Chapter 14
Jiya
The bathroom door explodes inward, the wood of the frame splintering with a sharp crack.
A silhouette stands in the doorway, backlit by the distant, glittering lights of the gala. For a disoriented second, my drugged mind can’t process it. Then his scent hits me.
Calloway.
He stands there, and the composed gallery darling is gone.
Erased. In his place is something primal, his jaw tight, nostrils flared, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
His eyes aren’t just angry; they burn with a cold, glacial fire I’ve never seen before.
He looks like my avenging angel, and the sight is so beautiful it hurts.
One moment, the stranger’s fingers dig into my flesh, the next, Calloway has crossed the room in a blur of movement.
His hands are on me. One arm wraps around my waist, pulling me upright and flush against his side. The other hand settles on my shoulder, shielding me behind the hard wall of his body.
His touch is firm but gentle, which feels right compared to the clammy violation of the other man.
He rounds on the stranger, who fumbles to adjust his pants.
“Touch her again, and I will break every fucking bone in your hands before I rip them from your body,” Calloway says, and his voice is no longer the smooth baritone from the bar. It’s a low, resonant vibration that I feel in my bones, a lethal whisper that promises absolute violence.
“Hey man, she wanted this—”
“Then I’ll make you eat them, one finger at a time,” Calloway continues.
“I’ll start with the pinky and have you chew through the bone.
You’ll taste your own blood, the little bones cracking between your teeth.
And I’ll take photos of every moment. I’ll hang them in galleries across the country, and title the series ‘Predator Becomes Prey.’ The irony will be lost on most viewers, but I’ll know,” Calloway says, his voice calm now.
My heart pounds against my ribs. The detailed threat delivered in such a conversational tone makes my blood run cold, even through the drug’s fog.
The stranger’s face drains of color. He takes a step back, then another.
“You’re a fucking psychopath,” he mumbles as he backs toward the door.
“Guess I am,” Calloway agrees, never breaking eye contact. “Now get the fuck out before I decide the lighting in here is too perfect to waste.”
The man doesn’t need to be told again. He practically runs from the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
The click of the latch echoes in the sudden, deafening silence. The immediate threat is gone, but the air is now thick with a new, more potent danger.
Calloway turns his head, and those burning, glacial eyes land on me. His face swims in front of me, his sharp features blurring at the edges. The harsh bathroom lights cast a halo around his golden hair.
“What was that, Jiya?” he asks, his voice echoing as if he’s speaking through water. “Some kind of game?”
My tongue feels thick, swollen in my mouth. I try to form words, but nothing comes out but a slurred mumble. The drug courses through my veins like a chemical wildfire I started and can no longer control.
I’d measured the dose for him. A man six feet tall with a solid frame. In my smaller body, it’s overwhelming, pulling me under.
“Something’s wrong,” he says when I don’t answer, his cool fingers pressing against my neck, checking my pulse.
I try to focus on his face, but the room tilts and spins. My knees give way. Calloway catches me before I hit the floor.
“I’m going to take you to a hospital,” he says.
The word “hospital” cuts through the haze like a siren. Hospitals mean questions. Blood tests. Police.
“No,” I manage, pushing against his chest with surprising strength. I try to stand straighter, to force a semblance of sobriety. “No hospital. Please. I’m okay. I just need to sleep it off. I promise.”
He studies my face, his expression a mixture of skepticism and concern.
“Please.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore me. Then he relents. “Fine.”
I try to press my lips against his neck, breathing in his scent. He smells of pure sin.
He lifts me into his arms, one behind my knees, the other supporting my back. My head lolls against his chest, my ear pressed against the solid muscle. I can hear his heartbeat. Steady, strong. So unlike my own frantic, racing pulse.
“Hold on,” he murmurs as he carries me out.
His arms are the only solid thing in a spinning world. The cold night air is a sharp slap against my skin, but the fog in my head only thickens. My body is a weightless, disconnected thing, my stomach plummeting with each step he takes, as if falling from a great height in slow motion.
“You’re burning up,” Calloway murmurs, his lips a breath away from my ear.
I turn my face, a clumsy, desperate attempt to catch those lips with mine. “Mmm, I know,” I purr, the sound foreign and feral. “Hot for you.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. A taxi materializes beside us, and I’m being lowered onto cool leather seats. The motion makes my stomach roll.
“Hey, no puking in my car!”
“She won’t,” Calloway says with such authority that I believe him. He slides in next to me, giving the driver my address. “And I’ll pay extra if you get us there fast.”
I sink against Calloway, my head rolling onto his shoulder. My fingers trace patterns up his arm before landing on his chest.
“So pretty,” I mumble, trying to unbutton his shirt. “Let me see you.”
Calloway’s hands capture mine, gentle but firm. “That’s not happening, Jiya.”
I pout at him, trying to climb into his lap. “Why not? I’ve seen how you look at me. You want me.”
The taxi hits a pothole, and I bounce against him, my face landing in the crook of his neck. I want to taste his skin so badly that my tongue darts out to lick the spot below his ear. He tastes of salt and expensive cologne.
“Jesus,” he hisses, pushing me back. His hands find my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length. “Jiya, I think you’ve been drugged.”
I laugh, the sound bubbling up. “I know. I did it.”
“Did what?”
“The drugs.” I tap my nose, missing twice before making contact. “It was an accident.”
His eyebrows draw together in that pretty way I hadn’t noticed before. I want to photograph it, to preserve that expression forever.
“You were going to drug me, weren’t you?” His voice is soft, curious rather than angry.
I press my finger to his lips. “Shhh. Secret.”
His expression shifts. The curiosity vanishes, replaced by a sudden, sharp alarm. His eyes widen, and for the first time, I see a flicker of genuine fear in them.
“What did you use?” he demands, his voice urgent. “Jiya, what was it? You tried to kill me? This could be lethal. We need to go to a hospital. Now.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, a slow, lazy motion. “No hospital.”
“This isn’t a game. You could die.”
I giggle, the sound airy and unconcerned. “I won’t die,” I assure him, patting his cheek. “It’s not that kind of drug. Just makes you...really, really horny.”
Calloway freezes. He stares at me, his face a mask of disbelief as my words sink in. The fear in his eyes morphs into something else. Something darker, more complicated.
The taxi stops. The world outside is a spinning kaleidoscope of streetlights and shadows as he lifts me again, his movements now more deliberate, his expression unreadable.
“Keys?” Calloway asks as we reach my door.
I giggle, patting my pockets before locating them in my clutch. I try to insert it into the lock, but the keyhole keeps moving. Calloway’s hand closes over mine, his warmth steadying my tremor as he guides the key home.
My knees buckle. I lurch sideways, my hand shooting out to brace myself against the wall.
“Bathroom?” Calloway asks, his arm around my waist, the only thing keeping me upright.
I point down the hallway, and he steers me there, flicking on lights as we go. The sudden brightness makes me wince. Inside the bathroom, he lowers me to sit on the toilet.
“We need to get this out of your system,” he says, filling a glass with water. “Drink.”
I take the glass but set it aside, reaching for him instead. My fingers hook into his belt loops, pulling him between my knees. “I’d rather drink you.”
His eyes darken for just a moment before he steps back, retrieving the water. “Drink. Now.”
Something in his tone makes me obey. I gulp the water down, spilling some down my chin. He refills it, and I drink again.
“Good girl,” he says, and warmth floods through me at the praise.
My shirt feels itchy, constricting. I tug at the neckline, trying to pull it over my head. “Help me,” I whine. “Too hot.”
“Keep your clothes on,” Calloway says.
I cross my arms, gather the hem of my shirt in both hands and yank upward. “Need cool shower,” I insist.
Calloway closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, his face is a mask of determination.
“Fine. I’ll help you. But you’re keeping your underwear on, understood?”
I nod, raising my arms. He sighs, then helps me pull the shirt over my head, and next, he assists with my skirt. His touch is clinical, eyes averted. I’m left in my pink lace bra and matching underwear, skin flushed and damp with sweat.
“Beautiful,” I say, catching his reflection in the mirror.
“Yes, you are,” he agrees. “Now sit still.”
I watch as he tests the water temperature, adjusting the knobs until he’s satisfied.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
I try, wobbling. Calloway catches me, steadying me with his hands on my waist. His touch burns through my skin.
“I want you,” I whisper, leaning into him. “Have for so long.”
His jaw clenches. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Do,” I insist, pressing my nearly naked body against him. My hands find the buttons of his shirt again, unfastening one before he stops me.
“Jiya, stop.” His voice is gentle but firm. “You’re not yourself right now.”
I stick my lower lip out in a pout.
He sighs, then guides me under the shower spray, underwear and all. The cool water hits my overheated skin, making me gasp.