Captive Beauty

The ladies room door opens and a woman stumbles out, gives me a nasty once over as she lets the door drop rather than passing it to me. She can go fuck herself. I enter, go to the farthest stall. It’s the biggest one.

I hear the door open behind me and I turn to find the man standing there awkwardly.

Reaching into my pocket, I take out a condom.

I feel a little queasy to do it, but this is why I came. This is how I’ll take back what I gave to Kill.

He gives me an uneasy smile.

I set the condom on the counter. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before,” I taunt, then push into the bathroom stall and reach under my dress to take off my panties, but I can’t.

Footsteps follow. I hear the ripping of the package. I take a deep breath in, try to calm myself.

What the fuck am I doing? This isn’t what I want. It’s not the same. It’s not—

But the stall door opens and the stranger stands there looking me over. When he grins, I think he needs braces. He undoes his belt, pulls it apart, unbuttons his pants. Beige pants with a stain on one thigh. Mustard maybe.

I shake my head. This isn’t what I want.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

I push past him, but he catches me. “I change my mind,” I say with as much strength as I can muster, realizing for the first time in all the years I’ve been doing this how dangerous it is. How lucky I’ve been.

“Hold on there, sweetheart—”

Sweetheart.

“Don’t call me that.”

He’s licking his lips and he’s too close, too disgustingly close.

“Let go of me.”

But he doesn’t release my wrist while sliding his other hand down my hip, up my thigh.

“Don’t touch me!” I shove against him, but he’s big and he’s not as drunk as I thought earlier.

“You got me all worked up,” he says, hiking my dress up. “You want it rough? That what it is?” He spins me around, shoves me painfully against the wall, shoves my dress to my waist.

“Let me go!” His dirty hand covers my mouth and I hear him unzip his pants, hear his breathing change when his fingers slide into the waistband of my panties. “No! Stop!”

The bathroom door slams open then and before I know it, someone pulls him off me. I turn to face the room just as the back of the man’s head crashes into the mirror over top of the sink, shattering it. With a scream, I turn my back as shards rain down.

“She said stop, you fucking asshole.” It’s Kill. He’s here. When the man slides sideways from the counter, Kill draws him up by the collar. “What part of no didn’t you understand, dickhead?”

The man doesn’t even get a single hit in. Kill is pummeling him, his fury fierce, out of control.

“Kill, stop!” I’m calling out, trying to drag him off. “It’s enough! It’s enough!”

Hugo walks in then, gives me a look. I realize then why no one has busted into the bathroom because they have to hear what’s going on.

Kill straightens, turns his angry gaze to me. “Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head no.

“Good.” He turns to Hugo. “Take this asshole out back and make sure he learns a lesson.”

Hugo is already dragging him away and Kill takes a step toward me.

I back up, the violence in his eyes frightening.

“I gave you one condition,” he says, looking me over from head to toe. I realize my dress is still bunched around my waist when he tugs it roughly down.

“I…the four weeks—”

“Bullshit. I didn’t put an expiration date on it.”

I’m backed against the wall and he’s got me trapped.

“This is dangerous, Cilla. These men—”

“Are dangerous? Like you?”

“I’m not dangerous to you.”

“You’re the worst for me.”

He cups my chin, forces me to look up as he searches my face. I do the same. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed him so much.

“What were you doing?” he asks, the look in his eyes no longer angry but something else. Something tender.

“Taking back control. I thought.”

He shakes his head. “What made you come in this time?”

“How did you know?” I ask.

“I’ve had men on you.”

“You’ve been watching me?” He doesn’t reply. I shake my head. “You always liked watching, didn’t you? You install cameras in my apartment too? Sorry it’s been such a snore.”

What I say has obviously annoyed him because he takes my arm roughly and walks me toward the door. “Let’s go. We’re done here.”

“I’m not done here!” I dig my heels in.

He stops. “You are done here. For good.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Like hell I can’t. I change my mind.”

“What?”

He gives me a wicked grin, and before I know it, he hoists me up over his shoulder and smacks my ass hard.

“Ow!”

He walks through the door, into the bar which is remarkably quiet all of a sudden. “I said I change my mind. I don’t release you from your contract. I’m taking you back, in fact.”