Chapter 23
The short car ride to the restaurant borders on painful, neither of them knowing what to say, so they choose to silently listen to the radio instead.
Liz can see the light at the end of the tunnel when Matt turns into the parking lot. At least inside there will be wine, enough to make the night tolerable.
He picks up her hand after opening her door, leading her inside.
After giving his name to the portly man behind the podium, they only have to wait a few minutes before being led back to their table: small and round, tucked into a dark corner, and too far away from the others for her liking.
She slides into her chair, ready to get this night over with, making uncomfortable small talk until their meals arrive.
“I have to ask, what did Reaper whisper to you before we left?” Matt asks, emptying his third glass of wine.
“That I’m better off with you,” she says, sipping from her own glass, giving herself chills as she replays what he actually said in her mind.
“Damn. I did not expect that. He is so weird when it comes to you. I can’t get a read on the guy.
He fucks you, but won’t date you, but threatens anyone who does want to date you.
He encouraged you to move on but was staring at you like he wanted to take you right there in front of me,” Matt begins, signaling for another refill.
“I feel bad for you, being stuck around someone like that all the time.”
“It’s not that bad, especially when I have Mikey. But let’s not talk about them tonight. Tell me about you,” she says, batting her lashes.
He is the kind of guy who will boast about himself for hours, and she plans to take full advantage of that to get out of putting any real effort into the night.
A few well placed Oh wows and that’s so interesting, tell me more has him talking the entire meal.
She waits until he switches from wine to whiskey to finally speak, hoping he is buzzed enough to loosen his lips.
“I owe you another apology, Matt. I have been so awful to you, and you don’t deserve that.
It has just been hard for me, seeing how close you are with Scott.
That man has been nothing but horrible to me.
Saying I work with Dmitri, calling me a whore, trying to send me back.
I assumed that because you are close, you would be just like him,” she says resting her crossed arms on the table, watching as his eyes drop right to her chest on full display.
“The guys were the ones who saved me. They have been by my side, teaching me, and helping me heal since day one. It’s a struggle to let anyone else in. ”
He looks at her with his brows knit, looking utterly lost.
“It sounds more like you have Stockholm Syndrome. You know what that is, right?” he asks, looking at her while she nods her head in agreement.
“It’s pretty much when people hurt you, but you like it.
Reaper has hit you, and they all keep you locked away, but they are nice sometimes, so now you love them.
I think they convinced you to stay around to hold it over Scott’s head.
He tried to send you home, but they keep lying to you and saying he won’t let you go,” he rants, stumbling over words from all the alcohol coursing through his veins.
Liz waits until he spins around, flagging down the waiter to top him off, so she can pull her phone out to record the drunken confession.
“What do you mean?” she asks, trying her best to look hurt and confused, though with how drunk Matt seems to be, she could probably just demand he tell her everything.
“All your guard dogs. They are out to get him. Scott. They are keeping you hostage because he wants you to be safe.” He leans in, dropping his voice slightly to what he must think is a whisper.
“They want to kill you. That’s why I’m here.
My job is to watch them and figure out what they are planning to do to Scott,” he says, looking around.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asks, beginning again before she has the chance to agree or not.
“Scott is going to get rid of them. That Reaper guy was never supposed to come back, he was making sure of it, but now that you don’t hate me, I can keep you safe.
You can help me find out what they are doing, and we can stop it… together.”
Unable to put up with any more of his booze-fueled nonsense, Liz picks up his hand, squeezing it slightly. “Thank you. You’re a good friend, sweetie. But we should probably get back before they come looking for us,” she says, trying to remember how to gentle parent.
He shoots to his feet, swaying slightly, tosses a handful of crumpled hundred-dollar bills onto the table, and walks out, bumping into three other tables in the process.
“Shit,” she mumbles, chasing after him. “Hey, you took such great care of me, why don’t you let me drive us back.” Liz holds out her hand, looking at him with big doe eyes.
He smiles, digging into his pocket, leaning in for what seems like a kiss, when she sidesteps him and marches right to his car.
The walk through the housing building is, somehow, the longest of her life. Carefully dodging his wandering hand, Liz attempts to herd Matt back to his room. A few short steps and she will be able to wash her hands of this night.
With her mind focused on getting him to his apartment, she doesn’t see the danger until it’s too late.
Her head cracks against the wooden door so hard she nearly goes unconscious.
A hand grips her throat, squeezing until she is fighting for air while another one slips under her dress, caressing her bare leg.
Every thought drains from her mind, nothing but sheer panic taking over the moment a warm, slimy tongue is forced into her mouth.
Her split lip rips back open, dripping fresh blood down her chin.
She tries to scream, to push him off, but she is tipsy, and he is drunk enough to not care about hurting her.
She reaches with one hand, fumbling with the straps on her leg, her other hand pinned helplessly above her head.
Tears stream down her face when she hears the faint snap of a button release.
Tearing the gun out, she shoves it under his chin, pressing it tight.
Matt eases off, removing his hand, then his mouth, smiling like he just gave her everything she could ever want.
The door behind her pulls open, sending her stumbling into an unfamiliar room.
She needs to get out. She can see the anger simmering in Matt’s eyes, aimed at whoever opened the door.
Using the distraction, she wretches her arm free of his other hand and takes off sprinting down the hall.
Liz darts down the stairs while trying not to break an ankle, only slowing when she hits the landing of her floor.
The only sound that follows is her heart pounding in her ears.
She presses her back to the wall, sliding down to sit on the dirty floor of the stairwell.
Resting her head on her knees, she lets the tears flow freely, allowing herself a moment of weakness.
All she can think about is what would have happened if his roommate didn’t open the door when he did.
And what is Riley going to think? He is going to be furious with her for getting herself into that situation.
How can she go home, look him in the eye, and tell him she had another man’s tongue in her mouth. Just the thought has her gagging.
Liz lets out a breath as she forces herself back onto her feet. She knows she will need to face him sooner or later, so crying about it won’t change anything.
Liz walks with purpose back to their room, smoothing her dress as she does, trying to hold her head high no matter what happens next. The door handle trembles under her grip, nerves getting the better of her.
“Fuck,” she whispers to herself in the empty hall. She lets out a breath, reaching for the door again. “You can do this. You have to do this, no matter how mad he gets.”
She pushes the door open, stepping in before she loses the courage she grapples with, praying they are asleep and not waiting for her to return.
The moment her eyes land on Riley, she wishes she had never come back.
It is going to be hard enough to talk to him without him looking the way he does now.
He stands with his bare back to her, muscles and fresh pink scars glistening with sweat.
A baseball cap is turned backward on his head, and his sweatpants are hanging dangerously low on his waist. Disgust and arousal is a crazy mix of emotions she never thought she would experience.
And she hates herself for being aroused immediately after being assaulted.
“How was your date?” he asks, tone sharp enough to cut. Warm tears slide down her cheeks, unable to form the words she needs to confess. She can’t stand it, the anger and disappointment already lacing his voice. Not mentally equipped to handle talking, she heads right to their room.
“Liz?” he calls after her. His heart drops into his stomach when she doesn’t answer.
He runs after her, spotting the gun still in her hand.
“Hey, what happened?” His hand wraps around her arm, stopping her from taking another step.
He releases her the instant she turns back, looking up at him with pained eyes rimmed with tears and smeared make up.
He’s softer then, reaching up to wipe the blood from her mouth with his thumb, holding her face in his hand for only a moment before letting her go. A storm of emotions rages inside his mind. Seeing the woman he loves hurt has him storming into their room, returning with his own gun.
“He did this to you?” he asks, trying to be gentle when he speaks to her despite what is going on in his own head when she nods.
“Please, don’t,” she begs when he storms to the door, his hand left hovering on the handle. The whimper in her voice, asking him to go against his nature, nearly breaks him. “It will ruin everything.”