Being here, sitting next to her, staying in her fucking room, was goddamn dangerous as fuck.
His name on her lips drew him out of his thoughts. He stared at the mouth he wanted to claim right there at that table, then he lifted his gaze. He didn’t know if it was just her, or because he couldn’t have her, that made him lose his fucking brain cells. “What?”
“Nate asked you a question,” she murmured, lifting a brow and her chin in the fucker’s direction.
He turned to the bastard on his right, hating every second of this motherfucking game he was forced to play. “What?”
“Do you golf?’
“Not my thing.”
“What’s your thing?”
His nostrils flared and he looked Nate Gallo directly in the eyes and reminded the asshole, “Caitie’s my thing.”
She squeezed his upper thigh under the table. Her fingers were way too close to his dick. He dropped his right hand to hers, interlaced them, and pulled them to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles before pinning them to the table where everyone could see them clasped. And he didn’t let go to either the back of her neck or her hand. If that wasn’t a clear message, then nothing would be.
He also had another message he needed to deliver to the man sitting next to him. “Gotta thank you for gettin’ her home when she wasn’t feelin’ well the other week.”
“I’m glad I could help. I was deeply concerned when she suddenly became ill. And since we’re one big family at Gallo, that means family takes care of family.”
His fingers twitched, digging into Caitie’s neck and hand as the anger began to swallow him whole.
He’d been good until now. He’d been fucking civil; he’d kept his temper. But, for fuck’s sake, he didn’t know if he could do this. If he could handle this.
All he wanted to do was murder the fucker sitting next to him. He wanted to shove his fist down his throat and yank his dick back up through his mouth. The dick he touched Caitie with.
He wanted to smash the man’s fingers with his boot, the ones curled around a coffee cup, the ones that touched Caitie, until they were unrecognizable.
And he wanted to rip his mouth off his face. The mouth that...
He sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it.
“Malcolm...” Caitie was wincing and shaking their tightly clenched hands. “Malcolm... I need to get some air.”
He peeled his gaze from the man who “helped” Caitie and forced it on her. “Yeah. Air.”
“Will we see you two later?” Gallo asked as Magnum surged to his feet and helped Caitie up, not letting her go. If he kept his hands busy, then he might not murder the man in front of all of her co-workers.
He needed to get a plan together. But he also needed to see that fucking video.
And that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Chapter Seven
He had snored through most of their hour-long couples massage. Before they had both stripped down—her donning a robe and him having to wrap a sheet around his nether region since he didn’t fit in any of the spa’s robes, nor did he want to—he had made it quite clear to the women massaging them, if they promised to keep the tattoo on his back a secret, they’d get a big fat tip.
Cait wanted a big fat tip, too. Just not one consisting of money. The whole time her masseuse was working on her, she wished it was his fingers instead. Though, she was sure any massage he gave her would not last a whole hour. She doubted it would last a whole five minutes.
When the ladies finally left the room, they whispered to her that they could take their time getting up, to make sure they drank plenty of water, and recommended they come back before the end of the week since Magnum’s muscles were full of knots.
How he slept through his masseuse working those deep knots, she didn’t know. But he did since he was that exhausted.
“It’s natural for some men to have a physical response to massage,” Magnum’s masseuse also whispered to her in sort of an awe-like semi-apology before leaving the room, which pulled her from her euphoric state and had her turning her head to glance at him.
And, yep, he was on his back, his mouth slightly open as he snored lightly and the sheet covering his cock was in full-on pitched tent mode. Like circus big-top, not a pup tent.
She had to smother a giggle so she wouldn’t wake him, and let him sleep until the sheet lowered to a respectable level.
If the ten minutes it took was any indication, the man had some staying power. Either that or he was having a really good dream.
It was obvious when he awoke, because he jackknifed up to a seated position, almost losing that sheet, and yelled, “What the fuck?” in a confused manner. Once he realized where he was and where she was—dressed and sitting in a chair, waiting—he relaxed.
“Don’t lemme do that again.”
Her lips quirked. “What? The hard-on part or the sleeping part?”
His hand instantly grabbed at his junk, confused. “I got hard?”
“The poor woman ran out of the room screaming about Godzilla.”
He snorted. “Sounds about right.”
Cait had rolled her eyes.
She was surprised he hadn’t fallen back asleep during a way-too-long “working dinner” where two guest speakers, who were top marketing experts in the industry, droned on. He’d yawned about a dozen times and couldn’t sit still, but his eyes remained open. Barely.
That night’s group activity was a version of The Dating Game, and there was no way they were showing up for that. She could just see them being wrangled into playing and not getting one answer right, which would be a bit suspicious since Magnum told Drew that they were together for eight years!
Eight!
Which, in theory, meant Magnum had started “dating” her when she had been underage. She had no idea why he said that other than to imply he’d taken her virginity. But he could have at least come up with an answer that would have inferred she had been at least eighteen.
There were still eighteen-year-old virgins in the world, weren’t there?
She had lost hers at seventeen, but the boy had been the same age, not thirty-three which could’ve meant jail time. And her father finding out her first time was in the back seat of a BMW, especially if the teenager she was with had been twice his age, could’ve meant death by rusty butter knife castration. And she wasn’t sure their forty-five seconds of fumbling was worth dying for.
No matter what, Magnum had said it, Drew had heard it and that horse had already escaped the barn.
At dinner, she had made sure to find a seat far away from any of the Gallos because she had been worried during breakfast when Magnum had gone wired as he and Nate mentioned that night.
That night.
She blew out a breath and stared at the lake from the Adirondack chair where she had planted herself on the balcony after they’d returned from dinner. It was now dark and the moon was reflecting off the still water. Fireflies also decorated the night like flashing lights, while frogs and crickets singing their melodies could be heard in the distance.
Cait let the peacefulness seep into her bones, since she knew that wasn’t going to last long. On their way back up to their room, Magnum announced he wanted to see the video tonight.
That request had turned her stomach into a knotted mess, made her want to expel her dinner, and any benefit she’d received from her earlier massage was completely lost.
He was currently on the phone, pacing inside the room. She guessed talking club business since as soon as she stepped out onto the balcony with the huge rum and Coke she had made with the items in the minibar, he’d shut the sliders behind her to make those calls. To prepare herself for him seeing the video, she’d used one splash of pop and every miniature bottle of Captain Morgan she could find. She had hissed at the first sip, but forced it down, letting the alcohol help ease her anxiety.
If the booze and the serene view wasn’t going to help, nothing would.
&n
bsp; Not showing him the video could also help and she was starting to question whether he needed to see it.
Fuck. She didn’t want anyone to see it.
It was proof she had done a dumb thing. Proof she had put herself in that situation by being careless.
A lesson she’d never forget.
The only silver lining—if she considered it one—was she didn’t remember it at all. She only knew the truth of what happened because of the video.
Not living the experience in real time could be considered a blessing but also a curse, since she hadn’t been awake to try to fight off whoever it was, try to protect herself and do her best to prevent herself becoming that victim.
Even though the man wore a condom, most likely to prevent leaving DNA evidence behind, she got a STD test the next day, just to be safe. She was just grateful she had been on the Pill.
For the past few weeks, she’d tried to ignore the implications that someone had violated her and taken away her power of choice, along with damaging her trust in men. Now any drink made by anyone but her or her immediate family would be suspect.
She never thought something like that would happen to her. She’d heard plenty of stories and warnings about the date rape drug and thought she was vigilant enough.
But she had been so, so fucking wrong.
One mistake had changed her outlook.
She couldn’t trust all men, but she had no doubt she could trust the one behind her in their room. That was why she went to him.
But it wasn’t the only reason.
She sipped her strong drink and shuddered at the burn it created in her stomach, but was thankful how it was dulling the sharp edges of her nerves.
The slight squeal of the slider opening had her gripping her glass harder and she braced it on the wide armrest so it wouldn’t slip from her fingers and shatter on the concrete floor.
“It on your phone?” his deep, but unusually tight voice came from behind her.
She didn’t turn to look at him when she answered, “Yes.” She continued to stare at the moon’s reflection on the water as, from the corner of her eye, she saw him swipe her cell phone from the little square table next to her.
She waited because she knew what was coming next.
“Passcode.”
She robotically repeated the four-digit number so he could unlock the phone. Before he asked, she said, “In my Gmail app. I forwarded it to my personal email and deleted it from my Outlook account at work.”
She heard a slight grunt, then the glass door slide closed behind her. She was glad he was going to watch it without her.
She had only watched it once. When she’d received it in her work email, unaware of what it was.
Once had been enough.
Once had been enough to burn it permanently to memory.
Yes, she didn’t remember what happened, but she also would never forget it, either.
It was weird. Watching it had been like watching it happen to someone else. Like a stranger in a movie or a documentary. But not her.
Never her.
Besides taking advantage of her unconscious state, whoever the man was had been strangely, and disturbingly, gentle. She had not woken bleeding, broken or bruised.
Only confused.
And, besides the video, if she hadn’t been left totally naked and didn’t recognize the normal signs of having sex, she might not have known it had happened at all.
But, unfortunately, or fortunately—she wasn’t sure how she should feel about it—there was video proof and Magnum was about to witness it.
Maybe she should have left the room first. But now she was imprisoned on the balcony with nowhere to go and no way to escape. Being on the top floor of a three-story building didn’t leave many options.
The video was about fifteen minutes long. Fifteen minutes longer than she wished it was. However, it didn’t take Magnum fifteen minutes to react.
It took less than five.
She tried to remember what happened around that five-minute mark, if it was any different from the rest. But she’d been in shock when she watched it and one minute had blurred into the next.
What sucked the most was that the man she wanted, the man who wanted her, the man she would choose to have sex with, would see her completely naked for the first time with another man and one not of her choice.
She wondered if he’d ever be able to get past that.
She wondered if he’d ever look at her the same again.
Hearing his bellowed curse, things being overturned and tossed in the room, the shatter of something fragile, then a deafening roar that turned into a hair-raising howl that tore through her, made her lungs seize, her heart stop and her stomach hollow out.
She remained frozen in her seat, her gaze locked on that lake, her mind locked in that room behind her, as the slamming of the door was hard enough to shake the sliding glass doors behind her.
Her heart began to thump in her chest, her neck, her temples and her ears as she worried what he would do, where he would go. Afraid he would seek Nate out and destroy him.
But she couldn’t move. Every muscle and joint in her body had locked.
Then she heard it.
A phone ringing. Not her cell phone. The landline in the room. Abruptly it stopped. Then rang again. Somehow that unstuck her. Got her pushing herself to her feet, got her moving, going inside, not seeing the damage but focusing on only that ringing object.
She only answered it because she worried about him, his reaction and what he might do.
And maybe the call was about him.
With trembling fingers, she lifted the handset and put it to her ear. “Yes,” she forced out, her greeting wooden and hollow, unrecognizable even to herself.
“Ma’am, is everything okay in your room?” A woman’s voice. Troubled. Full of concern. Whether real or not, Cait didn’t know or care.
“Yes... I’m... I’m sorry... my boyfriend is... upset. He just got some bad news. Someone close to him...” her throat convulsed, “died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. We had a couple calls about the... noise.” She didn’t believe Cait. She was only patronizing her. “Please let us know if you need us to call someone.”
Someone. Like who? The police?
To help contain a man who just lost his mind? To deal with a man who was so full of fury he had to escape?
He could end up executed. By men who were sent to “help.” By men who had no idea why he was out of control. Why he was uncontrollable.
Why he was feeling nothing but rage.
“No need. He’ll be... fine. I’m sorry if he disturbed anyone. Even though he knew it was coming, the loss was... harder than expected.”
“Well... The front desk is open all night, if you need any assistance...” She hesitated and when Cait didn’t respond, she finished with, “Have a good night.”
“You, too,” she murmured and hung up the phone, staring at it for a few hammering heartbeats.
She let her gaze wander as she turned slowly in a circle. The desk was overturned, the lamp broken on the floor, the chair on its side across the room. The large framed picture that had been hanging over the desk was now hanging lopsided, the glass shattered.
Her phone was on the carpet amidst the slivers of glass. The screen was dark but not cracked, luckily. She carefully plucked it from the shards and went back to the phone, picking up the handset and pressing “0” for the front desk.
When the lady answered again, Cait apologized once more and asked for someone to come clean up the glass. She also told her that she’d pay for the damage. She once again confirmed that police were not needed to “assess the situation.”
She uprighted the desk and retrieved the chair while she waited.
After a while, someone showed up and cleaned up the mess.
She tipped them well, apologized again several times, assured them everything would be okay, then locked the door after they left.
She glance
d at the clock.
He’d been gone over two hours and not a word.
She’d kept an ear open for sirens. She kept the other open for his key card sliding into the electronic lock.
She heard neither.
Eventually she got ready for bed, though sleep would be impossible until she knew he was alright. Instead, she sat against the headboard, her knees pulled tightly into her chest, her arms wrapped around her shins and her cheek pressed to one knee.
And she waited.
She had no idea what time it was when he finally returned.
But when he did, he did not sleep on the couch. He walked through the open bedroom door and, in the dark, removed everything except his boxer briefs, then climbed into bed with her.
Without a word, he unfolded her stiff limbs, stretched out beside her, and pulled her against him, her back pinned to his massive chest. His heavy arm draped over her waist. His thick thigh over hers. His face buried in her hair.
And he simply breathed.
Which helped her breathe.
Eventually, she placed her hand on his, which was spread wide over her belly, letting her fingers fall between his larger ones. Where they fit perfectly like a puzzle.
She closed her eyes.
And they both just breathed.
Magnum inhaled the scent of her hair, the scent of her skin, the scent of her. Even with her eyes closed and her breathing steady, he wasn’t sure if she’d slept at all. He hoped she did, because he did not.
He only got through a few minutes of that video. He needed to watch the whole fucking thing to look for any clues, but he couldn’t do it.
What he had saw, though not violent, still shattered his mind and his heart, making him explode.
He was tempted to forward the video to Mercy, hoping the Shadow could help identify the bastard. But it clearly showed Cait’s face... and the rest of her, too. So, he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. That meant he was on his own to take care of this problem.
He needed to forward the email to himself and delete it from her phone.
He had lost it when she had told him what happened, but seeing it...
Seeing it...
Magnum: A Dark Knights MC/Dirty Angels MC Crossover Page 10