Chapter 9 #3
"Martine," he says smoothly as he sits forward. There’s an edge behind how he says my name. "Why are you here?"
"Oh, look who finally cares," I say, stepping closer.
He exhales through his nose, gaze darting around as if looking for someone, Hayden, probably. He takes a sip of his drink, then says, "I’ve always cared, Martine. You know that."
“Like how you cared when I dropped off the face of the earth without so much as a peep?”
He doesn’t fall for my jab; he only stands swiftly and grabs me by the crook of my arm, guiding me towards a bar set up in the corner of the room.
“Taking me for a drink, Archie?” I say snidely, not enjoying his sudden attitude.
“You know this isn’t the place, Martine. Where’s Hayden?”
I furrow my brow, ignoring the question about my keeper. How does he know who I’m with? I didn’t see him at the estate the evening everyone was killed.
"Then, where is a good place, exactly? I’m certain you’ll have the answer to some of my questions."
His jaw tightens. "Martine—"
"Don’t ‘Martine’ me," I cut him off. "Just tell me the truth. Or are you too much of a coward?"
His eyes darken, but it isn’t anger. It’s pity. "You don’t understand what you’re asking."
"Then help me understand."
His gaze flicks to the side, and I see the hesitation in his stance. That’s enough to set me off. "You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?"
Archie’s lips press into a thin line. "You think this is about Hayden?"
"Isn’t it?"
"Martine, how are you always so naive? It’s never that simple. Does he know you’re here?"
"I don’t need your concern, Archie. I need the truth."
His expression hardens. "Ask Hayden for the truth," he grabs my chin, forcing my eyes to his, like I’m still the little girl he used to know, not the woman standing in front of him. “Please don’t tell me you came here without him.”
I lift my chin, forcing his hand to drop, but he just puts it on my hip instead, pulling me even closer. "I can do as I please," but my voice wavers, I can hear the dishonesty in it clear as day. We both know I shouldn’t be here.
“Fuck Martine, you can’t possibly know—”
Before he can finish, something shifts in the air.
And I know immediately.
Hayden is here.
Archie’s gaze flicks over my shoulder, and I turn just in time to see him striding toward us, dark and furious, cutting through the party like a blade.
I have only seconds left.
I turn back to Archie quickly, desperate enough to beg. "Tell me what happened to the twins, Archie, please."
His expression is unreadable. Then, just as Hayden reaches me, he whispers, "You know I can’t tell you."
“Know what? Please!” But I can’t finish because Hayden’s hand closes around my wrist, pulling me back into his hard chest with a hard jolt.
My stomach flips, not from fear, not exactly, but from the sudden, inevitable shift in control. I left. I defied him. And now he’s here, and I’m the one who has to pay for it.
The heat of his body is at my back, a tether pulling me in. "Did you think I wouldn’t fucking find out?" His voice is quiet next to my ear. A dangerous tone, just above a whisper, but it might as well have been a shout.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to shiver. I lift my chin, keeping my expression calm. “Of course not. I knew you would."
A muscle in his jaw ticks. I can feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken threat in the way his fingers flex around my wrist. Around us, the party continues, oblivious or pretending to be.
But I know every single pair of eyes that dares glance our way.
They are watching, waiting to see what Hayden Herron will do next.
I open my mouth, ready to push him further, to dig the knife in just a little more, because if I was going to pay for this, I might as well earn it.
But I don’t get the chance. Everything moves so suddenly.
Because after Hayden and Archie exchange some quick and strained words, in one swift, seamless motion, Hayden lifts me off my feet, throws me over his shoulder like I’m nothing more than a troublesome possession, and carries me through the crowd as if I never had a say in the first place.
I lift my head in protest and see Archie shaking his at me, pity and amusement written on his face.
"Hayden! Put me down!" I shout, not caring that my voice echoes through the room—the partygoers who were trying so hard not to stare now openly gawk. The room watches with wide eyes and whispers, but no one steps forward.
I writhe in his hold, but it's half-hearted at best. A sick part of me enjoys being thrown over his shoulder.
"You’re causing a scene," I huff.
He quickly slaps the back of my thigh as a warning. "I thought that's what you wanted, darling."
I'm still my wiggling, a breath caught in my throat at his correction.
Then, under my breath, I can’t help the petulant tone that slides out, "Bastard."
"Keep talking, darling. It won’t end well for you."
The car door opens, and he tosses me inside with little ceremony. The door slams shut behind him, enclosing us in thick, suffocating silence. My breath comes fast, my heart hammering in my chest as I turn to face him.
He pulls a cigarette from the holder he keeps in the interior pocket of his sports coat, cracks the window of the town car just enough, and lights it. Frustration tightens his features as he drags a hand across his jaw, inhaling hard.
His hand trembles slightly. There's a look of war on his face, like he’s trying to steady himself before turning it on me.
I don’t speak. I just wring my hands in my lap, all my defiance left back at the party, replaced now with the cold weight of fear over what I’ve done.
The drive is silent, tense, his presence a storm beside me. When we arrive at the estate, Hayden wastes no time. He pulls me out of the car, his grip firm as he storms me up the grand staircase, his pace unrelenting.
My breath catches as we reach my room. He pushes open the door, stepping inside with me before shutting it behind him. The air crackles with a heavy, suffocating darkness.
I’m scared. I’m thrilled.
He stands in front of me, gaze burning, furious, silent for a beat, before speaking in a voice low enough to terrify me.
“Imagine my surprise coming home to find you not where you belong.”
He exhales sharply, the anger in his voice barely contained. “I told you not to disobey me. And yet, it’s become abundantly clear you’re not misunderstanding me, you’re just refusing to listen.”
My pulse spikes. My lips part, but no sound comes out. I just stare at him, waiting, bracing myself for whatever comes next.
His face looks so angry and tormented.
Then he moves quickly and without grace, hurried to have his hands on me.
His hand grips the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and before I can take my next breath, his mouth crashes against mine.
It isn’t soft. It isn’t careful. It’s a punishment, a claim, a wildfire spreading through me in an instant.
It also wasn’t what I expected. I anticipated his angry hands, a spanking that would leave me in tears. Maybe it’s yet to come.
I gasp into the kiss, my body defying me, melting against him despite the anger in his touch. He swallows my breath, forcing me to take everything he gives, his lips bruising, his teeth scraping against my bottom lip, demanding more.
I reach for him, trying to shove his sports coat off, wanting to feel his warmth against my chest as I writhe against him. My nipples pebble painfully against my dress.
When he finally pulls back, his grip doesn’t loosen on the sides of my throat. His other thumb brushes over my jaw, rough and possessive, and his eyes burn into mine. "You want to play childish games, Martine? Fine. But don’t act surprised when I decide to remind you exactly who you belong to."
My breath hitches, my body still caged in his grasp. Fear and something wicked coils tight inside me, but I refuse to let him see it. As bad as I want to obey, I'm more terrified to bend. "I don’t belong to anyone."
His smirk is sharp as he shrugs out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a thump. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but deep down, you know you’re lying to yourself. We both know what the truth is.”
Releasing my throat and shoving me ahead, he throws me on the bed, and I let out a gasp of protest as I land on my back. ”Hayden I—”
“Shut up,” he growls as he pulls off my heels, slightly gentler in his touch, the soft hands misplaced with his anger as he throws them to the ground.
Pausing as he holds my foot, with calculated movements, he bends down and licks from my ankle to my upper thigh, making my back shoot up from the bed.
I reach for his hair without thinking, my fingers digging into his scalp just as he throws me off of him.
With a glare, he loosens his tie, unbreaking eye contact.
I sit up slightly and try to pull my knees closer to my body, unsure of what he’s going to do with his now untied tie, but I can see the promise in his eyes.
“Don’t fucking move again, Martine,” I flinch at his tone as he reaches forward, across the bed, and grabs me, spinning me around to my stomach. Happy now that I’m on my stomach, he aligns my forearms crossed in a boxlike shape behind my back, so he can easily tie them together.
“Ass in the air,” he commands, and I suck in a breath, whimpering at the feeling of how tightly he’s tied my arms. It's forcing my breasts to be flattened painfully into the delicate embroidery of the white cotton and gold-threaded duvet.
Tears of frustration prick my eyes as I scoot my knees beneath me and lift my hips, turning my face to the side to look at him over my shoulder.
It’s humiliating to wiggle into this position without the use of my hands, and it takes me twice the amount of time to follow his instructions.
After struggling a bit more, my ass hovers in the air, causing my dress to fall forward, exposing my tiny silk underwear to him.
“Knees spread,” he continues.