Without waiting for an answer, I set down my wine and start run-walking toward the front door, my heart pounding in my chest. But this place is a fucking maze because as soon as I round the corner, Tristan’s there. Oh shit. He must have intercepted me by exiting the kitchen another way.
“Oh, I think whatever it is can wait, sweetheart,” he growls while pulling me toward him roughly. Then, the disgusting man plants a wet, sloppy kiss on my mouth, biting my lip in the process. He pulls back, his eyes flashing like a slimy pedophile. “Fuck, you taste good.” But before I can make my escape, he grabs the back of my hair and yanks my head back with one hand. With the other, he begins fondling my breasts, even squeezing one hard.
“Ouch!” I scream, and it’s a loud, glass-shattering kind of shriek because my boob hurts. “Get your hands off me!” What the hell? He’s my employer, not my lover, and he does not have the right to touch me. But Tristan merely grabs me by the jaw, squeezing so hard that I see stars. “Shut up,” he hisses. “If you know what’s good for you then you’ll keep quiet.”
But the hell if I’m going to listen. Instead, I let out another sharp scream until my lungs burn with the effort. Then, rage comes over those handsome features and I sense, rather than feel, Tristan’s hand going up in the air. It descends with a heavy blow, and my head snaps back as he slaps me across the cheek.
CRACK!
As bright flashes explode before my eyes, suddenly I know that this is not just a nightmare. This is the real thing, and I’m in serious danger.
11
Jared
* * *
The second I hear Marcy’s scream, I hurl myself through the townhouse’s front window. The glass shatters and shards cut my skin, but I don’t give a shit. My woman’s in danger and I need to save her.
Rolling on the ground, I immediately leap to my feet in a defensive position, ready to take all comers. To my horror, the scream wasn’t my imagination. Instead, I’m just in time to see a large oaf slap Marcy, snapping her head back. Then, my woman collapses with pain, her entire body dropping lifelessly to the floor.
The next second, I’m on top of the man. I punch him square in the nose, which sends him reeling backwards.
“What the fuck?” he screams, swiping at the blood gushing down his face. “I just got a nose job, you idiot! Who the fuck are you?” The asshole lunges at me, but I dodge and he stumbles before crashing into the corner like a drunken lout.
“We’re leaving. Now,” I rasp harshly, grabbing Marcy by the arm and pulling her to feet roughly. Then I hustle my woman to the door before yanking t open and stepping out into the cold air. What the fuck was that? Next to me, Marcy’s sobbing, her body shaking uncontrollably. But I don’t let her stop walking. Instead, I lead her around the corner to where I’ve parked my car as she stumbles along beside me.
“Shh, sweetheart,” I rasp. “It’s going to be fine.”
Quickly, I shove her into the passenger seat and then hurry to the driver’s side before locking the doors. Was that idiot dumb enough to follow us? I crane my head around, staring out the windows, but the coast is clear. Good. That loser’s learned his lesson, I hope.
Finally, I turn to my woman.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I ask in a low voice. “You’re going to have a bruise on your cheek for sure.” But before she can answer, the anger in my chest begins to rise. “What the hell were you doing there anyways?” I demand, trying to control my rage but failing utterly. “Is this how you spend your nights? By putting yourself in harm’s way?”
Marcy gasps, her brown eyes full of devastation.
“No! How can you even say that? It was just a regular babysitting assignment. Besides, how did you even know where I was?” her tone suspicious through her sniffles now. “It seems odd that you showed up at exactly the right time.”
I turn away, still simmering with rage.
“Because I followed you,” I say curtly. “I’ve been tracking your phone.” I’ve never been in so much emotional turmoil in my life, but I can’t let Marcy know that. Meanwhile, the woman gapes at me.
“What?” she blurts out. “But why? How often?”
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles hurt. “It’s been going on a while now,” I admit, feeling like a fool. She stares at me again.
“But why?”
I look at the steering wheel, unable to meet her eyes while hating myself.
“I just hate that you’re out there, meeting strange men. I’ve asked you so many times to stop working. To relax, and to focus on us instead. Jesus, to just be with me. But you’re always off doing something with who knows whom, from chatting with seventy year old ladies at the Estee Lauder counter, to engaging with men who assault you. For Christ’s sake, why Marcy? I’ve literally given you tens of thousands of dollars because I want you to stop working. And yet, you refuse to listen. How much money is it going to take? How much before you quit one of these goddamn jobs and just focus on us?” I stare out of the windshield, fuming and hurt.