He cocked his head. The man with all the power. My dreams held hostage in his filthy paws.
Nausea turned my insides.
“So you’re saying I have to go out with you in order for you to recommend my application be approved?”
He glanced over my shoulder toward the closed door before his seedy gaze returned to me. “Call it a business exchange.”
“You can’t . . . that isn’t legal.” I was floundering, looking behind me to the closed door. Praying by some miracle someone was standing there and could vouch for this insanity.
Because he was out of his mind.
“I’m merely asking for a meeting, Ms. Dayne.” His intentions were so much more than a meeting.
And I wondered how many meetings this vile man had held over his client’s heads. No doubt, I wasn’t the first.
Stunned, I climbed to my feet. Memories of Aaron ripped through my head. The manipulation. I would never allow it again. “You are unbelievable. I would rather work every hour for the rest of my life to save the money to reopen my grandmother’s restaurant than degrade myself with you.”
He rocked back in that massive chair that was almost as big as his head. “All I asked for was proof of how much you wanted this loan, Ms. Dayne. I have no idea what you’re insinuating.”
I sneered. “And you are nothing but a liar. For the record, I want that loan more than anything. I’d just rather die than let you touch me.”
Wrenching open the door, I flew out into the hall. Fury rose to the top of the tangle of emotions he had me in, my instincts kicking in.
Timothy Roth had messed with the wrong girl.
I was going right around this obstacle. Deviating course. Going straight to the top and reporting him.
I would see to it that Timothy Roth would never manipulate another woman sitting in his office again.
* * *
It was late Friday afternoon when there was a knock at my door. A shiver of nerves rocked through me, but I forced them down, refusing the insecurities that kept trying to creep back into my consciousness.
I crossed the living room and peered into the peephole, frowning when I could only make out the arm of a man wearing a dress shirt.
Warily, I unlocked the door and cracked it open, a crest of unease washing over me.
Unease that hadn’t been in vain.
I should have listened to my gut.
Just like my gramma had always told me.
I tried to slam the door shut when I saw the angry, twisted features of the man looming on the other side.
It was the same second I hit a wall of fear.
Or maybe I toppled headfirst into a vat of it.
Because it swallowed me. Saturating every inch. Every cell. Every fiber.
Screaming, I turned my back to the door and planted my feet against the floor. I pushed back as hard as I could.
“I already called the police. They’re on their way.”
Lies. Lies I prayed would break through his derangement. Because I’d been right. Timothy Roth was insane. Just in an entirely different way than I’d ever imagined.
Blood sloshed in my ears and terror slogged through my veins.
A steady thwump, thwump, thwump.
Liquid metal.
Heavy.
Too much.
Panic and fear.
No. No. No.
The threat did nothing to deter him. The door banged open an inch before I was bearing down again. With all my might. With all the fight I had in me. The latch so close to catching.
His voice seeped like venom through the crack he made. “You fucking bitch. You fucking bitch whore. I’ll kill you for what you did. I know it was you. You ruined my life, you stupid bitch, and you are going to pay.”
Fingers were in the frame, forcing it open.
Adrenaline and anguish. I screamed with them as I shifted a fraction. I rammed into the door with my shoulder.
I gave it everything I had.
The pain of it nearly split me in two.
But sometimes wills and physical strength were two different things.
Because he kicked the door, sending it crashing against the interior wall.
I flew to the floor.
Tim pushed his way inside, a menace that cast a shadow on my grandmother’s house as he stepped toward me. I slid back across the floor, the bare skin of my thigh chaffing against the carpet.
Sobbing.
Hating that I couldn’t stop the terror from taking hold.
Hating the words that fumbled from my mouth.
That I pled.
That I begged.
“Please. No. Oh, God, please, I’ll do anything.”
Anything.
Because it was the brutal truth of the horrible matter.
I wouldn’t rather die than let Timothy Roth touch me.
20
Rex
I was going to lose my fuckin’ head. I stormed through my kitchen, raking my fingers through my hair like it might stand the chance of calming me down.
Frankie was having her usual Friday night sleepover at my mom’s, and I was supposed to be heading out to meet up with Kale to grab a bite to eat, after which no doubt we’d end up at the bar so we could hang out with Ollie for a few hours.
But there I was.
Fuming.
I had no claim. No right to think of that girl as mine. That didn’t mean my heart and body and mind weren’t screaming it when the piece of shit who’d been giving her a hard time at Olive’s a few weeks back pulled into her driveway. When he stumbled out of his shiny silver Mercedes and staggered up the inclined bank toward the deck steps.
What the hell was she thinking? Messing around with that scumbag?
My brain spun with a shit-ton of possibilities I didn’t want to entertain.
Had she gone back to the bar on a night I hadn’t been there and run into this douche and decided to give it a go? Had she given him her number that night? Had something been going on all along?
No. I knew better than that. There was no chance she’d been fucking around with him before I’d been a complete bastard and pushed her away.
My thoughts headed south.
Right to that mouth.
That fucking mouth that had been wrapped around me two weeks ago.
Warm and wet and sucking me deep, the girl on her knees like some kind of offering.
A sacrifice.
Somehow, I’d gotten that was what it’d been. That she’d been cutting herself wide open. Letting me take and use and exploit.
And I’d wanted it. Wanted it so badly. Wanted her so badly. But how the fuck could I do that to her? Not when I still couldn’t make sense of the disaster zone that was my heart. Not when I was locked up in bullshit chains that she didn’t need to be tied to. The last two weeks had been torture, pretending she wasn’t right there, across the street. That I didn’t care when there was a fucking uproar demolishing my insides.
I made another pass through my kitchen, peering out the window like some deranged ex-boyfriend.
Did I actually think that asshat was any worse than I was?
Shit.
Maybe I did. Because I was back to glaring out my kitchen window with my fingertips digging into the granite countertop. Hoping they might sink in and permanently embed themselves. Anchor me so I couldn’t do something supremely stupid.
Like run out the door and start making demands I had no right to make.
Why the hell was the fool hesitating at the base of her steps? Why were his shoulders and back heaving, hands in fists?
This guy . . . it was like . . .
Like he was pissed.
Not pissed.
Enraged.
My heart did something funny when he finally snapped into action. It was a slow, unfurling of awareness that pushed around the periphery of my consciousness as I watched him climb the steps. An overwhelming sense that slicked like ice down my spine, forcing me to stand and take note.
My eyes narrowed, scrutinizing his every move.
I didn’t have a direct view of the door since it was on the side of the house, only the deck where the douchebag stood fully in my line of sight. He pounded on her door with the back of his fist.
There was movement. I couldn’t actually see her door, but somehow, I knew she’d cracked it open. It was a shift in the atmosphere. I knew she opened it just as assuredly as I knew that she tried to force it closed.
Then the piece of shit was trying to shove it open. He reeled back, lifted a foot, and kicked it in.
Rynna.
Rynna.
Every fear I’d ever had tumbled free and lit my veins.
Gasoline and flames.
My soul screamed.
I wouldn’t fucking let this happen.
Not again. I flew out my door, down the steps, and across the street before I was barreling up hers.
My heart was in my fucking throat, stomach twisted in a single knot of dread. Dread that raged. A steely demand that I protect her.
Save her. Defend her. Keep her. It chanted through that hollow space.
Would have run out to protect anyone. I knew I would. Still, there was no questioning the driving force was completely different when I came up behind the bastard and saw Rynna sobbing on the ground.
Fear consumed her, her expression full of horror and pleas as she scooted back across the floor.
He loomed over her, encroaching, filled with that rage I’d sworn I’d witnessed from the window. He was spewing a verbal attack I knew was mere seconds from becoming physical. “You fucking bitch. You ruined my life.”
He was so consumed with debasing her that he hadn’t noticed I was there. That I was inching forward, trying to quiet my breaths that were jolting from my lungs in spastic quakes.
A chill climbed to the air. Freezing. Clotting the tension. Every second stretched out. Dense and dark and deep.
A whimper from the ground, and my heart nearly fucking left my chest when those java eyes flashed my direction.
It only lasted for one of those extended seconds, but there was more communication in that brief exchange than in any conversation I’d ever had in my life.
Relief.
Deliverance.
Trust.
She poured it into me. Filling me full.
And this girl . . . this girl looked right back at him, continuing to beg like I wasn’t even there.
So fucking smart and aware.
It would make taking out this piece of shit a whole ton easier than it would have been if he knew I was coming.
He didn’t.
I rushed, and from behind, I hooked my arm around his neck. I cinched down against his throat, my other hand held around my wrist to keep my hold locked tight, my mouth at his ear. “Hey, fucker, remember me? Warned you last time if you didn’t leave the girl alone, you wouldn’t be able to walk away. You think I was joking?”
For a blink, he went slack, a huge breath sucked into his lungs at his surprise, his own awareness seeping through his rage and into his consciousness. That was all it took for every muscle in his body to tighten before the bastard started fighting back. His fingers sank into the flesh of my forearm, nails digging in like a bitch, the pussy battling to break free.
I tightened my hold, teeth gritted as I struggled to keep him restrained. “Rynna, call the police so we can send this dick where he belongs.”
She was already on her knees, pushing to stand, her limbs shaking uncontrollably as she tried to find balance. Her eyes darted to the spot behind me where I remembered she’d stowed her purse the night I’d shown up here with Frankie.
No doubt, that was where her cell phone was.
I met those eyes again, not needing to say a word.
Go. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.
She bolted that direction.
The bastard thrashed, throwing an elbow into my ribs at the same time as he threw back his head. His skull cracking against my nose almost sent me to my knees. Pain exploded across my face. Blinding. Splitting. Enough that I momentarily lost my hold.
It gave him enough time to kick out a leg, tripping Rynna as she was rushing around us to make it to her purse.
She flew forward, slamming her head against the corner of the entryway table that was set against the wall next to the door as she fell face-first to the ground.
Rage.
This time it was my own.
“You asshole. You think I’m gonna stand here and let you hurt her?”
Never.
Fuck.
Never.
Once again, he was going her direction. I lunged for him, plowing into his side and catching him off guard. He stumbled and lost his footing. The two of us toppled to the floor where we were a tangle of limbs and punches and splattering blood.
His.
Mine.
I straddled his chest. Pounding my fist into his face. Blow after blow.
But the fucker fought. Fought and fought and fought.
Clipping me on the chin, he sent me sailing back, and he scrambled to get on top of me. He was on me, pinning me down. He smashed his elbow into my cheek.
“You piece of shit . . . is that all you got? Only way you can get a woman is by forcing her? Huh? Is that how the game is played by pussies with nonexistent dicks? Or is it just so small no one knows it’s there?”
I knew I was taunting him. Enraging him more. Inciting him to keep pounding on me.
But that was just fine.
Only thing I was doing was buying time.
Because the girl had already dialed 9-1-1, shouted out her address, had given the vile piece of shit’s name.
She’d be safe.
That was all that fucking mattered.
I tried not to wince when I saw him cock back his fist, his knuckles going straight for my temple. This shit was gonna hurt. Probably knock me out flat.
She was worth it. She was worth it. She was worth it.
Sirens whirled in the distance, coming closer and closer.
She would be safe. She would be safe.
But that fist never met its mark. The asshole howled in agony. He flew off me, catching air, tumbling across the floor before he was bent over on his knees, clutching the side of his head. Blood poured out from between his fingers and dripped to the carpet.
I squinted, wondering if I was having some kind of hallucination. The perfect kind. The one where the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen was standing above me. That chestnut hair matted, mangled with blood. Chest heaving. A huge glass vase gripped in both her hands, an enormous crack zigzagging down the middle of it, and a river of fractures splintering out.
Outside, engines roared. By the sound of it, at least three cruisers came to a screeching stop in front of Rynna’s house. Feet pounded and voices shouted.
Seconds later, they were piling into her house, shouting for everyone to freeze.
Rynna dropped the vase. It finally gave up its fight with the impact, shattering into a thousand pieces when it hit the floor. Just as Rynna was doing the same. Dropping to her knees and hitting the floor.
Sobs wracked her body when she realized it was over.
That she was safe.
Right then? It was the absolute only thing that mattered.
21
Rynna
“Thanks again, man,” Rex said to Seth, the last officer at my house. He was a guy Rex had apparently known since high school, someone Rex considered a friend.
“Just, stay safe,” Seth said, glancing between the two of us before he ambled down my porch steps and slipped into the driver’s seat of his Ford sedan and pulled away.
Timothy Roth had been fired this afternoon. Apparently, my complaint of sexual harassment hadn’t been the first he’d received. Apparently, when his wife found out the reason for his termination, she’d kicked him out.
His wife.
I trembled at the thought of it, at the arrogance and stupidity of th
e man and how much worse it could have been.
The taillights of Seth’s patrol car splashed another dose of red into the blaze of reds and oranges and purpled blues that twisted into the sunset as he accelerated down the narrow neighborhood road.
Then it was as if the dial had been turned up on the silence.
So loud it was profound.
As loud as Rex Gunner’s presence that eclipsed all.
A thunder.
A thriving, living being.
His gruff voice cut into the tension. “Don’t like that you refused treatment. You sure you don’t want me to give Kale a call?”
I chanced looking over at him where he stood behind me on the far side of the deck.
My savage savior.
Streaks of blood were dried on his face, and a small gash oozed from the corner of his eye. His clothes were tattered, soiled with sweat and blood, his hair a mess, body still bristling with remnants of pent-up rage.
My lungs inflated at the mesmerizing sight of him. Every part of me expanded. Reaching toward him.
“You’re worried about me?” I managed. “You’re the one who came to my rescue. The one who put himself on the line. Again. I can’t . . . what if . . .”
His head angled and his shoulders rolled back, and the man took a powerful step forward.
The energy spiked.
“You think I’m not worried about you?” It almost sounded like an accusation. He took another step forward, the man a raging tower of protection. “You think I wouldn’t do it all over again? You think I would have let him hurt you?”
He was suddenly in front of me. My breath gone when he stood over me.
An imposing, conquering shadow.
Eclipsing the fear that had taken me hostage. If it weren’t for Rex, today would have ended in an entirely different way.
He lifted his fingers and brushed back a chunk of hair stuck to my cheek. His words rumbled like a threat. “I wanted to kill him, Rynna. He was going to hurt you, and I wanted to kill him. I would have. Second I saw you were in trouble, my heart was screaming out to protect you. To protect what belonged to me. To shelter what was mine.”
Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection Page 47