and my left shoulder dislocated so many times that I taught myself how to fix it.
My eardrum repaired itself, but it took a while for me to be able to hear properly again.
Eventually, my stomach was growling so loudly that it reverberated off the walls. I had to gather up the courage to leave the bathroom.
I had to apologize to André.
I groaned and pulled myself from the floor. He didn’t deserve any of that.
He didn’t deserve me. I was damaged goods. Between the trauma and the mental health problems I suffered as a result, I’d be a lot to handle for anyone.
Turning on the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, shocking my system back to reality.
With a deep breath, I left the bathroom and searched for my phone. I had a couple of missed calls from Dylan, but I knew he was trying to call as little as possible. More calls meant more chances for Regan to be able to trace them. I should have changed my number, but I hadn’t had the chance.
I sighed with relief when I saw André’s name. He’d tried to call, which meant that he didn’t completely hate me.
There was a random text, but it was nothing more than a series of jumbled numbers and letters. I deleted it. There were more important matters at hand.
The line rang, and my heart rate increased. I didn’t know what to say to André. I’d never pushed someone away like that before. I’d always been a clinger, even with Dylan.
“I was hoping you’d call,” he finally said. The roar of tires on asphalt indicated that he was still driving.
I blew out a breath. “I’m really sorry.”
“Baby, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. What can I do?”
I ran a hand through my hair, which was standing up in every direction after I’d fallen asleep while it was wet. “Um, c-could you show me how to style my hair for your work event tonight?”
There was a brief silence. “You still want to go?”
No. “Why wouldn’t I?”
The car dinged as André came to a stop and presumably popped his door open. “I spent the drive coming up with an excuse to spend the night on the couch with my man and Mrs. Deveraux.”
I couldn’t help but smile, heat flooding my face. “Better stop that, Mr. Bigshot. Don’t want your partners thinking you’ve gone soft.”
I heard that deep chuckle through the other end of the phone and my heart melted. Instantly everything was better. “That’s my plan: strike when they least expect it.”
Confident that he wasn’t going to be angry about me pushing him away, I hung up and decided to make it up to him after the event.
I took a quick shower, then busied myself cleaning. after the way André mauled me the night before, we hadn’t cleaned up, which meant that clothes still littered the floor.
I cleared those up, then tackled the mountain of dishes that had piled up over the last few days—handwash, because I still wasn’t used to André’s spaceship dishwasher. Hell, I don’t even think I’d ever lived in a house with one. While I was at it, I deep cleaned the entire kitchen.
André often fussed about my cleaning, saying that he paid someone to do it and that I didn’t have to worry, but I needed to do something.
I couldn’t sit around all day while he was at work, and I’d been cleaning for myself my whole life.
The first few days, I did pull a couple of books from his library, but I couldn’t focus on them for very long.
I’d just thrown the dirty sheets into the wash when the front door opened. “You’ve been cleaning again, haven’t you?” André said, leaning down for a kiss.
“No!” I lied.
With a pointed look, André dropped his laptop bag and wrapped his arms around me, tugging both my hands—which were covered in itchy red spots—from behind my back “You always use the blue spray, which you’re allergic to. How many times do I have to tell you to stop?”
“Until you buy something else or I figure out what to do with my days because I’ve got the worst case of cabin fever ever.”
André moved to a cupboard in the kitchen, taking out a bottle of antihistamines and offering it to me, gracing me with another kiss. “Don’t worry baby, I’m going to take you out tonight and show you off.”
Oh, don’t remind me. I was nervous enough.
André took one of my splotchy hands and led me to his bathroom, where he fumbled through his cabinets for a jar and swept the sickly-sweet goo inside through my hair.
It took him about thirty seconds to transform it from straw to something worthy of a magazine.
That would have taken me hours and multiple hair washes to pull off.
André showered, then picked out a brown leather belt and shoes that he’d bought to go with my suit.
He helped me get dressed, encouraging me along the way with lips against my bare skin.
One to my chest as he buttoned my shirt.
Another to my lower belly when he tugged my pants up, and again with my belt.
One more to my neck as he did up my tie.
By the end of it all, I didn’t feel like myself.
When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my jaw dropped.
I’d gone from some kid plucked straight out of the sticks to the ones I’d seen on TV.
I wore a suit that cost more than a year’s rent.
To top it off, I was about to walk into a high-class event in a five-star hotel.
If it weren’t for being forced to look over my shoulder every five seconds, I might be able to get used to it.
Maybe rediscovering myself wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
I was fastening the cuffs on my jacket when André came out of the bathroom. His shirt was unbuttoned, pants hanging open and his hair glistened. He dramatically clutched his chest, stumbling into the doorframe.
“Knock it off,” I muttered, rolling my eyes—but still blushing like hell.
“You look incredible,” he told me, fastening himself up and sauntering over to me. He leaned in, ghosting his next words across my lips. “Dare I say delectable.”
Our tongues met, briefly, but he pulled back before I could dive in for a deeper taste.
I grumbled, and he smirked at me, securing his watch around his wrist. He grabbed my cologne first, spraying each of my wrists and my neck before doing the same with his own.
“I’ll have to beat people off you with a stick. ”
André fastened his cuffs, and I took a moment to admire him from head to toe.
I thought that the silver suit was my favorite, but the classic black blew that out of the water.
That man gave a whole new meaning to tall, dark, and handsome.
The color complimented his features and made his eyes stand out.
Yet again, I found myself wondering if I’d make it home without throwing him into the backseat of that Aston Martin.
“I think I’m the lucky one tonight,” I whispered, throat tight.
André gave me a once-over and by the time he’d reached my belt, he was biting that bottom lip again and his eyes had turned feral.
“Seriously,” he said, voice nearly a growl. “Watch out for Mitchell. He’s a grabber, and it’ll look bad for business if I end up in a fight.”