21. Maddison #2
He glances down the hall, unconcerned. “That bitch doesn’t tell me what to do, nor does any other woman, for that matter,” he mutters, and I can tell that he is losing his patience.
His hand comes to my hip, squeezing hard over the thin material.
“You know what I want. And you’re going to give it to me; aren’t you, Miss Dally? ”
My stomach drops. I try to sidestep him, but his other hand shoots out, gripping my arm, steering me backward into the shadowed corner beside a large plant. My back hits the wall, breath knocking loose.
Anyone could walk by. He could walk by. My mind whirls with the chaos that would ensue. Fear of my father catching me in the middle of this hurricane has my hands trembling.
“Please,” I whisper, panic and dread clawing their way up my throat. “This isn’t... this isn’t appropriate.”
He leans in, the smell of alcohol heavy on his warm breath. “Don’t make this difficult,” he murmurs, voice low and ugly now, all pretences of him being a nice guy dissolving into thin air. “You know how this works.”
A defeated sound falls out of me.
Because I do.
I know how this works. How this will always work. When he sees the fight in my eyes fade out, his smile is pure satisfaction. A winner's smile.
He presses forward, forcing me down, my heels skidding on the floor as I lose balance. I hit my knees hard, pain flaring sharply. I scramble instinctively, hands pushing at his coat, trying to stand.
“Not here,” I gasp. “Let’s go somewhere.”
He doesn’t listen, one hand pushing hard on my shoulders, the other fumbling with his belt. When his zipper comes down, he reaches in to grab his stiff cock, so utterly disappointing to look at now that I’ve spent time with the Devils.
The fight drains out of me all at once, terror hollowing me from the inside. This is wrong. This is happening. Again.
My hands shake as I brace myself against the wall, eyes burning with unshed tears, breath coming too fast.
“Suck my fucking cock, Maddison,” he demands, his own breathing picking up with lust and horniness. “Show me you’re good for something.”
My eyes find the floor, eyes burning as the truth settles in. I close my eyes. Then...
Someone clears their throat. Deliberate and close. The senator stiffens in front of me, quickly tucking himself back into his pants, as my wide eyes try to peer past him.
“Senator,” a calm voice says from behind him. A familiar voice. One that fills me with dread as much as it does with relief.
Malcolm straightens his jacket, smoothing it down as he schools his expression into something completely opposite to the man I just witnessed.
Ash steps fully into view as Malcolm steps away from me, leaving me on the ground, shame burning across my cheeks. He’s smiling at the senator. Amusement covering his features.
“Well,” Ash drawls, eyes flicking pointedly to where I’m still crouched, dress pooled around my knees. “This is a strange place for a private donation meeting.”
Malcolm laughs too quickly, too loudly. “Just congratulating the young lady,” he says, clapping Ash lightly on the shoulder as if they are old friends, using the same hand he just used to push me to the ground. “She’s doing remarkable work tonight.”
Ash hums, slow and thoughtful, his gaze finally landing on me.
I can’t breathe.
There’s no warmth in his eyes. No softness. Just something dark and simmering beneath the smile, like he’s holding back with sheer will. His eyes take in everything... my position on the floor, my shaking hands, the Senator’s shirt still slightly untucked from his pants.
Shame burns hot and vicious in my chest as my eyes fall to the ground, unable to look him in the eye. I feel so small. So exposed. Dirty. Like I’ve disappointed him in some way.
“Remarkable,” Ash repeats lightly. “Is that what you call it?”
Hargrove clears his throat. “I should... get back to my wife.”
Ash’s smile sharpens by a fraction, and Malcolm’s shoulders seem to untense, mistaking the expression as pardon. But he doesn’t see what I see, what is so clear on the man’s face. Danger sparkles in his blue eyes, in a way I’ve yet to see.
Malcolm finally turns and leaves, not looking back as he re - enters the event. The moment he’s gone, Ash’s expression changes. The amusement drops away.
What’s left is terrifying.
“Stand up,” he says quietly.
I scramble to my feet, knees trembling so badly I almost stumble. I won’t meet his eyes. I can’t. My throat feels tight, my face burning with humiliation.
“I...” My voice cracks, the words not forming properly.
“Look at me,” he grits out through clenched teeth, but I shake my head. I can’t. This just seems to make him angrier. “I said, fucking look at me.”
I do. And I wish I hadn’t. His eyes churn with darkness, his face twisted with fury that’s barely unkempt. He looks every bit the leader of the Devils right now.
“Angel,” he whispers, chest heaving once with a deep breath. “I’m going to give you three seconds. Three seconds to get the fuck out of here, before I make a scene in front of every cunt here.”
My stomach drops. “No... Y... you can’t.”
“One,” he growls, hands closing into fists.
“Ash,” I sob, the tears finally blurring my vision.
“Two.”
“Please!”
“Three...,” his low voice murmurs. “Run, Angel. Fucking run.”