Chapter Ten #3
There were two of them, one with a bandana mask around half his face and the other with a balaclava. My nerves stood on end and my stomach churned. What if one of them was Brandon? No, I had to stop. He wouldn't be stupid enough to risk being arrested and locked up. Would he?
The guy who had asked for the photo set about arranging us in front of my banner.
The four men stood behind me, and when I glanced back, Moth moved a man out of the way so he could stand nearer to me.
He was sticking to his word, despite the fact that he might have suspected who the flame tattoo related to.
“Why me?” I asked, looking at the guy who had approached us. “There's some great authors around.”
“Absolutely,” he said, stepping closer, “but with your denim jacket, hint of tattoos and blonde ponytail, you look kickass, just like a character out of a novel.”
My mouth dropped open as I frowned. I wasn't sure I appreciated his observation, considering how many other amazing females were in the room.
“Just accept the compliment and smile,” Moth’s helmet almost hit me as he bent to speak to me.
Swallowing the urge to tell them all to fuck off, I stood back and smiled. The organizer of the convention appeared in front of my stall, exclaiming in excitement.
“Yes! We could use these photos for promo, if that's okay with everyone.” She proceeded to take plenty of snaps, asking us to move into different positions.
By the time we'd finished, we had an audience, all taking pictures too. Oh crap, if my face was plastered all over social media, Brandon would go mad. He had always been jealous, he was bound to come after me.
“Thank you!” The organizer said, giving me a hug, “you've been such a great sport. I'm sorry if we drove away your customers.”
There was no chance of that. It seemed that the photoshoot had attracted more people who were clamoring to buy the books on display. I went still as they surged forward and the men dwindled away, only drawing a few people away with them.
“Can you handle this?” I asked Moth, giving him the payment terminal and grabbing up my phone, “I need a minute.”
Leaving him to it, I disappeared into the crowd, winding my way through the people to reach the restroom.
I kept my gaze on the signs and took several deep breaths to alleviate the spinning of my head.
When I reached the hallway that led to the restrooms, I sighed in relief.
The people, the attention, the masked men, and Moth. Fucking Moth. It was all a bit much.
Pushing into the restroom, I relieved myself before washing my hands and holding my wet palms on my hot cheeks.
“Are you okay?” a woman asked, a kind smile on her face.
I returned her smile and nodded. “Just a bit overwhelmed, that's all. I'm having a lot of fun, though.”
Although she was a stranger, and had no idea who I was, I didn't want her to think I was ungrateful for the experience of being at the signing. It had been an incredible few hours.
“I understand,” she said, squeezing my arm, “just remember us bookworms are mostly introverts too!”
With a wave, she left me to go back to book hunting.
My insides calmed as I turned to the mirror.
My blonde hair had been scraped into a ponytail so it wouldn't stick to my sweaty neck when serving customers.
My mascara was slightly smudged under my eyes, although no one else would've noticed.
Wiping it away, I stared into my own eyes, just for a moment, trying to see what was driving me right now.
Yeah, Moth turned me on… even though he hated me… and I hated him. I couldn't deny that his presence had me on edge. Like, really on edge.
My phone beeped and I glanced down at it. There was a message from Moth.
Where did you go, Sunshine? Being your slave wasn't part of the agreement. Get back here.
Rolling my eyes, I replied. I needed a breather. If you want the truth, you've got to work hard for it. Be two secs.
Tucking the phone into my jacket pocket, I left the bathroom and turned towards the main hall. A hand gripped my wrist, spinning me through the men's restroom door before I’d even realized someone had a hold of me.
Balaclava man shoved me against the wall, holding a fake knife to my throat. My heart pounded as I struggled against his grip, cringing when the edge of the blade dug into my skin. My blood rushed in my ears and I gasped in a breath. The silver was sharp… and real.
“Brandon?” I rasped, trying to see through the black that covered his eyes.
It was the same man who had been in the photo earlier. I hadn't even noticed that I couldn't see his eyes, the balaclava completely obscuring his face. It was creepy as fucking hell.
Opening my mouth when he didn't reply, I inhaled slowly.
“Don't even think about screaming,” he snapped.
My stomach rolled as the air rushed from my lungs. It was fucking Brandon, the motherfucker.
“You're going to get caught.” I pushed my head towards him, forcing him to move. “So just do it.”
He hissed and stepped back, grabbing my elbow and opening the door again. “Just do as I say or I'll stab you in the pussy and then go on a rampage, hurting all your precious friends. If I'm going out, I might as well take a few geeks with me.”
The feeling of helplessness gripped me. How could I scream for help after that threat? I knew Brandon, he would carry it out, hurting those around us, just to hurt me. I had to protect them, even if it meant being hurt myself.
Tripping along, I went with him, trying to look behind as he marched us further down the hall and to a back entrance.
People milled around, chatting excitedly about what they'd bought and who they were going to see next.
They were so engrossed, they only glanced at Brandon curiously for a second before looking away.
A romance signing event would be the only place where it was normal to see a masked man.
My arms shook as I studied my surroundings, trying to find a way to escape. Just before we hit the exit, Brandon steered us to the left and through a different door.
“What are you doing?” I snapped when he slammed the door shut behind me.
We were in a small meeting room with a table in the middle and chairs all around it. There was a large window and plenty of people were standing outside, smoking or eating. If Brandon did attack me, they would see it firsthand and call the cops.
“You think you're clever,” Brandon said, “but you're just a stupid bitch.”
Gulping, I backed away from him, moving around the desk so there was something between us. I probably wouldn't get anywhere but distance was always a good thing.
“You'll be arrested and sent to jail if you hurt me.” I glanced out of the window. “And there's plenty of witnesses.”
I clenched my hands by my side as his chuckle fired my insides.
I might not have been able to see his face, but I knew his lips were thin and his jaw was strong.
We'd met at a bar when I was young, barely out of school.
I'd been wild since the day of the fire, flirting with boys, then getting drunk and dancing all night.
My parents had tried to control my behavior, not realizing that I blamed myself for the loss of Jack Baker.
And when the other bugs – that's what we’d called them – disappeared overnight, it sent me over the edge.
That was the day I realized that every action had a consequence.
And over the three years that followed, the trauma of it made me hit the fuck it button.
It was only when a man had nearly raped me in an alleyway that I woke up and realized that I was on a one-way track to the grave.
I may have slept with several men by that point but it had always been consensual.
That one experience sent me into myself, and I hid away at my parents’ house, not seeing anyone while I tried to become a better person.
“I rescued you,” Brandon snapped, “all those years ago. And all you do is discard me.”
Blinking, I wrung my hands together in front of me. The mask was eerie as it blocked my view of him, but I couldn't show fear, it gave him pleasure.
“You know why we broke up.” I clasped the back of a chair with one hand and put the other in my pocket.
My fingers wrapped around my phone, which could be my only escape. It was almost impossible to do much considering I couldn't see, but I swiped my thumb crossed the screen, hoping to at least open it.
Waving a hand in dismissal, Brandon went over to the window. I backtracked to the other end of the window, hoping those outside might catch sight of us if he made any sudden movements.
“You liked being tied up, you dirty bitch.” Without looking at me, he put his hand on the glass. “Loved it, in fact.”
Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I hid it behind my back, bringing it to the side to glance down when I stepped back again. Pressing WhatsApp, I clicked Moth's profile quickly before hiding the phone behind me again.
“Not for days on end.” I kept my voice as even as I could. “You tortured me, remember? You got some therapy, and I appreciated that, but…”
His head dropped so I took the opportunity to move the phone out again, typing: HELP. Room near exit.
The message sent. I just hoped Moth wouldn’t be too busy to see it.
My heart beat faster as I lifted my gaze and Brandon spun towards me. The phone was back in my pocket, just before he caught sight of it. My lungs tightened and black spots danced in my vision. If Brandon caught me now, he would slice my neck instantly, I had no doubt.
“You forced me into therapy!” Brandon sneered through the mask. “To save our relationship.” His attempt at finger quotations was marred by the knife.
My hands were slick as I took them out of my pockets and clasped them in front of me.
“It didn't exactly save the relationship though, did it?” He came closer, his steel-capped boots shuffling on the carpet.