Chapter 15 #2
"I'm going to fuck you good, Calliope,” he continued. “But you made me wait three days. So I’m gonna make you wait just a little. I’m going to make you go on a walk with me.” He paused, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “I may make you beg.”
Again, in theory, such a statement should’ve filled me with revulsion. Not bone-clenching need. Every cell in my body swelled at the thought of begging Elliot.
I swallowed thickly, keeping up with him as he walked us through what I assumed was his path through the woods. His property spanned about an acre. The rest of it was state land, some nature preserve or another.
I’d already done my due diligence on Elliot.
I knew about the mortgages he had on this place, the debt he’d accrued to cover Clara’s medical bills, to keep their fishing and restaurant businesses afloat.
Elliot was barely making ends meet. He was struggling.
Yet there hadn’t been even a crease of worry between his brows as long as I’d known him.
“How is she?” I blurted. “Clara?”
If Elliot thought it was odd for me to be asking about his niece when we’d been discussing me begging him to fuck me moments ago, he didn’t show it.
His expression switched back to tender, loving uncle mode. I liked that almost as much as the hungry Dom.
“She’s great.” The palpable weight on his shoulders the last time we’d spoken about her was gone.
“More than great. Healthy. Her blood cell count is recovering faster than the doctors had hoped, which hopefully means she’ll be discharged from the hospital, back home and to some semblance of normalcy soon.
” He side-eyed me. “She’s been asking about when you’re coming over next. You made an impression.”
“I tend to do that,” I shrugged cockily.
He didn’t smile. “Yes, you do,” he uttered seriously.
I tripped on something underfoot, being caught unaware by the seriousness of his tone. Elliot didn’t miss a beat as he took my weight, stopping me from falling.
I struggled to even my breathing. Such a simple thing, him catching me without a second thought, like it was natural. I’d never experienced a relationship where I knew I’d be caught before I could fall. Never let anyone think I was capable of falling.
“We’ll have dinner with them when she’s cleared for visitors,” he continued.
“We will, will we?” I asked, voice sharp.
“You’re in charge of when I come, not who I have dinner with.
” I didn’t even bother addressing the use of the royal we, since it equally scared the shit out of me and pleased me.
Nor did I admit that I wanted to have dinner with Clara, to lay eyes on her and bask in the glow of knowing she was healthy, recovering. It was a balm to my ruined soul.
“You want to say no to dinner with Clara?” His hand tightened around mine.
“Of course, I won’t.” My teeth found my lip as I navigated the terrain, both physically and emotionally. “I’m just saying no to the concept of you monopolizing my time.”
Elliot stopped us abruptly, turning to face me.
“Me planning a dinner with my woman and my family isn’t me monopolizing your time.
” There was no hint of teasing on his face.
“It’s me ensuring that you understand what I’m doing.
You’re in my life, Calliope. Not half in, half out.
You’re gonna be in my bed, naked, begging me for my cock.
You’re gonna eat my food. Sit at a table with my family. Sleep next to me. That’s happening.”
I sucked in air. Or attempted to. It felt as if I were suffocating on his words. So plain yet so determined.
I liked that he controlled sex. But this was something else. This was controlling the whole direction of my life. Who I was.
Acting like I was his woman.
The title didn’t feel derogatory or like it took something from me.
It gave me something… Something I wasn’t worthy of.
His heart.
Going there had been a mistake. A huge mistake. I hadn’t thought through all of the ramifications, hadn’t factored in that Elliot wasn’t afraid of commitment. Commitment to me.
Before I could say anything, a low pop sounded. Then another. Then I felt a sharp pain in my arm, like a bee stung me. I was not proud of it, but I’d been rendered so speechless that I didn’t recognize the gunshots nor the bullet entering my flesh.
Elliot did.
His eyes went wide, then he tackled me to the ground, covering me with his body.
More pops…
I tasted dirt and blood in my mouth as my cheek pressed against fallen leaves. My arm burned. I calmly catalogued all of these things in my mind.
I struggled to think of a game plan. I was in unfamiliar territory, getting shot at by someone who had an obvious advantage.
And as much as I was confident in dangerous situations, most of those were in boardrooms wearing designer armor, not face down in the dirt wearing fucking Lululemon while facing actual bullets.
“Calliope?” Elliot’s voice was urgent and worried.
“Alive,” I ground out, not letting the panic I felt seep into my voice. “Is it too much to ask that you be armed for your little nature walks?”
“Haven’t needed to be before now,” he said tightly.
Another pop then dirt kicked up to the left of us. Close. Far too close. My terror kicked in at the thought of one of those bullets hitting Elliot. His body was draped over mine, ensuring that I would not get shot.
“We can’t stay here.” I struggled from under him.
He had at least fifty pounds on me and was exerting his strength to keep me down. “I don’t disagree, but that’s making you vulnerable when you’re already hit.” His eyes were darting around the dense woods, likely looking for the attacker.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I hissed. “You’re not going to absorb the bullets .”
A split second. That was all it took. Elliot didn’t freeze under pressure. He made decisions. And in a split second, he was up, and we were running through the woods.
Or he was, with me in his arms.
“Put me down!” I demanded. “This is far too dramatic.” I didn’t struggle, because that could’ve caused him to trip, and we didn’t need him tripping in the midst of that shitshow.
Elliot didn’t look down, surprisingly stoic despite being under gunfire, the curve of his jaw rock-solid.
“We’re being shot at. I’d say dramatic is appropriate.” He was barely breathing heavily as he ran faster than I thought he’d be able to with me in his arms.
Another pop sounded, bark shattering from a tree somewhere nearby.
We were heading back in the direction of his house.
“Please tell me you’re a believer in the second amendment,” I said.
“You mean the law that was designed in a time when citizens might’ve been called to take up arms against tyrannical rules and people were being owned as property?” he replied, still somehow not at all breathless.
“As much as I’m fucking glad you’re a liberal, supporting women’s rights and human rights that aren’t old white men, I kind of wish you had a little bit of toxicity in you,” I bit out. “Then you’d own a gun. I own a gun.”
I didn’t tell him I owned multiple weapons. Didn’t seem like the time for it.
Focused, he still hadn’t peered down at me. Somehow, he was running through the woods and evading gunshots while having an entirely inappropriate conversation with me. And barely breaking a sweat.
“I’m not surprised you own a gun,” he replied.
“If only I had the sense to come to this interaction armed,” I muttered, noting that the gunfire had slowed down.
How many shots was it? Seven? Likely, they were out of ammo.
Therefore, probably using a handgun. If they were using a shotgun, there’d be more pauses while they reloaded, and I’d be without a large chunk of my arm instead of what I figured was just a graze.
Even just a graze from a bullet hurt like hell. I focused on the pain to stay present, the firm angle of Elliot’s jaw, the determined look in his eye, and the lack of bullets that had landed in his body.
When we made it back to the house, he sprinted through the door, slamming it closed behind us before crouching down low in the living room.
No windows shattered, and no shrill gunshots sounded as Elliot jostled me in his arms, not letting me go as he called 911.
I listened to him give a calm rundown of the situation while his eyes darted to the windows and doors, as if he was expecting someone wielding a gun to burst in at any second.
I tried to slow down my erratic breathing.
My own body was in fight-or-flight mode, heart thundering and pissed that I didn’t have any kind of weapon myself.
Though I’d been aware of my situation when I moved here, I hadn’t thought it was necessary to travel around town armed.
That would do nothing but alert my already suspicious brother.
I’d operated under the assumption that the organization I was tangled with was not overt or stupid enough to come at me with obvious violence.
In a town as small as Jupiter, doing so would cause a splash, elicit attention.
Those people liked to fly under the radar.
Yet it was obvious that I had been naive. Or they were losing their patience.
It was very possible we could die here, if the shooter was really determined or if there was more than one.
Chills raced down my spine, thinking about whether the shooter was there for me. If yes, it would likely be a highly trained, motivated killer or team of killers with ties to organized crime.
It might’ve even been Jasper.
No… If he was tasked with killing me, he wouldn’t do it like that. Nor would he miss. Though I’d resolutely believed up until recently that Jasper would never be involved in anything that caused me harm.
Right then, I wasn’t so sure.
“You need to go into the closet and lock the door.” Elliot ripped his eyes away from the various entry points to look at me, then my arm, which was steadily dripping blood on the rug. Not enough to be concerned about. Enough to have to buy a new rug, though.
He didn’t skip a beat, ripping his sweater. He then tore at his tee underneath to grab a scrap of fabric, tying it around my upper arm with practiced ease and confidence.
I didn’t wince at the agony I felt as he tightened the makeshift bandage to presumably staunch the flow of blood.
“Don’t have time to get to the first aid kit right now,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You get in the closet.”
“I’m not going to hide in the fucking closet while you stay out here and try to take on an armed offender with what, your boyish charm?
” I knew snapping at him was unfair given the circumstances, but I had to do something to cover the absolute terror overwhelming me at the thought of something happening to Elliot because of me.
His family just managed to breathe again; they were going to be happy. I was not going to be the cause of them suffering again.
Elliot’s face was a mask of fury as an air of menace overcame his whole being, a violence that I didn’t think he was capable of embodying.
“If you’re here, I’ll be worrying about something happening to you instead of taking apart the fucker who made you bleed with my bare hands.” His nostrils flared. “Go. To. The. Fucking. Closet.”
His command was filled with desperation and rage. I almost obeyed him out of fear. Fear for Elliot, who I hadn’t thought I’d have the occasion to be afraid of. Yet he was fearsome then.
Instead, I jutted up my chin. “No. If this is going to be my end, I’ll not be doing it hiding in a closet. I’ll be doing it fighting for you.”
I struggled out of his grip. Doing so forcibly was the only way he’d let me go, yet I was rewarded with a stabbing pain radiating through my arm as I did so.
Elliot almost ground his teeth to dust, his jaw visibly tightening while watching me. I knew he was considering making me go bodily, he was that desperate. Angry. Dangerous. I could feel it radiating from him, a fierceness I hadn’t fathomed him capable of.
“Fuck!” His roar was so loud and uncontrolled, I flinched.
Me.
I hadn’t even flinched when I’d gotten shot, yet doing so when the most even-keeled person I’d encountered had an outburst of pure fury and frustration.
He crossed the distance between us then pushed me behind him, as if he wanted to fuse me there.
“You’re behind me at all times,” he ordered, voice gruff, eyes trained on the front door.
“I don’t cower behind men I care about, using them as a human shield.” I moved to stand at his side. “I’m beside you at all times.”
Again, he risked a glance at me, his stormy eyes blazing with anger. But I didn’t waver. I couldn’t.
The argument between us served as a comfortable distraction from the reality of us being pursued by an armed offender with no weapon of our own. No defenses. My saliva turned to ash in my mouth as I waited for someone to burst through the door. Waited for death.
But it didn’t come.
After a very long and tense waiting period that could’ve been a handful of minutes or hours, sirens sounded. Low at first then louder as they raced down Elliot’s drive. I saw his body relax from my periphery.
But not entirely. Not until the solid knock at the door signified that help was there. He didn’t look at me, didn’t hug me in relief. Didn’t speak to me at all. He took long, purposeful strides to the door, answering it with a calm tenor before directing the paramedics to me.
Then he was lost in the fray of bodies swarming the small space, and I was manhandled by well-meaning professionals when all I wanted was the safety of Elliot’s arms.
But I gritted my teeth against instinct, thankful that he was alive and cognizant that it was probably in his best interest to stay far from me. Maybe that’s what he’d realized—that getting shot at wasn’t worth great sex with an abrasive woman.
Good. That was good.
Then why did the mere thought hurt more than being grazed by a bullet?