5. Maddison
Maddison
My head is spinning, eyes bleary from looking at the computer for hours upon hours.
On top of my usual work, replying to emails, vetting media coverage for anything remotely damaging and drafting press releases, I have the Senators event to focus on.
It’s two weeks away now, the event fast-tracked beyond compare.
Celebrity guest lists have been created, filled with the elites of the city and more. As much as I am beginning to despise these people, once-loved movie stars that during my career have found out their less than moral secrets, it brings me joy to shake them down in the name of charity.
In Malcolm’s honour, I have chosen a women's and children's domestic violence fund called Beacon, one of my father’s vetted charities that will be very well off the day of the event.
As much as these elites love their pockets full of cash, they love their shiny reputations even more, and some have already pledged amounts up into the millions.
It’s the part of the job that keeps my heart beating, even if it’s only a dull, little throb.
The other part, the one where we have to spend millions to hold the event, makes it just that little bit duller. I’ve gone over a thousand menus and centrepieces for the table, just to make this event picture-perfect. Because you bet there will be photos. In fact, there is even a red carpet.
Blinking sore eyes, I glance around the office through the glass wall that separates mine.
Barely any other lights are on, but there are a few, which isn’t surprising.
My father keeps his workers tied to a short leash.
He is probably sitting in his own office at the other end of the building, burning the candle at both ends.
I check my phone, an instinctual habit that has formed ever since last weekend, when that ominous message lit up my phone.
The weekend when a criminal gang leader shot centimetres away from my coworker’s head.
He hasn’t texted me since, and it’s been almost a week.
It should comfort me... It does. Yet my fingers continually itch to turn my phone and see an incoming message.
When my eyes flick back to the screen, the words and numbers begin to blur, and I give up. I won’t be able to do anything productive now, even if I wanted to. Maybe after a hot shower and a glass of wine, I’ll be able to knock out a few hours at home.
Stretching my stiff body, I slowly begin collecting my things, placing them in my white Birkin bag and throwing it over my shoulder.
The elevator doors peel open to the dimly lit car park, and I dig into my purse for my keys, heels echoing on the concrete level. I’m on autopilot as I make my way to my car, mind numb and vacant from the day’s work.
A huge palm clamps over my mouth before my brain can process what’s happening. In a spike of fear, my body twists and turns as another thick arm wraps around my waist and heaves me clean off the ground, my heeled feet thrashing in the air.
Arms squeeze tighter as panic floods my system, eyes darting around searching for help. For someone, anyone, to save me. But other than a few scattered cars, the parking lot is completely empty.
Black ink covers the arms holding me hostage as he backs us up into an alcove between my car and a cement pillar, hiding us in the shadows as I wriggle and try to free myself from his grasp.
It’s no use; his arms are like steel bands around me.
“Hello, Angel,” a familiar voice purrs straight into my ear. A voice that has been haunting my mind since the moment I stepped foot into a dirty, run-down bar. My skin erupts into goosebumps, and I cry out in fear against his palm.
My feet thrash at his legs, but he doesn’t so much as grunt, obviously unaffected by my movements. My heart beats so violently I think it might burst through my chest. Warm air dusts my ear, the low rasp of his voice vibrating at my back.
Tears run over his fingers as he grips my face tight in his hand.
Twisting harder, trying to dislodge myself from his grasp, pure adrenaline rushes through me.
But he pins me tighter to his chest, the curves of his body hard and unrelenting against mine.
The scent of smoke and leather flood my senses, so strong and inebriating.
“You smell like a dream,” he murmurs, nuzzling the shell of my ear, inhaling deep and groaning low and deep. “Like sweet vanilla and innocence.”
His hand leaves my mouth, only for a second.
Just long enough for me to suck in a gasping breath and part my lips to scream.
But I don’t get the chance. His other hand finds the neckline of my blouse and rips, the fabric tearing with a horrifying rip.
My scream dies in my throat as the cold air hits my chest, leaving me bare in just my white lacy undergarments.
“But something tells me you’re not that innocent...” He breathes behind me, voice low and ragged.
“No!” I gasp, trying to pull my shirt together, but he is already grabbing for my skirt next.
Another brutal tug, another rip, and the fabric falls past my heels and onto the cement below.
I’m shaking, completely exposed in my lace lingerie, to anyone who might walk past. Before I wanted to scream for help. Now I’m begging myself to stay silent, dreading the thought of someone seeing me like this.
Because the people I work with, my father, will punish me. It’s always the woman’s fault for acting like such a whore.
I think he knows this too, because his hand doesn’t go back to my mouth, instead wrapping around my throat and squeezing tight. Oxygen barely gets through his vicious grip as he secures his other arm around my stomach, tighter than before.
“My good little girl, learning to follow instructions,” he growls in my ear. “One day I’ll have you crawling to me on your hands and knees... begging for my cock.”
A shuddering sob wracks my body as a warm tear falls down my face. I’m completely at his mercy, and he knows it. “Stop,” I whisper. “You need to stop.”
My eyes are wide, glued to the elevator and praying it doesn’t open. Sliding down my waist, his broad palm lowers, until his fingertips slide past the band of my panties. Searing heat radiates from his skin, so at odds with the chill carried by the dark car park.
“I don’t need to do anything,” he growls, hand tightening around my throat until I’m gasping for breath, face heating.
I’m vibrating as his long fingers dance over the soft curls above my core and stop just above the throbbing bundle of nerves that betray me. My body jolts in his grip, not just from fear, but from the unbearable heat surging through me. I hate that he feels it. I hate that I feel it.
“I bet your little cunt is dripping fucking wet right now, isn’t it, Angel?
” His hand finally lowers, cupping my sex in his hand and feeling the obvious arousal growing damper by the second.
All the fight leaves my body as need takes over.
He huffs a cruel laugh when he realises, he is right.
“What a perverted little thing you are, getting so turned on by a Devil like me, taking what he pleases from you.” He tsks his tongue, and it has me trembling. “Naughty little Angel...”
My face heats a million degrees, shame and terror and need, spiralling into an intoxicating cocktail. A gasp slips out of me as two thick fingers slide through my damp lips and pull them apart. Unconsciously, my hips twist, searching for the friction he seems to purposefully be denying me.
“God...Ughhh... Enough!” I gasp nonsense, words barely sliding past the pressure he is putting on my neck. My blood hums in my ears and my vision blurs.
“Next time you are on your knees,” he growls. Behind me, his body vibrates with unchecked rage. “It’ll be fore a Devil, baby. Next time you’ll remember who you belong to.”
Gritting my teeth, I fight the sensation he forces onto my body. The way it feels taut and wired. The pleasure sparking through all of my nerves.
“I don’t belong… to you,” I choke the words out.
He squeezes tighter, effectively cutting off my oxygen, and I begin to panic, my body writhing against his in instinct. My arms whip up to claw at his thick, inked forearms.
“Shhhh...Shhh, it’s okay, Maddy,” he coos in my ear. “If you keep wriggling like that, Angel, my cock is going to want to come out to play...”
In a swift motion, he plunges two thick fingers, knuckle-deep, inside my pussy. Even with the unrelenting grip on my throat, a shrill cry falls out of me, my body igniting with feeling.
He works his fingers in and out of me, finding a punishing rhythm as black spots begin to dance before my vision. I’m going to pass out.
My head lolls back onto the muscular shoulder behind me as my eyes fall closed, and just as I’m about to slip from consciousness, his grip eases.
Gasping and shuddering, I suck in deep gasps of air through my ravaged throat. Sobs wrack my body. Tears and spit fly from me as a cough and cry, his thick fingers still working in and out of me, stretching me from the inside.
A ding sounds, and the elevator slides open, revealing Conrad and Linda. Stifling any sounds that beg to slip out of my mouth, I bite my lip hard as they walk past us, hidden in the shadows. I could scream for help. I could beg and plead for them to call the police. But I don’t.
They would see me, bared and covered in only lace, my nipples tight and my pussy dripping. All my dignity, which at this moment is very little, would be stripped, and Father would be disappointed.
“Look at them. They have no idea you are over here, dripping like a whore, for a stranger,” he murmurs in my ear, his words forcing more tears to fall. “No idea what a perverted little girl you are.”
Another tear rolls down my cheek, shame burning hot in my stomach. Not as hot as my core.
Every nerve is firing, and I feel my orgasm looming. Like a warning I can’t ignore, sharp and uncontrollable, it leaves me trembling and exposed, aware that there is simply no coming back from this.
Another ding sounds from the elevator, and my eyes flutter shut, dread spiking through me.
“Look,” the criminal grits out, and I do.
My worst nightmare; stepping out of the steel cage. My father. He looks in our direction, noting my care still present, but he can’t see us hidden in the shadows. One hand coming up to adjust his pristine tie, he turns his attention back onto his phone as he makes his way to his black Lamborghini.
“Daddy dearest?” The man hums in my ear. It makes me sick what his voice does to me.
The way his fingers crook inside of me hits something deep and disastrous. My whine echoes through the car park, just in time to be drowned out by the roar of my father’s car.
Headlights shine in our direction. Every muscle in my body freezes. But he doesn’t. He continues to finger me roughly, holding my body hostage as he works me into a vibrating mess of need.
For a second, I think we’ve been caught. Think the headlights have illuminated us enough to shine a light on the depraved way he is making me feel. Then the car pulls out, tires squealing on concrete as he roars out of the car park.
Until we are all alone. Until it’s just me and the unhinged man behind me. Just his body ruining mine.
I thrash again, a futile attempt to rip myself from his grip. It just makes him laugh, tightening his grip on me while stretching my core in a near-painful way.
"I live and breathe with some of the worst maniacs that the human race has to offer,” he murmurs in my ear.
The words barely sink in; everything inside of me focused on the way my insides feel like they are about to combust. The swelling pressure in my core and sparks of electricity shooting down my spine.
“And yet this little blonde angel wanders into my club. Into my territory. And unfortunately for you… you’ve caught my attention. ”
I whimper, shaking my head.
I don’t want his attention. I can’t have his attention.
“Please…” I sob, even though my back arches, nipples hardening against the material constricting my heaving chest. “Please stop.”
When his lips dust the space between my shoulder and neck, I feel his smile. The way his lips curl before he bites down on the tender spot, forcing a cry from my lips.
“I don’t think I will…” he whispers, so softly I almost miss the words.
Dread and something else… something much, much worse sinks through me.
“I’m... I’m...” I try to rasp out words, but they don’t come. Instead, my entire body locks up, muscles tight and spasming. He keeps fingering me, hard and deep, and when his thumb moves up to run over my clit, I explode.
I come right here, in the shadows of a musty, dim garage, to the hands of a dangerous stranger.
Big hands loosen their hold on me, my legs giving out the second my heels touch the ground. My hands slam against the concrete as I suck in deep, steadying mouthfuls of air.
I feel ruined. In a way I’ve never felt before.
That feeling, that all-consuming feeling of pleasure so real and raw. It’s foreign to me. Heightened by every shred of fear he caused and the pain his hands gave to me.
When I should be peeling myself off the floor, I’m trying to come back down to earth.
Hesitating, I turn to look over my shoulder. But he’s gone. Disappeared into the shadows as if he had never actually been here. Leaving me here on the ground in my torn clothing, to collect all my broken pieces and somehow put them back together.