Gentleman Sinner

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “What?”

  “When he arrived, he looked possessed. Two of the security guys were talking to him.”

  I lower my glass, rewinding back a few hours to when Theo left me in his bed. His phone was ringing. Who was calling him, and what did they tell him? “What’s going on?” I say quietly, slowly lowering my glass to the table.

  “Judy asked the same question, as did Callum and Andy.” She turns and points toward the dressing room. “They all went that way.”

  I’m off my stool before she’s finished, making a beeline for the dancers’ dressing room. I don’t want to think what I’m thinking, but Theo’s apparent rage is making those thoughts unstoppable. His security men were talking to him when he arrived. Were they the ones who called him? Did they advise Theo where to find Penny’s attacker?

  My mind spirals. The hollering and heckling of the crowds around the fight fade, my surroundings blurred as I make my way across the club, pushing through people, around tables, and rounding the stage. I have one purpose: Find Theo and get an explanation for his apparent fury. Stop him from breaking his promise to me. It’s only now I realize he didn’t actually promise me he’d let it go. Was he appeasing me? Telling me what I wanted to hear? God, I’m so stupid for believing Theo could let it slide. My pace quickens, and I skirt my way through a cluster of men, apologizing when I bounce off the arm of one of them, too focused on where I’m headed rather than actually getting there. “Sorry,” I blurt, looking up at him.

  Familiar eyes meet mine.

  My lungs shrink.

  I stagger back and bounce off the chest of another man behind me. “Hey, careful, love.” He steadies me, and I shake him off, watching as the man’s face before me—an evil face—turns from showing shock to delight.

  The man who ruined me, who brutally beat me, hasn’t changed a bit. Trystan. His unkempt hair is still hanging over his ears, and his face is still worn in, a sign that he’s still drinking too much. Nausea overwhelms me. He doesn’t fit in here. His black silk shirt looks cheap and old, and his black trousers ill-fitted. He looks like a man who’s trying to make an effort to fit in and hasn’t quite gotten it right. What’s he doing here?

  “Well, isn’t this a surprise.” He sneers, taking my arm tightly. “I’ve missed you.” The sound of his voice feels like a needle piercing my eardrum, pain searing my head. “You’re below a classy joint like this. Trying to go up in the world, huh?”

  I’m paralyzed, the ground coming up and swallowing me whole, giving me no escape from my wretched past. My frozen form just makes it easy for him to seize me, and he starts to drag me through the club, my feet tripping over themselves as I try to pry his clawed fingers from my wrist. I wait for someone to stop him, to intervene, but everyone is too rapt by the violence happening beyond the bars of the cage. I fight in vain to break free, but he’s too strong. I’m going nowhere.

  I look back, seeing the distance between me and the dressing rooms growing. Then I look for Jess where I left her at the bar. She’s talking to the barman, only just visible through the crowds. “Jess!” I yell, but my voice doesn’t even dent the noise of the club.

  I yelp as I’m yanked with a painful jolt to my shoulder toward the door. I can’t let him get me out there. I can’t let him get me on my own, can’t go back to those dark days. I spot two men at the entrance, and hope fills me. They’ll see me. I’m about to call to them, to get their attention, when I hear Trystan curse. I’m shoved into a hidden alcove in the lobby area, his hand over my mouth, the stench of cheap cologne invading my sense of smell. The scent is familiar, and it’s overpowering me, encouraging the unbearable flashbacks. Sneering, he pulls his hand back, and I close my eyes, cowering, waiting for the blow. The sound of his palm connecting with my face explodes in my head, and my cheek bursts into flames, the sting radiating through me, the pain familiar. Tormenting images bombard my mind, taking me back ten years to a time I’ve fought to forget.

  An attack of memories forces my eyes open, and I come face-to-face with him. Eyes closed, eyes open. In this moment, there is no escape. His hand cups me over my jeans, and I whimper. Then he grabs my breast. “They’ve grown.”

  I choke on my sob, vibrating against his body pushed close to mine, shaking my head frantically. He smiles. It stirs the repulsion in my stomach, makes me gag into his palm. “Tell me, have you learned any new moves?” Letting my eyes close again, I do what I haven’t had to do for so many years. Detach myself. Blank my mind and feelings. And, Theo’s face is suddenly all I see in my darkness. His hard, cut, angry, handsome face. I breathe in as I feel Trystan’s hand moving its way down to my inner thigh. Polluted. I’ll be polluted again. It’ll take me years to cleanse myself, to feel clean and normal again.

  No.

  I won’t be that girl again. I can’t be that girl again.

  I don’t know how, but I find strength in my fear, my knee coming up and meeting his groin with force. I wrench myself free, shoving him away, and run as fast as my legs will carry me back into the main club.

  Two of Theo’s security men are thundering toward me, both of their eyes taking me in as they approach. I hurry past them, my face down so they can’t see my spooked expression, and then aimlessly fight through the crowds, seeing the ladies’ bathroom up ahead. I push my way in and slam the door behind me, immediately regretting coming this way. He’ll come after me. I’ll be trapped in here. I stare at the door, waiting, my heartbeats pounding in my ears. I chance a quick glance at the mirror, seeing a girl I thought I’d never see again. A scared girl, pale, with wary eyes and a shaky body. Marks on her face. Marks…everywhere. My hands go into my hair and grip harshly, my breathing getting more fraught and panicked. No. No, I mustn’t let myself go to those places of terror again. He doesn’t have that power over me anymore. My body disagrees, trembling terribly, my heart hurting from the vicious pounding. Think. Think. Think.

  I reach for my back pocket and grab my phone, fumbling and dropping it to the tile floor. And as I bend to grab it, the door swings open, and I let out a muffled cry, closing my eyes and stumbling back, bracing myself for him.

  “Izzy?” Judy’s anxious call dents my meltdown just enough to make me open my eyes to check I’m not hearing things. My arse hits the bank of sinks behind me just as her face falls into focus, and the relief it brings—to see it’s actually her and not Trystan—makes my legs buckle. I crumple to the floor in a heap of shaking limbs, unable to speak.

  “Lord have mercy, what is it?” The sound of her heels rushing over echoes around the restroom, the knees of her Chanel trousers meeting the floor before me. “Izzy, oh my goodness, you’re burning up.” She feels my forehead. “And you’re sweating.” She dives for one of the folded face cloths that are stacked by the sink above me and runs it under a cold tap, bringing the cool material to my face and patting away worriedly. I hiss when the burn of my cheekbone flames under the cloth. God damn, the pain.

  Judy looks over her shoulder when the door opens again, as do I, my shakes intensifying. Jess takes in the scene, eyes wide. “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Judy says, returning her attention to me. “I found her in here. I think she’s having a panic attack.”

  “Izzy?” Jess says as she hurries over, her medical instinct taking over. “Izzy, can you hear me?” She grabs my wrist and feels. “Jesus, your pulse is through the roof. And what the hell happened to your face?”

  “Get Theo,” Judy orders harshly. “He’s gone to the office. Second door on the left out of here.”

  Bile burns up my throat, and I scramble free from Judy’s fussing hands and throw my head over the sink, retching painfully. “No,” I plead as Jess heads for the door. “I’m fine.” Theo is going to demand to know what’s wrong. I can’t tell him. It’ll be a murder scene out there.

  I feel a palm rubbing at my back and hear faint, soothing words from Judy. My head is blitzed with tormenting memories—the bruises, the bastard’s hand sailing throug
h the air and connecting with my face. His hand on my leg. The knife held at my throat while he warned me not to move. And then the cuts to my stomach when I was stupid enough to, making him fight with me, the knife flailing uncontrolled. I retch again, seeing Jess by the door in the reflection of the mirror. I shake my head as best I can, silently telling her not to get Theo.

  “Go!” Judy yells. Jess looks at me, torn. But she doesn’t get the chance to obey Judy’s demand.

  The sound of the door hitting the wall alerts me to Theo’s presence, followed by a string of explicit language. He’s crowding me a second later, his arms wrapped around my waist, his body bending over mine where I’m braced against the sink. He jolts behind me in time to my continued heaves.

  “I found her in here,” Judy explains. “In a mess, sweating, shaking.”

  “Izzy,” Theo says softly, pulling my hair back. “What’s the matter, baby? Talk to me.”

  I can only shake my head, trying to get a hold of myself as my mind works hard, fighting to build an explanation for my epic meltdown.

  “Take your time,” he whispers, his palm splayed on my stomach, his front pushed into my back. “Breathe.”

  It takes minutes for me to gain some kind of composure, but when I look up to the mirror, I see that my face is still drained of color. My watery green eyes meet Theo’s fretful blue ones. And his worry transforms into rage when he catches the mark on my cheek. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, fumbling for the tap to splash my face. “I suddenly felt unwell. I tripped in my rush to get to the bathroom.”

  His hand lands on mine over the tap, stopping me from turning it on, and I look up at him in the reflection of the mirror, feeling his whole body lock up against mine. “Leave us,” he says over his shoulder, his lips hardly moving, his eyes holding me captive.

  I detect Judy and Jess moving out of the bathroom as dread fills me. My excuse was lame. It was an insult, and Theo looks thoroughly insulted. When I hear the door close, I swallow, watching as his cobalt eyes become darker and darker, fury filling them. He begins to slowly rotate my body until I’m facing him, my head lowering to avoid his wrath.

  What can I say? What will he do? Maybe if I keep him here long enough, the bastard who broke me will be gone by the time Theo gets out of the restroom. Firm fingers seize my jaw and lift. The sharp edges of his handsome face are as scary as can be. “Tell me why you’re in this state. And tell me what the fuck happened to your face.”

  My eyes flood, and I glance away, evading the building rage. “I feel—”

  “As God as my witness, Izzy, I will rip my club to shreds until I find an answer.”

  I shrink, wholeheartedly believing him. “Please,” I beg, for no purpose other than stalling him. He’s going out there whether I tell him or not, and I don’t doubt for a moment that he’ll hunt down what’s got me in such a state.

  He pulls my face up, his lips straight with impatience. “The man in the tacky black shirt,” he says. “I’ve seen him before. At Stan’s tattoo shop, in the waiting room. Who is he?”

  I lose my breath, giving myself away. “He’s no one.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Izzy. I had Stan give him a free pass to the Playground.”

  “You invited him here?” I gasp. “You exposed me to him knowingly?” I can’t devote one second to the fact that I have completely failed in my attempt to keep Theo in the dark. I’m too shocked.

  “My men have been watching him since he arrived. I needed to know if it was him who got you all anxious that day at Stan’s. Now I do.”

  “Watching him?” I question in disbelief. “He just dragged me through your club and cuffed my face!”

  His jaw ticks wildly, and I know his men will pay for their failure. “Who is he?” Theo asks, more calmly than I know he’s feeling. “Tell me who the fuck he is.”

  “Trystan,” I choke, looking away. “He was a client at the strip club I…”

  He sucks in air and drops me from his hold, stepping back. His body is vibrating, and I know this is just the beginning of his rage. Just the sparks before the explosion. “What did he do to you?”

  My eyes close, air burning my empty lungs. I feel defeated. “He…” My words are lost on a sob.

  Theo reaches and touches my cheek, and I flinch, not because it hurts, but because I can feel his burning anger. “Tell me.”

  “He raped me,” I reply quietly, the words weak and loaded with shame.

  Sparks of anger bounce around the room. “No,” Theo whispers. “No, no, no.”

  I nod, feeling so hopeless, weak, and dirty. I see in my mind’s eye the way he looked at me; I feel the soft touches that turned into hard punches when I dared flinch. The knife he had no control of. I fought his intentions. And I have scars on my stomach to prove it. “He used to watch me every day at the club. Then one night he followed me after work. I woke up in a hospital.”

  I hear Theo’s inhale. Virtually hear his mind working fast to grasp everything. “The police?”

  “The doctor called them.”

  “And?”

  “And I didn’t talk. Refused the internal examination.” His face bunches, like he doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk and accept help. “I was a stripper, Theo. The club was nothing like the Playground. The clients were nothing like yours. I was ashamed of myself enough, without having others judge me and tell me that I asked for it. I just needed to get away. I needed to put it behind me and move on, not be dragged through questioning and interrogations.” I take a breath to finish. “And I didn’t have someone like you to protect me, either.”

  He swallows, and it’s a hard swallow. “The hospital was your safe place. And when I lost you your job, I took that away from you.”

  “You didn’t know.” I register his increasingly quaking form. “Theo.” I move forward, ready to reason with him, to stop him from doing what he’s already planning in his mind. But he steps away from me, out of reach. He doesn’t trust himself. His control is being hampered by rage. And in this moment, something dawns on me. Something I hate. “Where is Trystan now?” I question. Theo’s men were watching him. They were on the way to the lobby when I passed them.

  “Being held by security.” He doesn’t hold back. “And now after what you’ve told me, what he did to you, he’s a fucking dead man.” He stalks out, too fast for me to gather myself and make a grab for him.

  And I stand there for a moment, staring at the door closing behind him. He’s a fucking dead man. “Theo!” I come to life, racing after him. “Theo, no!” I yell, my distress crippling.

  He starts pulling off his suit jacket as he prowls through his club, throwing it into a booth as he passes. Callum catches it out of pure reflex. “What the fuck?” he asks, scrambling out of his seat, leaving Jess looking bewildered.

  “What’s going on?” Judy asks, approaching, her eyes on her son’s back. People are scurrying out of Theo’s path as he strides through the club, murder etched across his face.

  I carry on after him. “He’s here.”

  “What?” Callum shouts, grabbing me and pulling me to a stop. “Who’s here?”

  “Trystan,” I blurt mindlessly, trying to push him away so I can go after Theo.

  Callum doesn’t let me. He holds me in place with one punishing hand wrapped around my upper arm, his face coming close, tight with unease. “Who’s Trystan, Izzy? And what the fuck did he do to you?”

  I swallow, my lips quivering, not prepared to say the words.

  I don’t need to. “Fuck,” Callum hisses, dropping me and running through the club in pursuit of his friend.

  “What’s going on?” Judy whispers, reaching for my arm as she watches Callum go. Turning toward me, she holds me in place with a fierce look. “Izzy, tell me.”

  “I was raped,” I whisper, my throat clogged with apprehension so raw. Judy’s eyes widen. “And he’s here.” In desperation, I pull free of Judy’s grip and go after Callum, coming to a screeching stop by the cage, wher
e he’s standing beside Theo, looking past the bars.

  Trystan is inside, being held by Theo’s two men. I become a statue, my feet stuck to the floor, my heart slowing.

  “Theo, don’t do this,” Callum pleads, keeping his eyes on a bewildered-looking Trystan.

  Theo says nothing, joining his hands in front of his groin, getting comfortable in his standing position. I don’t like this. He’s suddenly too calm as he stares at the bastard who destroyed me. Long, painful seconds pass, as I wait with bated breath, silently begging Callum to talk sense into Theo.

  “Theo, walk away.” Callum turns to his friend. “For Izzy, just walk the fuck away.”

  “Never.” He reaches for the front of his shirt and pulls it open, not bothering with the task of unbuttoning it, and the material falls from his torso like a burning flag. Then he stalks off. And my heart plummets.

  “Callum, do something.” I grab his arm, shaking him. Theo enters the cage and indicates for his men to leave, locking the metal door behind them. I nearly collapse at the sight of my man in the cage, in only his jeans, muscles pulsing, fists clenching. His torso is rolling, and he’s cracking his neck, his lip curled. I glance around the club, noting everyone looking wary, but I also sense sick excitement, the crowds closing in around the edges.

  I remember how Stan said he missed the bloodshed, and like a fucked-up kind of spiritual summoning, I see Stan in the crowd, grinning up at the cage, his tattooed face looking more menacing than ever. He helped set this up. He gave Trystan the pass to the Playground. He got him here. Theo’s fury when he came down to the club earlier was because his men told him Trystan was here. It makes sense now.

  I jolt forward when someone collides with my back, and I turn to find Judy holding on to Andy’s arm, looking up at the cage. “Andy, you have to stop him,” she pleads, turning to him, begging.

  “How, Judy?” her husband asks. “How do you suggest I do that?”

  “I don’t know,” she shouts. She’s so upset, the cool woman becoming deranged with worry.