Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
I stare in shock and disgust as Grace kisses each of those bastards under the mistletoe. An ugly snarl twists my lips as I watch her willingly melt into their arms after everything they’ve done.
Rage builds in my chest when the biggest thug—Atlas or whatever his name is—grabs her and shoves his tongue down her throat. She looks so small and fragile next to his hulking frame, the sick excitement on his face triggering me.
It makes me see red remembering how we used to be before Grace got it in her silly head to ‘fix’ things between us. If she had just kept her mouth shut and done as I asked, we wouldn't be in this mess. I never wanted her opinion. I just wanted her obedience.
These violent mobsters–or whatever they are–don’t care about her dreams or feelings. They just want to get their dicks wet and then throw her away like trash. A naive idiot like Grace will probably fall for their pretty words, though.
I can’t hold back anymore and turn to run away when I accidentally knock something over, and it shatters on the floor at my feet. The noise is impressively loud, finally separating the knot of tangled limbs that is the cause of my ire.
Grace jumps at the sound, her eyes popping wide with surprise before they land on me. Her pretty lips pull down in a displeased frown, as if I'm the one doing something lewd and distasteful.
Rage rears its ugly head, and I turn and rush up the stairs the best I can with the ache in my torso, not knowing where I’m going. I don’t get far when two soft, tiny hands grab my arm. I turn reactively, raising my fist, and Grace flinches away from me.
I want to.
I want to swing. I’m so angry. I’m disgusted. I want her to hurt like me. A throbbing face, for a throbbing face. But the reminder of why my entire upper body hurts stills my hand. They would kill me. And I’m far too young to die.
“What the fuck do you want?” I sneer down at her, and her eyes scan over my face.
“I just wanted to see if you’re okay. Your lip...Let me-”
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I jerk away as she reaches out a hand again. “I have no idea where those hands have been.”
Her face pinches, hurt flooding her gaze, but I don’t care.
“You are such a fucking whore. Jumping into bed with criminals like it’s nothing.” I step closer to her, twisted delight filling my chest as she shrinks back. “How many guys have you fucked since you’ve been with me, huh? Since you’re just so fucking… willing .”
I can’t help myself. Pure, unequivocal rage has me reaching out on impulse. I grab her cunt beneath her thin robe and squeeze hard.
“Jason! Let go!” She squeals like a stuck pig and tries to push me off. I accredit it to my current physical state that she manages to shuck my touch with ease.
“Come on, you little whore. Don’t act like you don’t want it now. You were begging me for it just the other night.” I smile as I recall the night we got here. “The funny thing is, I had to shut you up and pretend it was Tina just to get off.”
Tears spring to her eyes, and I’m happy for all of two seconds before I’m suddenly shoved into a wall, the guy who assaulted me last night pinning me in place with his forearm crushing my windpipe.
“You just don’t learn, do you?” He hisses as I struggle weakly to dislodge him. Black spots gather at the edge of my vision. Over his shoulder, I watch Grace take a hesitant step forward, only for one of the others to wrap their arms around her waist, preventing her from interfering.
The pressure on my throat increases exponentially. “Here’s a Christmas lesson for you. Come near our present again and-”
His threats are lost on me as his hand darts out too fast for me to track. Wrenching one of my fingers back at an unnatural angle, I hear the snap of bone before I realize what he’s done. It takes a moment longer then white hot pain explodes in my hand, and darkness greets me.
I wake up, consciousness bringing with it the awareness of the agonizing throbbing in my hand. I’m still on the floor in the hall where I was earlier. Discarded. Like trash.
Groaning, I use my good hand to push to my feet, the edges of my vision darkening slightly when I’m finally upright. I debate just limping my way back to the bed in the room with the hostage, but the smell of something delicious wafting from downstairs has my stomach gurgling painfully. I haven’t eaten in…well, a while.
The bastards who beat the fuck out of me are nowhere to be seen.
Neither is Grace.
Worry wars with simmering rage in my chest as I stagger toward the smells of what I'm sure is another extravagant meal my ex has cooked for her new boy toys.
They mustn't have seen or heard what I said to Grace just before they attacked me. Otherwise, I doubt I would have lived to tell the tale. Even so, I can’t find it in myself to be thankful as I find the group seated around the dining table mid-meal. Grace, having arranged fancy china and crystal glasses along with a fucking linen tablecloth draped perfectly across the table, sits there with a huge smile on her face. The entire scene is so sickeningly charming and domestic it makes me want to eat my own vomit.
Or it would, if the anticipation of food wasn't overriding every other impulse.
Four heads swivel in my direction when I step fully into the room. Grace shoots me a soft, barely there, almost apologetic smile, like I didn't just catch her swapping spit with these brutes this morning. Before I can spit out a scathing remark about her lack of taste, the giant glares at me and deliberately scoops the remainder of every dish onto his and the others’ plates.
Grace doesn’t even notice, the bastard who broke my finger drawing her attention away from me effortlessly. They eat steadily, occasionally murmuring praise of the food that has Grace glowing, not once bothering to offer me any.
Jaw clenched so tightly my teeth creak, I yank open the freezer looking for anything edible inside. Settling on a cheap frozen meal, I rip the top off and shove it violently into the microwave.
My stomach cramps as I eat, objecting to the meager portion I scarf down, while twenty feet away, my girlfriend giggles and refills her new boyfriends’ glasses.
This vacation to rekindle our relationship sure took one hell of a detour. But if Grace thinks fluttering her lashes at these thugs means I'll step aside, she's woefully mistaken. I was willing to forgive her for being weak and pathetic enough to let them paw at her. But seeing the genuine joy on her face now?
She’s clearly lost her goddamn mind. I’ll be sure to remind her who she belongs to once I get her away from here.
After eating, I dump my pitiful frozen meal remnants in the trash with more force than necessary. The sound echoes in the now empty kitchen as quiet laughter floats down the corridor from further in the cabin—no doubt the group moving on to cozier activities.
My predictions are proven accurate when I locate them in the impressive home theater.
The three bastards are sprawled on a leather couch barely big enough to hold them all, with Grace tucked comfortably in the middle beneath a soft blanket. My teeth grind, seeing her tiny form enfolded by thickly muscled arms on either side as some romantic Christmas movie plays out on the large projector screen.
I linger just inside the doorway, jaw clenched. The giant notices me first, his heavy brow lowering over his beady eyes. A territorial glint enters his stare as his arm tightens around Grace, hand spanning almost the entire width of her waist. She glances over next, lips parting in surprise.
"Oh, Jason! Come on in, we're going to watch all the Christmas classics," Grace invites brightly with only a hint of unease.
As if I'd ever lower myself to cozy up with my girlfriend and her new harem.
"This looks cozy," I infuse the words with as much disgust and sarcasm as possible.
An awkward beat passes where Grace bites her lip, a pretty flush staining her cheeks. The man on her other side leans in then–the one who snapped my finger–and whispers something in her ear that has her embarrassment shifting to shy pleasure.
My hands fist helplessly at my sides as I watch Grace duck her head with a breathless laugh, the intimate moment fueling my already simmering temper. These thugs think they can just slide into my place and take what’s mine? Like hell!
I take a menacing step closer, unsure what my actual plan is, when the leader–Teddy, I think–pins me with an icy look.
"I suggest you keep your distance," he says mildly. Too mildly. My courage falters under the weight of his stare, promising swift retaliation if I take another step.
I pivot and sit on another couch, not sure why I’m even still in the room.
If I’m here, maybe it will prevent them from putting their hands all over her. Or maybe I just want to be in the back of her mind, preventing her from being able to actually enjoy herself in her whorish ways. If I can’t be happy, neither can she.
I sit stiffly on the couch, refusing to relax into the plush leather. On the other couch, Grace rests her head on the giant's shoulder, looking up at him with those big doe eyes that used to gaze at me with such love and tenderness.
Now she directs that affection at these criminals without hesitation like a fucking slut. The sight turns my stomach.
The one who broke my finger–I think his name’s Key–says something that makes Grace erupt in giggles as she hides her flushed face against his chest. His hand strokes up and down her side in a familiar, possessive way that has fury burning through my veins.
That should be me holding Grace close, touching her soft skin, drawing sweet laughter from those pouty lips. Instead, I'm relegated to this pathetic observer role, forced to watch helplessly as strangers paw at my girlfriend.
Teddy takes Key’s spot as he gets up from the couch. Keeping my focus on the trio, I watch as he tilts Grace's face toward him, brushing his mouth teasingly over hers. She sighs against his lips, body going pliant, hand fisting in his shirt to draw him closer. The disgusting pig looks so smug when he finally releases her swollen lips, Grace still clinging to him like she can't bear to pull away even as Blondie nuzzles into the hollow of her throat.
Completely focused on them, I whirl around when I sense movement over my shoulder, finding Key leaning casually on the back of the couch. Mischief and the promise of pain glinting in his tawny eyes.
"Enjoying the show?" He asks with a smirk. "I know we certainly are. Our girl is exquisite—so responsive. I can see why you wanted to keep her all to yourself."
His goading words spark my already smoldering temper, and I move to surge to my feet when his strong grip clamps down on my shoulder, holding me in place.
"Ah ah, let's not interrupt." His calculating gaze bores into me. "Tell me, does it turn you on seeing her come undone for us? Hearing those breathy little moans that you could never pull from her?"
I jerk in his hold, straining furiously, but his hand is an iron manacle forcing me to remain a helpless witness. Behind him, Grace whimpers and arches her back. From the way she reacts, it’s not difficult to deduce that one of those heathens has slipped his hand between her thighs.
Key chuckles caustically. "I'll take that reaction as a yes. But that’s just. Too. Bad. You could have had this forever if you weren’t such a vile piece of shit," he growls, tightening his grip on my shoulder in warning. Releasing his grip, he saunters back to reclaim another spot with Grace–right between her legs–before I can spit out the venomous curses crowding my tongue.
I shake with impotent rage and disgust, nails carving crescents in my palms nearly hard enough to draw blood as I stand and leave the room. Grace doesn’t even notice, too caught up in her whorish ways.
This game ends now, one way or another. They've taken this too far.