4. Maddison
Maddison
These guys fit right in, though, while I sit here and offer quiet chuckles to their jokes and bat my lashes at their compliments, which seem to ooze out tonight.
Conrad has mentioned how good my black dress looks and obviously feels compelled to touch it, as his hand keeps finding its way onto my thigh.
Malcolm hasn’t shied away either, brazenly commenting on how well I fill it out…in front of my father, who only laughs and throws back amber liquid. My smile falters at that one, until his identical hazel eyes flicked to mine, hardening to stone.
So I fix it, pulling my lips into something pleasant as Conrad continues to palm my flesh and Malcolm’s polished shoe connects with my ankle, slowly sliding up.
Bringing my wineglass to my lips, I take a big sip, trying to drown out the overpowering scent of sweet sandalwood.
The expensive sprays clogging my nose and making me dizzy.
Not to mention the hairspray scent wafting off Conrad.
The combination makes my stomach turn; the dim room oozing with overpriced scents and suits.
“You know,” Malcolm drawls, swirling his scotch in his glass as if he isn’t just a raging alcoholic.
“I’ve always said winning over the public is just like winning over a woman.
Give her some attention, whisper some sweet things to her, and it will reward you.
” He winks at me, tapping my foot with his again under the table.
Conrad barks out a raucous laugh that makes the server glance over to us, though only for a second. Nobody lingers too much in a place like this.
“I’d say you're right,” Conrad adds, his voice too loud, too smug. His hand squeezes my thigh again like punctuation. “Though sometimes, you don’t need to give much attention at all. Some things are just begging for it.”
My eyes flick to my father’s, his own mask in place.
The one where he finds his clients and business partners absolutely hilarious and their behaviour adequate.
They don’t realise that he doesn’t have the capacity to like people, that every laugh, every clink of his scotch glass against theirs is a strategic plan.
A plan where he always comes out on top.
The people around him are just too stupid and egotistical to realise.
I don’t even bother searching his face for help or remorse, because I know I won’t find it.
As far as he is concerned, it is my duty to take whatever these men want to give me, as well as anyone else he works with.
And that thought doesn’t scare me; in fact, I don’t feel anything as Conrad slides his hand even higher, gathering the material of my dress under his palm.
My phone's chiming distracts me from the uninspiring conversation happening in front of me.
Unknown: Angel, I’m going to need you to leave that bar right now.
My brow furrows as I read and reread the words on my phone.
It’s the same number from earlier, and it makes my stomach turn.
I was confused when I received his first text, the one where he told me he knew my name, but now I’m nervous.
A guy like that knowing anything about me, let alone how to contact me, is not what I need.
I’m confused and immediately frustrated, imagining that blue eyed man standing in front of me, telling me what to do.
My nails pick at the skin on my fingers, as all other voices fade out.
I know I should block him, but colour me intrigued…or just stupid.
I type back.
Maddison: Who are you to tell me what to do?
Oh yeah, stupid is a great word to describe me.
I blame this monotonous conversation that I swear I’ve heard at least a thousand times. Welcome to the corporate world. It’s great here.
Unknown: Who am I?
Unknown: Oh, my sweet, stupid Angel.
My teeth clench, and I look up, feeling eyes on my face. My fathers. He narrows his eyes, assessing my reaction, and I school my features back to neutral. I didn’t realise I was scowling at my phone.
“Well, I assure you, Malcolm, my lovely daughter will do whatever she needs to make sure the public see only the best,” my father says curtly, his eyes locked on mine.
While Conrad’s hand continues to grip my thigh, Malcolm's joins in, sliding his hand on my other leg, and I find myself slipping to that quiet place. The one where my breaths slow and my body feels tingly, the hands gripping at me a distant sensation.
I see where tonight is going, one way or another, and would rather get it done sooner rather than later. Exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders, and it’s getting late. Somehow these meetings run for hours.
Malcolm’s eyes travel up and down my body, obviously not satisfied from our meeting not even a week ago. The one that sent me to a criminal establishment that I nearly didn’t walk out of.
Unknown: Leave the bar right now, as well as those assholes touching you, before I show you who I really am.
The text brings me right back into my body, and I curse him in my mind. Until the words sink in. My head swivels over both shoulders, searching for the savage man. But I don’t see him…So how can he see me?
And why?
It should be easy to spot the dark-haired man dressed in leather and combat boots in a sea of suits and clean skin. I feel my pulse quicken, ever so slightly, and I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth, chewing nervously.
I know my father is watching my untoward reaction, but I can’t seem to rein it in, knowing he is here, somewhere, watching me.
I slip my phone into my purse, trying to ignore the threat, and simultaneously end this dinner. Thankfully, I don’t have to try too hard.
Malcolm scowls at his phone, shaking his head. “The old ball and chain is busting my ass about being out so late, so soon after the incident,” he grunts, displeasure written all over his face. That poor woman.
Conrad chuckles, his lips curving into a smirk. “Who would have thought, being a senator doesn’t save you from the whip.”
They laugh and shake hands, and before I know it, my father is walking Malcolm out, leaving only one more to go.
“Well, I better get going too,” I murmur, standing from my chair and effectively dislodging his hand from my leg.
My hands smooth down the soft silk, rumpled from where his sweaty hand gripped my thigh.
“Otherwise, work tomorrow is going to be awfully painful,” I chuckle, giving him my nicest smile.
But the look in his eyes tells me that excuse isn’t going to work. He stands, towering over me, stepping in close. His scent swarms around me, even stronger now, clogging my nose. It’s sickening.
I find my mind wandering into my memories. Of the scent of cigarettes and wind mixed with scotch and leather.
“I don’t think so, Miss Maddison,” he mutters. “I think... I’m sick of you being a little cock tease and it’s about time you did something about it.” His hand comes up my waist, squeezing tight, before he leads me through the restaurant and out the back exit.
Of course, just existing in the workplace as a girl makes me a cock tease, but I’ve seen this coming for a while. My feet feel heavy as he leads me through the restaurant with a hand on the small of my back.
It’s busy tonight, yet no one bats an eye when he pushes the emergency exit open and we step out into a dark alleyway behind the building. Bags of rubbish and broken glass litter the cold, damp concrete.
The door clicks shut, taking with it the sophisticated chatter and replacing it with the ticking of red light and the sounds of cars whirring past. The sudden stench of mildew is actually welcomed, drowning out the cloying scent of cologne that follows me everywhere I go.
It doesn’t take long before I’m pushed to the ground, knees landing in the muck.
I barely notice the feel of grime on my bare legs or the drunk passerby's staggering past the opening of the walkway. Barely acknowledge the fact his cock is out in his hands, and my face is being shoved towards the hardening length.
Cold seeps through me, sharp enough that my body flinches even when my mind doesn’t.
I don’t fight the hand forcing my head forward. My mind folds in on itself, retreating somewhere softer, somewhere this can’t reach. While my body remains here. Stuck in an alleyway.
My mouth opens on instinct, a moan slipping out of me even though I feel nothing. I’ve learnt that it ends quicker if I add a few salacious sounds and act like their dick in my mouth is the most euphoric feeling I’ve experienced.
“Yeah, suck that dick,” Conrad grunts, his hands coming around to grip my hair, pulling my face over his erection. “You and your pouty little mouth, walking around the office begging to be filled.”
I hum around him, his hips thrusting forward, hitting my gag reflex.
The cold bricks dig into my knees, the stink of rot and stale beer seeping into my lungs. His grunts and breaths seem to echo over the sound of the city, and I’m cursing another man for making me be present for this moment.
I’m nothing if not a professional at zoning out and letting my mind take a siesta while my body does the work. But those texts, that he could be watching right now…the threat. It has my mind smack bam in the moment, no matter how much it tries to wiggle out of my skull.
A hum vibrates through me, starting in my knees where they scrape against the damp ground, and slowly builds. I feel it in my chest, the roar of an engine coming close, the sound weighty and powerful.
It grows with every heartbeat, low and relentless. The approaching engine sounds less like a car and something much, much more powerful. Louder. Closer.
Of course, Conrad notices nothing other than his dick in my mouth, his grip on my hair still painfully tight. But I do. I hear it and body flares awake.
The rumble growls until every nerve in my body is strung so tight that when the crack finally hits the air, my whole body jerks.
The sound reverberates through me. Echoing inside my head.
I’m thrown backwards by Conrad, his hands in my hair instantly loosening as he shoves me away. My palms hit the ground with a thwack, glass embedding into the skin. My head feels like it split in half, the sound echoing in my ears.
What the?
The gunshot seems to echo, ringing in the small space as dust from the bricks flutters down.
“What the fuck!” Conrad stumbles back, tripping over a crate as the dust settles from the fresh bullet hole in the brick just inches above his head.
His breath comes out in frantic, choppy bursts, and for the first time all night, he looks small.
Pathetic. “What the... Who...” He’s scrambling, eyes bulging as if expecting a monster to lunge from the shadows.
Maybe he should.
He points a trembling finger at me, fury and terror blending into something ugly.
“You know what? No. Fuck this. No bitch is worth getting killed over.” His voice cracks on the last word, panic swallowing his bravado.
Then he’s gone, running, practically tripping over himself as he bolts down the alley and disappears into the restaurant, tucking himself back into his pants.
Terror lingers in my mind, but only in the background. Because something else races through me. A wicked sense of satisfaction. Seeing a man who had me down on my knees, running for his life. This feeling is new... foreign. Given to me by the criminal with insanity in his eyes.
I remain on my hands and knees for a moment, feeling the thrum still vibrating in the concrete beneath me. My heart is slamming against my ribs, but not in fear.
More like... electricity.
Slowly, I rise. My palms sting with tiny shards of glass, but I barely register them. My vision narrows on the brick wall behind where Conrad stood, and the perfectly round hole punched clean through its surface.
My hand shakes as I lift it towards the bullet mark, the pad of my finger poking into the small divot.
So smooth and so small. Rounding in wonder, my eyes lock on the place where my finger prods, and I imagine something darker.
Just for a second. I imagine the hole, but in Conrad’s face, oozing blood instead of dust.
But when I hear a sharp rev of an engine, I push that thought out. The rumble fades, sliding away as try to fix my ruined dress.
One last text finds me tonight. I know it’s him before I reach for my phone.
Unknown: That’s a warning. You only get one. Next time, you’ll be wearing his blood.