28. Rose #2
Rose laughed softly. “No promises.”
She jogged across the lot, spinning her spare key around her finger, letting the celebration’s echoes fade behind her.
The green-and-white lights of the stadium dwindled as she approached the corner of the security building, anticipation curling warmly in her chest. Her mind replayed Kirin’s smile, the way his hands had cradled her face, and the feel of his arm around her waist.
She hadn’t made it two steps past the security building when a hand yanked her through a darkened doorway.
“What the—” Rose exclaimed, spinning around. A rough hand clamped over her mouth, hauling her into darkness, and the door slammed shut.
“I warned you about letting him touch you, Angel,” Preston snarled, his grip like ice. Pain shot up her wrist and shoulder as he twisted her arm behind her at an awkward angle, pressing her face into the door. “Are you going to be a good girl and scream for me?”
She bit her lip to contain herself. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, even as she kicked and struggled.
Preston had the upper hand, and he knew it—muscular, practiced, his every movement designed to dominate.
As he slammed her face into the wall, her body screamed in protest as he grabbed her other arm and bent it behind her beside the other—pinning them both between her shoulder blades.
The movement had her cheek scraping against staples and forgotten tacks left behind in the wall, cutting through her skin with a sharp sting as blood leaked out of the fresh wounds.
“You always liked it rough,” he sneered, his fingers dragging across her skin in a way that made her stomach churn.
“I’ve missed using this body, Angel. Glad to see you’re still fit.
” His hand slid between her legs over her jeans, and she jerked, trying to get away from him.
When his hand moved, it brushed over her stomach, reaching until he curled his hand around her breast over Kirin’s jersey.
“Still mine,” he crooned in her ear, twisting her wrist hard enough that something popped when she tried to pull away again. She cried out—struggling to pin her lips closed again. Preston sighed against her neck like he loved the sound, and her whole body shook. That familiar fear returned.
“I’m gonna make sure Callaghan knows who you belong to. Make sure he knows I’ve ruined you for anyone else, and then I’m going to leave.” He rubbed his hips against her, the thick ridge of his arousal pressing into her ass. Fear and revulsion shot through her.
Every attempt to wriggle, every muffled sob, only seemed to feed his desire. He grunted. The sound echoed through her head as he rubbed himself against her like he could get off on her pain. He sounded less focused as he almost moaned, “Did you think you’d get away with it? Humiliating me?”
She bit back her answer, closing her eyes as she focused on breathing, every twitch sending pain through her wrists and shoulders.
Preston was trying to undo her pants, struggling to yank them down one-handed as he spoke.
His voice was low and intimate, even as frustration lined every word.
“I mean, letting Benji and Joe touch you after a few drinks? That was bad, but I could have looked past it. If you’d apologized, even with the transfer and restraining order, we could have worked it out.
That was unnecessary, extreme even for you, don’t you think? ”
She didn’t answer, not when her mind was flying back through time to that night a year ago.
The party she didn’t want to attend in an outfit she wasn’t comfortable with.
Benji Gilhart handed her a drink to settle her nerves, and then another one, and finally a third as she danced with Joseph Regg—Preston’s two closest friends.
The way the world grew hazier, their hands growing more bold.
It all clicked, loud enough to be an explosion.
“You knew,” she hissed, eyes narrowing even as he pressed her firmer against the wall. “You knew who drugged me.”
Preston’s dark chuckle sent ice down her spine.
“Of course I did. Nobody touches what’s mine without permission.
They tried to get me to agree to share you for months.
Then they begged me to bring you to Benji’s birthday party.
I was confident you wouldn’t fall into their trap, so I agreed.
” His hand tightened around her wrist, forcing her to wince and fresh tears to spring into her eyes.
“Turns out…” he sighed, full of disappointment and exasperation, “you’re predictable. A little whoring tease, just like always.”
Her chest burned with rage. “You set me up. You made me go there, dressed me up like a doll, and let your friends drug me just to see if I’d stay loyal? Then when they succeeded, you beat me and left me on the side of the road?”
Preston’s smile was cruel, almost gleeful, in the corner of her eye. A flash of teeth in the darkness. “How else was I going to test you? To see if you’d obey me. If you’d stay mine.”
The revelation boiled over inside her. Every calculated move he had made, every insistence she attend, every argument over what she wore—it had all been for his sick game. The knowledge struck like a physical blow, mingling with the fear of his current assault.
“When you left Westmont during winter break and didn’t return for the spring semester, I thought it was a fluke.
You always loved to make me jealous, so I waited for you to come back to me.
But then you transferred, and Callaghan posted that photo.
Again, a fluke. There was no evidence of him touching you, so I reminded you who you belong to.
But then, you posted a photo of with your hand on him, your lips inches from his cheek.
Smiling at him. I knew it wasn’t a mistake then.
You were baiting me.” Preston grunted out the last few words, a frustrated one this time as he yanked her pants past her ass and started on his own.
“You’re sick,” she spat, every word trembling with fury.
“And you’re mine,” he growled, ignoring her words as he pressed himself into her ass. The heat of their skin touching was like a brand, and she thrashed. Her body screamed, the pain secondary to the flood of fear and fury.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she growled, and he chuckled again.
“That’s more like it.” His hands adjusted, slipping down her back as he reached around her to slip his hand into her panties.
“I bet you’re soaked right now.” He sighed against the back of her neck, his breath brushing her ear as he buried his nose in her hair.
“I’ve missed your scent. I hated giving up those panties, but I’m hoping for a fresh pair when I’m done. You’ll give me that, won’t you?”
The world spun only to stabilize with a single thought: she had to get out of here.
With the drop in his hand allowing her more mobility and his head dipping close enough as he tried to feel her, she reared her head back—hard and fast. The back of her skull connected with his nose, and he stumbled back, stunned.
It made her head spin. An ache split through her skull like a lightning strike. Disoriented, she turned, the world tilting unnaturally as she fought to pull her pants and underwear back into place. The adrenaline and fear mingled into a singular focus: escape.
Preston lunged again, but she was facing him now. He no longer had the advantage as she kicked him squarely between the legs. The high-pitched cry and stumble gave her the moment she needed. Hands still shaking, she felt for the door and flung it open.
She struggled to stay upright, adrenaline and fear propelling her across the parking lot, searching for light, for people, for safety. Rose used the cars she passed as a crutch. When the world spun too fast, she had to close her eyes against it.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. The stadium lights felt like looking into the sun—painfully bright beacons. She blinked against the brightness. Fear hit her like a tidal wave when she found a group of men standing by the darkened door.