Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
STORM
It’s been five weeks since I was found, five weeks of helicopter parents, brother and club.
Five weeks of shutting myself away. I sprawl out on the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn, some candy, and a glass of wine beside me, trying to find something to watch.
“Right, we will be back tomorrow morning. You need anything, call me or your dad,” Mom says as she walks over to the coffee table, placing her knuckle dusters in her bag.
“Jesus, Mom, where are you going that you need Rusty and Dusty? Dad will be with you. No one will try anything,” I point out.
She stands, pushing her silky black hair from her face. Tonight she’s wearing a black halter neck jumpsuit that hugs her curves. Even now at her age she would have men falling at her feet.
She faces me, placing her hands on her hips.
“I’m not worried about anything happening to me.
It’s to protect him,” she says, gesturing to Dad, who is wearing a fitted black shirt with his jeans.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and a couple of the buttons are open, exposing his broad chest and tattoos.
“Woman, I do not need protecting,” he argues.
Mom gives him a look. “Unless you’ve taken to hitting women, then yes, you do.”
“I’d never hurt a fucking woman, you know that!” Dad snaps back.
Mom saunters over to him, smiling as she wraps her arms around his neck.
“I know, you’re a gentleman, and that’s why women want you.
They want what’s mine. I’m just ready to remind them who you belong to,” she states before pressing her lips to his.
He deepens the kiss, his hands pulling her closer.
“Okay!” I wince, looking away. “Just go. Have fun, and Mom, don’t get arrested.” I smirk. They break the kiss, and Mom turns, bending to pick up her bag.
“As long as people keep their hands to themselves, we won’t have a problem.” She walks over, kissing the top of my head, with Dad following behind her.
As they approach the front door, someone knocks. I frown. That can’t be my takeout. It’s not due for another thirty minutes, at least. I get to my feet when I hear Mom and Dad talking. As I approach the front door, my feet freeze to the spot, my eyes colliding with Drix.
“Drix is staying over tonight,” Dad states. I snap my gaze to him, my mouth dropping open, ready to protest, but he holds up his hand, stopping me. “No arguments. It’s for my assurance. I want someone here I can trust to look out for you.”
“Then call Enzo,” I counter.
“Enzo is out,” he says.
I sigh. “Well, I’m sure Drix doesn’t want to spend the night babysitting me. I’m sure he has better plans. Can’t you just put a prospect on the door?” I argue.
“You think I would trust a prospect to protect and watch over you? My princess? No. Hendrix is here. Now stop your bitching and suck it up,” he orders firmly, closing the distance as he presses a firm kiss on my temple before forcing me to look at him.
“For me, please don’t fight me on this,” he says in a softer tone; a tone that pulls on my heartstrings.
Knowing he needs the assurance that I’m okay, I give a small nod in agreement.
He smiles, kissing my temple again. “Thank you.” He winks before turning back to Mom, taking her hand in his.
“We will be back around midday tomorrow. Don’t burn the fucking house down,” he teases, like I’m an incompetent teen.
“Dad, I’m twenty-four!” I yell after him, just as the front door shuts, leaving me and Drix standing there in awkward silence.
I shift on my feet, looking down at the ground.
“Nice jammies,” he quips.
I look down at my Garfield tank top and shorts before looking at him.
I sigh and turn on my heel, leaving him standing there and returning to the comfort of the couch.
Angrily eating some popcorn, I hear him follow me, and the couch dips beside me.
He reaches over and snatches some. I glare at him. “Hey!” I protest.
He grins that cocky, arrogant grin and winks. “Easy, you got enough to share.”
I huff. “You can go sit in the den if you want. I don’t need you to watch over my every move.”
He shrugs, popping another piece of popcorn in his mouth. “Nah, I’m good here. So, what are we going to watch?” he asks, gesturing to the TV with the menu still up.
“I don’t know yet. I was searching for one,” I mutter.
His rich blue eyes slide to mine; they flicker over my face, at the bruises that were slowly fading and the cut on my lip that would leave a scar.
I swiftly look away, letting my hair drape, covering his view of my face.
I try curling into myself more, but my body still protests in some pain. It’s better but not fully healed.
The gate intercom rings, and I jump. Drix shifts.
“Easy,” he says softly, getting to his feet.
He reaches inside his waistband, holding his gun as he slowly walks over to the intercom.
He looks at the camera. “You order takeout?” he asks.
I stare down at my hands, willing my stupid jumpy erratic heart to calm.
“Storm?” Drix calls my name, softer, full of concern.
“Er, yeah, I did,” I answer, still keeping my eyes cast down. My cheeks heat from how fucking pathetic I feel. So weak. I hate myself for feeling this way.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t realise Drix is back with a bag of hot Chinese takeout. “You stoned or something?” he quips.
I turn my attention to him. “No, I’m not!” I snap.
“Just wondered why you have enough food here to survive an apocalypse.” He smirks.
“Are you saying I’m fat for having this much food?” I counter.
His lips twitch again, his eyes sparking with amusement as he shakes his head back and forth.
“I would never be so fucking stupid to ever call a woman fat.” He shrugs.
“Plus, I think all women are beautiful,” he says as he reaches into the bag, pulling out the cartons of food, placing them on the coffee table before grabbing hold of it and dragging it closer to us.
“I’m going to get a beer,” he says, standing.
My eyes follow his retreating back before looking at the amount of food I ordered. He had a point. I had ordered all of my favourite things, which was a lot. I shrug and open a carton of chow mein and begin eating.
He comes back, not saying a word, and sits beside me. After grabbing himself a carton, he starts eating, or at least attempts to eat with the chopsticks. Every time he manages to get a vegetable or a piece of chicken, he drops it again. I can’t help it. I start laughing.
“You can’t use chopsticks?” I ask through my laughter.
He smiles. “No. Are you shaming me for it?” he asks teasingly.
I shake my head no, just as he tries to pick up another piece of chicken, only for it to ping across the coffee table. I throw my head back and roar with laughter, watching this tattooed tough biker fumble with a measly pair of chopsticks.
“Damn, think I will just grab a fork from the kitchen.” He chuckles, walking away.
The hours pass, and I decided to torture him with a Bridget Jones marathon. He didn’t protest or complain once. Just stayed sat relaxed beside me, even laughing at certain parts of the films.
A loud, long yawn escapes me, and Drix gets the blanket off the back of the couch and places a pillow on his lap, gesturing for me to lie down. I pause, looking from him to the pillow.
“Just fucking lie down. Get out of your head. You are safe with me, you know this,” he says firmly. I nod, knowing he’s right, and force myself to lie down, my body stiff and tense. His fingers trail lightly through my hair. I flinch and he pauses. “Just relax. It’s just me, BB,” he assures me.
I close my eyes, breathing in his scent, reminding my stupid mind that he’s not Zeke.
I’m safe, and I have no reason to be scared.
No reason to feel fear with him. I feel my body slowly relax muscle by muscle.
As his fingers stroke through my hair, my eyes become heavier and heavier as I drift off to sleep.
I crawl, my fingers gripping on the rug as I try so desperately to get away, to drag myself out of this room, but it’s no use.
As his foot slams down on my body, pain explodes, and I cry out, instinctively curling my body in on itself, trying to protect myself.
The next blow comes, his fist this time, slamming into the side of my cheek as he looms over me, snarling hatred comments.
Spital forms at the corners of his mouth like a rabid animal, his gaze dark; so dark he almost looks unhuman.
A monster; nothing like the man I love. The room shifts as if I’m under water, the sound of his voice muffled. I beg, I cry, I plead.
“Please, please stop. Please!” He doesn’t. He just hits me again and again until I can no longer cry.
“Storm,” a deep voice calls out, breaking through, surrounding me.
I look around, but I can’t see who is calling me.
Another blow hits, and I cry out again, but my cries are weaker.
Nothing more than a whimper. “Storm!” The voice is louder.
“Storm!” Again and again my name is called.
An echo, a chant, drawing me in over and over.
My eyes spring open, gasping for air. Strong arms are holding me, and I fight, trying to get them off me. “Storm, BB. Shhh.”
“Drix?” I rasp, my throat like razor blades. He holds me in his arms, my head on his chest, cradling me, stroking my hair. A dream, not a nightmare, locked in and enduring that hell all over again. No escaping him, not even in sleep. My body trembles, shaking.
“Shit, Storm,” Drix murmurs. I feel him shift, draping a blanket around us, still holding me tight. The rhythmic beat of his heart soothes me, his scent a reminder I’m safe. He has me. He presses a kiss to the top of my head.
Lifting my head, I look up into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, my bottom lip trembling. I never wanted him to see me like this.
He lightly strokes his coarse thumb in soothing circles across my cheek. I close my eyes, briefly letting the tears fall. “No, Storm. No more. No more tears for that son of a bitch,” he urges as he swipes them away.
I open my tear-brimmed eyes, looking up at him. “They’re not for him. They’re for me.”
He swallows, his jaw ticking. “Then that stops, too. No more feeling sorry for yourself, no more allowing what happened to mould how you are and what you feel. You are the strongest woman I know. You need to use all your strength to find her again. Fight it, fight the memory of him. He’s gone, and as soon as we find him, he’s dead,” he says through gritted teeth.
“No one. I mean no one will ever fucking hurt you again. Do you understand me?” he growls with such anger and determination.
I nod, blinking back the remainder of my tears.
He presses his lips to my temple, lingering for a moment, before pulling me close to him again, resting my chest in the crook of his neck.
I sigh, breathing him in as his fingers deliberately stroke up and down my back.
“Good girl. You are a fighter, a fucking warrior. We just need to remind you of that.”
We remain in silence, and soon I fall back into a dreamless sleep. No nightmares. Just beautiful blissful sleep.