Chapter 7 Everlee - When They Can’t Hear the Word No, Put Him in His Place
EVERLEE - WHEN THEY CAN’T HEAR THE WORD NO, PUT HIM IN HIS PLACE
When I step into the bathroom, I press my back against the door and take a deep breath. I needed to put space between that stage-five creeper outside and me. He’s getting a little too handsy and aggressive for my tastes.
When my pulse slows, I open my eyes and look around the bathroom.
It’s nice. Nicer than any other club I’ve been in.
It’s a lot of black, but more sophisticated, less goth.
Along the walls are white pedestal sinks in front of oval mirrors with gold frames.
It’s like walking into a five-star hotel.
Granted, this is their first night, so I’ll have to check back in six months, or hell, even a month.
But something tells me it will probably be the same.
They seem to have a fine attention to detail.
A few minutes later, I’m walking out of the bathroom and my creeper friend Jordan is waiting in the dimly lit hall.
“Jordan,” I huff, hands balling into fists at my side.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.”
“Can you be more specific? There were several things.”
He rolls his eyes. “The bitch part.”
“And…” I prompt. He looks at me, dumbfounded, so I help him out. “And for assuming I’m an easy piece of ass because I was having fun and dancing with my friend?”
“Yes, that too.”
“Thank you.” Just as I walk past him, he forcefully grabs my arm, stopping me.
“Let go!” I try to jerk my arm away.
“I thought we made up. Aren’t we supposed to kiss?” He pulls me closer to him.
“No.” I push him away.
“Why are you playing hard to get?”
“I’m not.” I try to pull my arm out of his grip again, but his fingers only tighten.
“Come on, then.” He swings me to the wall and presses his body against mine, pinning me in place. He leans in, putting his mouth on my neck with his forearm across my chest.
“Get. Off. Me.” I jerk my knee between his legs and I’m fairly certain he’s tasting his balls right now.
His forearm drops as he slumps over, sucking wind.
Stepping around him, I start walking down the hall when he grabs my wrist and jerks me backward.
“Wrong fucking move,” he lashes out, voice hard as steel.
“I’m tired of you women out here dancing like you do.
Looking for attention. Then when you get it, you try to push it away.
You asked for it, you’re going to get it.
” He drags me down the hall and forces me into the ladies' room.
Fuck.
I tried to play nice with Jordan, but he seems to need something more direct. Unfortunately for him, when I was in college, there were a lot of girls getting attacked, so I took a self-defense class. I liked it so much I took karate and got my black belt.
When he stops moving, I raise my arm and crash it down on his, breaking his grip on my wrist. I run towards the door, but he slams it shut and pins me against it.
This motherfucker just doesn’t give up. I bring my hands down on his arms, causing his elbows to buckle, and quickly use one hand to grab the back of his head, while my elbow crashes into the side of his cheek, swiping across his face.
He grabs his nose as blood trickles down onto his chest, yelling a string of expletives at me.
I push him off and walk into the hall only to find Callum standing there, frozen, like I’d surprised him.
His intense gaze travels from me to the door, which bursts open with a bloody Jordan climbing out of it, still pushing forward. Asshole doesn’t know when to take a hint.
A smile tugs at Callum’s lips before he calmly walks towards me, his hand outstretched.
I slip mine into his and feel a heat radiate up my arm as he guides me behind him.
He moves forward and grabs Jordan by the throat, jacking him up against the wall so his feet dangle.
He leans in and whispers something so quiet I don’t even hear it, but the color drains from Jordan’s face and his body goes limp.
A moment later, Jordan falls to the ground just as someone else walks up behind me.
Another man dressed in black. I recognize him as the one from the balcony earlier who delivered some information to Callum.
He’s even more beautiful up close, with sandy blonde locks and hints of tattoos protruding from under his black button-down shirt.
“Shit, Callum. What did you do? It’s our opening night.”
“I didn’t do anything, Knox. It was all her.” He nods in my direction, and I hear a hint of pride in Callum’s tone.
Knox turns to look at me, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head. “I stand corrected, my lady.” He gives a slight bow, and I smile at him.
“Get him out of here and revoke his membership.”
“What? Because of her? She better be glad I’m not pressing charges.”
Rage boils uncontrollably within, and I march over to him and grab him by the collar, pressing him against the wall.
“Press charges, you asshole. I dare you. You’re a fucking pussy.
It’s assholes like you that make it so fucking difficult for women to go out and enjoy themselves.
Even more astounding is that all the other people in this club could demonstrate some civility and resist the urge to assault a woman.
You say it was my fault for dancing the way I was, but I say it’s your fault.
You were raised with a sense of entitlement and believe you can take whatever you want.
News flash, you fucking can’t!” I raise my fist, and he flinches before I push off him.
“Take him,” Callum demands through set teeth, causing a tingle to raise up my spine.
Jordan bats his hand in the air before Knox leads him away.
“Come with me,” Callum commands, his tone a hair softer than before.
I follow him down the hall to a hidden door just past the restroom. He pulls out a keycard on a retractable string and swipes it against the pad. When the panel turns green and buzzes, he pushes the door open, inviting me in with a gesture. I get the impression he’s a man of few words.
The lights flicker on in the room, and I notice we’re in another bathroom. Perhaps the employees' restrooms, but they’re not finished.
“The door is going to lock behind us for privacy, but I won’t touch you without your consent. You are safe.” His words sound rehearsed, like he’s used them before.
I nod.
“I need to hear the words.” His tone is soft but final.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He shrugs out of his jacket and pinches it on the upper corners, folding it in half and laying it on the couch. “Are you okay?” he asks, walking over to the sink. He rolls up his sleeves until the shirt stretches around his forearm, exposing several tattoos which stop just above his wrist.
He flips the water on and lets it run for a second before taking a rolled-up towel from a basket to the right of the sink and wetting it. I’m entranced. The way he moves, the way his muscles flex in his arms. The way his fingers expertly wring out the cloth.
My breathing drags into slower, deeper pulls the longer I watch him, like my body is trying to steady itself. My head is dizzy and my stomach clenches.
“Do I have your permission to wipe the few scrapes on your face?”
I nod because his simple presence steals my breath.
“Everlee. I need your words.” His words are just above a whisper.
Raising my chin to look up at him, my chest tightens at the sight. Damn, he is beautiful. “Yes, sir,” I mumble, curious to see if it will get the same result as before.
His eyes ignite again, but he maintains his calm. He tilts his head to the side as if he’s testing something and responds quietly. “Good girl.”
There it is. I forget how to breathe for a second. That’s the second time I’ve said that to him.
To anyone.
His hand gently grabs under my chin and holds it as he closes the distance between us.
I can feel the heat radiating off him and smell his intoxicating scent.
Fresh citrus with a hint of musk. Our eyes, once more, lock in an intense gaze.
They’re mesmerizing in person, electric blue and damn.
Sexy as hell. There are no other words to describe them.
His other hand gently pats a scrape on my forehead, the sting lasting for only a second.
Heat radiates under my skin as my heart tries to beat a hole through my chest and pleasure coils deep in my stomach. I feel… lightheaded and woozy.
“My Cupid… in… armor.”
Darkness swoops in like a raptor for its meal.