Chapter 15 #3
I straighten, alarm rushing through me at that calculated gesture. He watches me, his expression knowing and cocky, and the alarm gets stronger.
“Hi,” I finally say, my voice husky. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know.”
I straighten up, drying my hands on a towel from a basket sitting on the counter. Then I step towards him, taking care to keep out of arm’s reach. “Do you mind opening the door?” I say quietly.
“Why?”
“Because I want to leave.”
My heart races, and it’s hard to draw a breath. When he shakes his head, my mouth goes dry with fear. There’s something in his eyes…
“I don’t think so,” he says. “I want to talk to you, Wes.”
I lick my lips nervously, immediately wishing I hadn’t when his eyes follow the gesture and flare hot. “Well, we can talk outside.”
“I think not.” He steps forward and smirks when I take an instinctive step back and bump into the sink. “Nowhere to go?” he says softly, and moves closer. I shrink away, feeling the edge of the porcelain press painfully into my hip.
“What are you doing ?” I croak, putting my hands up and trying to shove him back. He doesn’t move. He’s so big it’s like trying to move a brick wall. Nausea surges when I feel his big belly move against me. His erection is thick, and he deliberately gives his hips a heavy thrust.
“Get the fuck off me.” I shove him again. “Have you lost your fucking mind? I’m with someone.”
“With Cormac?” He laughs. “ That cold bastard.”
“Let me go.”
“I don’t think so. I watched him tonight.
Moving around like he owns the fucking world.
Did you know he cancelled my contract with him?
That was worth hundreds of thousands of pounds to me.
Did he care? Did he give a fuck? He just stared at me like I was shit on his shoes. What am I supposed to do now, eh?”
I stare at him. “I’m sorry you lost the contract but that’s got nothing to do with me.”
“On the contrary, sweetheart. It’s got everything to do with you because I’m going to make him feel as powerless as he did to me. Let’s see how the arrogant cunt likes it when I break his toys.”
I gasp as his mouth descends on mine. His lips are fleshy, and his hands sweaty as he takes my face, holding it immobile.
The power in those hands feels like he could crush me, but I struggle against him, nausea knocking the back of my throat as he forces his tongue into my mouth.
I bite down instinctively, and he grunts in pain.
“Little bastard ,” he says.
He backhands me. My head hits the mirror and sparks fill my vision.
The pain is shocking and sudden. He takes advantage of my disorientation and shoves away my suit jacket, those thick fingers finding my belt and the waistband of my trousers.
Fabric tears as I renew my struggles. But he’s made out of fucking bricks, and I can’t get him off me.
His breathing is heavy and fast, and his face is full of excitement.
“Struggle,” he says hoarsely. “I want him to know you struggled."
“Get off me,” I cry out, still struggling, trying to get my knee up between his legs.
With a grunt, he rips my shirt open and twists my nipple.
I shout in pain, and he presses his advantage again, using his weight to keep me still as he tugs on my zip and shoves down my trousers.
I twist my head, looking for something to bite, somewhere to spit.
He only laughs and shoves my head against the mirror.
I writhe, but my movements are beginning to feel sluggish. I can’t believe he’s doing this. I can’t believe this is happening to me.
When he lifts his head to grin at me, I shove the heel of my palm into his face. He grunts in pain, and I rake my nails down his cheek.
“Fucking little bitch!” He punches me. The blow snaps my neck back, and I’m stunned by a fresh round of blinding pain.
For a moment, I don’t register the sound at the door.
I glance up, dazed. Ian spins round with an angry bellow.
There’s a tremendous crash as wood splinters around the lock.
There’s another battering smash, and the door flies open.
People stand in the corridor. I register staring faces and hear startled cries.
Then Mac flies into the room, his face frantic, his hair standing up. He takes in the scene in one lightning glance, and sheer rage propels him forward.
“Mac,” I croak.
“Get off him,” he shouts, his voice thick and scary. “Get the fuck off him.”
Within two steps, he’s on Ian, and the big man raises a defensive arm, but not before Mac’s fist slams into his face. Ian outweighs him, but he’s no match for Mac’s rage, and they fall to the floor with Mac on top. Mac’s arm reels back and then his fist connects with Ian’s head again and again.
The room fills with sickening grunts, and I try to gather my shirt together, and pull up my zip. My hands are shaking so badly I can’t manage much.
Julian appears. “Let me help you,” he says, taking my hands and pulling me out of the way of the men. “ Fox !” he snaps at the man beside him. “Get Mac off Ian before he kills him.”
Fox enters the fray and manages, with the help of a couple of other men, to pull Ian and Mac apart. Now the adrenaline is leaving me I feel weak and trembly as if I have no energy left.
Julian steps away, I think to wet a towel in the nearby sink. I’m dizzy from pain and the noise and so many people moving around me. Someone else approaches me and I startle. It’s Brandon.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
I nod, staring down at my torn shirt. He reaches to help me with a broken button, and I notice a scar on his wrist. It’s thick and faintly pink and obviously from a deep wound. He straightens quickly and steps back.
Julian hands me the damp towel and moves to the door which is currently hanging off its frame. “Show’s over,” he snaps at the onlookers. “Go and do something useful for once.”
Mac appears before me, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Mac,” I croak. I swallow, shocked by how hoarse my voice is.
“Wes,” he breathes. “Sweetheart. Are you alright?”
Mac’s hands are shaking, his knuckles grazed, and instinctively, I move into him, feeling his arms band instantly tight around me.
The grip might be too much in my current state, but in this moment, it’s perfect.
It seems to shut out the world and encase me in silence.
His heart beats fast against my cheek, and I feel his hands on my skin through the ripped shirt. They’re impossibly gentle.
I look past him to see Fox hauling Ian to his feet. It isn’t gentle and he slams him against the wall. Ian looks at me, a sneer on his bloodied face, and I flinch back into Mac’s arms. I’m sure I’m behaving like a baby at the moment, but I don’t care.
Mac stiffens. “Don’t look at him,” he snarls at Ian. “You don’t even see him.”
“Mr Harris is coming with me,” Fox says in an ice-cold voice. “We’re going to have a little chat.” He nods at Julian. “Go and get the doctor, cara .”
Cara ?
Julian looks as discomposed as I’ve ever seen him, his shirt dishevelled and his hair wild, but he nods at Fox and heads out of the room.
I bury my face in Mac’s chest. “It’s okay,” he whispers over and over. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
My hold on him tightens when there’s sudden movement from my right. I relax a little as I see Brandon. He’s odd, but not about to attack me, as far as I can tell.
Mac’s body goes still. “Brandon?” he says. “What are you doing here?” His arms pull me closer.
“I wanted to see if Wes was okay,” Brandon says softly.
A few seconds of silence pass, and I feel tension thrum through Mac’s chest. He exhales deeply and I wonder what he’s thinking as he stands looking at the beautiful man who used to be his lover.
If I didn’t literally feel beaten and exhausted, I’d probably be devastated that I’m witnessing this odd moment of silent communication between them.
But right now, there’s only the pain and burn of my external bruises and my mind yearning to make it all go away.
Finally, Mac says, “Well, thank you.”
It’s an obvious dismissal, and through bleary eyes I see Brandon nod. He gives me a final glance and then turns to leave the room.
Mac steps back from me slightly, just enough so he can look down into my face. He cups my cheek so gently it’s like a butterfly alighting on my skin. “Can I see?” he says hoarsely.
I shake my head, pressing into his chest again.
With a deep sigh, he kisses my hair. “Just for a little while longer,” he says almost as if to himself.
I startle nervously as someone steps into the room, but he shushes me, stroking my hair back. “It’s just the doctor. Can you let him look at you? Please, Wes.”
I hear both fear and urgency in his voice, so I nod and pull back.
Mac’s face is leached of colour, his eyes turbulent, but his smile is so gentle. “Good boy.”
He strides over to speak to the doctor, and they have a muttered conversation that I can’t hear. It doesn’t bother me, and I keep my eyes on Mac’s broad shoulders and solid presence. It’s the only thing stopping me from sliding away.
The doctor approaches me. He’s middle-aged with thinning brown hair but kind eyes. “Let’s have a look at you, Wes.” He glances at Mac. “Get a chair so I can sit him down.”
“Alright.” Mac gives my hand a lingering squeeze before leaving, as if he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight.
He’s back quickly, and I slide into the chair gratefully. My legs are trembling, and I shiver suddenly. “I’m cold,” I whisper.
The next second, I’m enveloped in fabric that smells of Mac, and I realise he’s given me his jacket. He tucks it around me as tenderly as a mother with a child, and I snuggle gratefully into the warmth.
“Okay, let’s see you,” the doctor says.