Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  He didn’t say a thing.

  His body language alone said all of those items were staying here—whether I liked it or not.

  He moved barefoot while I clipped in heels. He ducked around the large island and grabbed two glasses from a frosted-glass cupboard. Filling them both with water from a carafe in the fridge, he passed one to me, watching me over the rim as he drank.

  He’d slipped into light colored jeans and a black t-shirt, looking every bit the bad boy I should never introduce to my father, let alone go along with his lies that we were engaged.

  Nerves multiplied with tiny legs, racing over my shoulders the longer we stared in silence and drank. I wanted to call David to collect me. The longer I stood in Penn’s presence, the more he withdrew to the point that any warmth that’d existed between us howled with frost.

  I shifted on the spot, placing my half-drunk glass of water on the counter. “I guess—I guess I’ll go home now.”

  He raised an eyebrow and finished his water. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he nodded. “Good idea.”

  I tried to hide my wince, but I wasn’t successful. I didn’t know why he’d shut me out—then again, he hadn’t let me in. He’d invaded my body, but that didn’t give me a return pass to rummage around in his soul.

  The idea of calling David and waiting for him inside Penn’s apartment wasn’t appealing. The sooner I was away from the harsh intensity where splinters of whatever we weren’t saying stabbed me, the better.

  Hugging myself—making sure my broken blouse was tucked tightly into my skirt to prevent gaping open and my blazer was buttoned tight—I nodded as if we’d concluded business and the meeting was over.

  Realistically, this was a business contract. He didn’t like me. I didn’t like him. But the sex had been incredible. I had nothing to compare it to, but if I had to do it all over again and let Penn relieve me of my virginity, I would.

  Moving toward the door highlighted how sore I was. The tenderness of my inner thighs, the achiness of my core. The heavy pulling made me want to sit down, not walk down flights of stairs and wait on a cold street for my driver.

  But I wasn’t welcome anymore.

  Penn’s glare said as much.

  He lied about us being engaged, yet couldn’t lie about how much he needed me gone.

  I stopped by the exit, keeping my back stiff. “Well, goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” He’d escorted me to the door as if not trusting me to leave on my own. Reaching around me, he unlocked the door and opened it. He pursed his lips as I stepped over the threshold. He didn’t smile or offer a word of kindness or even condolences.

  It felt like a break-up even though we were never together.

  I shrugged, fighting the urge to fidget. “Um, thank you. I…enjoyed that.”

  A slight smile warred with an impenetrable glare. “Me too.”

  Nothing else.

  No hug. Or promise to do it again soon. Just two little words that put a full stop—no, an entire page break—between what’d happened in his bedroom and now.

  Questions whispered in my ear. Do you want to see me again? Why did you keep my lingerie and sex toys? Did I feel as good to you as you did to me?

  I silenced each and every one.

  Turning my spine to steel, I raised my chin and walked away.

  My phone was dead.

  Of course, it was.

  Tonight had gone from blissful to full of heartache, and I only had myself to blame. Standing outside Penn’s building, I took note of how far my apartment was. I figured it was walking distance but didn’t know how long it would take. And in heels, after an incredibly long day, and extremely passionate sex, my body was not in the mood to hike through the city.

  Another night slipped over this one. A night where I’d willingly stepped from the confines of my company and explored without a phone or back-up plan. Nameless had found me, saved me, and relieved me of some small part of my innocence. Tonight, Penn had claimed me, corrupted me, and stolen the rest.

  Both nights had left me with sadness and unease.

  I shivered as a gust blew down the street, encouraging me to walk and ponder rather than stand like an idiot kicked out of Penn’s home.

  Putting one foot in front of the other, I didn’t let the tickle of rejection climb up my spine and squat on my shoulders. I kept focused and cool—nothing more than a CEO out for a midnight stroll with a torn blouse and soreness between her legs.

  Rather than tramp all the way home (and get lost in the process), I’d walk toward the busier side of town and hail a cab. I would’ve given away a small fortune for my phone to work so I could call David. A few years ago, I hated being surrounded by staff and not having any freedom. Now, I appreciated having people I trusted. It made my life stream-line, not this messy unknown I currently lived in.

  Catching a cab hadn’t worked well for me last time. I had an awful feeling something terrible would happen again. Mainly because the similarities about that night with Nameless and tonight with Penn couldn’t be ignored.

  I let myself think freely about Nameless—without frustration toward my father or guilt. To recall the ease in his company even though we had just met. The trust he demanded even though I knew nothing about him. I felt safe with Nameless, despite the overwhelming teenage attraction scrambling my insides. With Penn, I was terrified for my well-being and personal relationships as he bowled through them with falsehoods.

  My father didn’t understand that, in some awful way, I’d doomed myself that night. I’d taken an adventure full of danger and kisses and made it far too idealistic. I put Nameless on a pedestal and figured if I couldn’t have him, I didn’t want anyone—effectively blinding myself to other prospects—other men who I had no doubt would be just as special and probably much better suited for me.

  Just because I don’t like Greg doesn’t mean I won’t like every male in the world.

  And besides, I was still so young. Dad forgot my age most of the time. He saw me as the pillar of his company and his happiness. Because I didn’t have a family of my own yet, he believed he’d failed.

  Marrying me off wasn’t about me but him.

  Why didn’t I see it before?

  I slammed to a stop.

  Dad was a good parent, but when it came to having everything neat and organized, he overlooked my age, wants, and who I was as an individual. So what if he wanted me to be partnered off?

  I didn’t. Not yet, at least.

  It was time to tell him not to meddle in my life anymore and for me to stop using his heart attack as an excuse to bow to his every command.

  Nodding in resolution, I strode off again with renewed vigor. The ache between my legs throbbed, making it hard to concentrate, but for the first time in years, I felt calmer. Like I’d taken control of my future in some small way.

  I’d slept with Penn on my own terms. It hadn’t ended as nicely as I’d hoped, but I’d used him and enjoyed it. I’d expanded Belle Elle with a line of adult toys. It was risky and tantalizing, but I’d made that decision.

  I was in charge of all things.

  I can do this.

  I can be honest with myself and him.

  Stepping off the sidewalk, I crossed the deserted street, heading toward the glow of the business district ahead.

  Unfortunately, New York was bipolar when it came to a woman walking on her own. One moment, it could be the most welcoming host with its tidy streets and beckoning streetlights, and the next, it could switch into a two-faced joker with piles of rubbish and a lone hooded man patrolling toward me beneath a burned streetlight, letting darkness swallow it whole.

  I slammed to a stop. My heart left its normal home in my ribs to split into two and drop into my legs.

  In an ordinary situation, on a bright sunny day, having a faceless stranger prowl toward me wouldn’t be an issue—mainly because I’d have David there. But in this situation? It bothered me. A lot.

  Looking behind me, my brain
came up with and discounted ideas as quickly as they came.

  Run.

  Hide.

  Walk forward.

  Return to Penn’s.

  He’s probably harmless.

  You’re reading into things.

  Regardless of the truth, none of my scattered thoughts were options because the hooded figure looked up, revealing the black void where his face should be. The distance between us vanished step by step. I crossed the street again, hoping I was just in his way and not his target.

  The moment my feet touched the other side, the man copied me.

  Shit.

  The crunch of his dirty sneakers echoed in my ears as he came to a standstill a few feet ahead. His fists hung by his side, his long legs encased in black jeans while the dark gray hoodie was covered in red stains that I hoped were from ketchup and not other sinister goo.

  I stopped breathing.

  Was this the world’s cruel joke? That I couldn’t be safe on my own at all? That the two times I’d been without my dad, David, or another man, I was victim to anyone who wanted to prey on me?

  Was the earth sexist and teaching me I needed a man to survive?

  Anger scalded away my fear. “What do you want?”

  The man chuckled. “Money.”

  “I don’t have any. I left my purse with my driver.”

  Shit, shouldn’t have said driver.

  He licked his lips—the only thing visible beneath the cape of the hoodie. “Ah, you’re one of those.”

  “One of what?”

  “Rich bitches.” He came closer, reeking of unwashed body and dirt. “Gimme your money, and no one gets hurt.”

  Three years ago, I would’ve screamed for help and bolted.

  Now, I was handicapped in heels and aching from sex. I was older. I’d battled more wars with men in the corporate world. If he wanted money, fine. I would argue that he should go and earn some rather than steal from innocent pedestrians.

  “Go away. I’m not interested.”

  “Not interested?” He cocked his head. “What part of ‘gimme your money’ sounds like a negotiation?”

  I crossed my arms, hoping he wouldn’t see my torn blouse beneath. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you any.”

  “Yes, you fucking are.” His fists clenched. “Now.”

  “I’m not lying. I have no money.”

  He took another step, forcing me to take one back.

  His lips turned up in a vindictive smirk. “Jewelry then.” Trailing his eyes over me, he noticed my crystal earrings. “Those. Gimme.”

  Without hesitation, I pulled them from my lobes and handed them over. I wore nothing else. No bracelets or rings. The only necklace I’d loved was my sapphire star that’d been stolen from me in such similar circumstances.

  “And the fucking rest.” He palmed my thirty-dollar earrings I’d sampled from the Belle Elle costume jewelry rack as if they were the Hope diamond.

  I splayed my hands, cursing my shaking. “I told you. I don’t have anything else.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  He advanced again. This time, I held my ground even though my heart once again grabbed its rape whistle ready to blow.

  “How about I search you? Make sure you’re not lying?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Touch me, and you die.”

  He laughed; it bounced off the buildings standing as witnesses to our standoff. “Sure, bitch. What you gonna do? Stab me with your shoe?”

  I looked down at my patent silver pumps—the flash of bling to match my earrings. “Thanks for the idea.”

  Kicking one off, I quickly scooped it up and brandished the metallic spiky heel. “You’ve taken what I have. Now, get lost.”

  Pushing back his hood, he bared his teeth. He wasn’t ugly, and he wasn’t handsome. He was just a thief, hungry and doing bad things. “I don’t think so, rich bitch.”

  Nothing about him was familiar, but he was a lonely man in a hoodie late at night.

  My curiosity wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t confirm for sure.

  My tummy clenched as I went against survival and leaned in. I searched his face. I gave in to the consuming question that’d popped into my head the moment he’d appeared.

  Is it him?

  Was it Nameless?

  But hope turned to dust.

  It isn’t him.

  This man was older—pushing past thirty. His teeth were black, his skin sallow, his hair lank and thinning. He was skinny and about Nameless’s height, but unless he was a really rough-looking older brother, my homeless savior wasn’t here.

  He charged forward, grabbing my breast with rancid fingers. “Can’t pay me, then I might as well hurt you.”

  “Get your fucking hands off me!” I stumbled back, swinging my shoe, doing my best to connect.

  He ducked, grabbing me.

  I struck.

  Vicious victory warmed me as the sharp heel grazed his temple.

  “Fuck!” He reared back, holding the side of his face.

  That was all I needed.

  Kicking off my other shoe, I turned and transformed into something that could flee. A rabbit, a gazelle, a horse, a bird.

  I pushed every ounce of power into my legs and struck off barefoot.

  I didn’t focus on the pebbles hurting my soles. I didn’t scream as I stood on a piece of broken beer bottle. I didn’t cry as my insides howled from being used and now forced to gallop.

  I just focused on freedom. Like every day of my life.

  “Come back here, you bitch. You owe me!” The footfalls of my assailant gave chase, driving me to grab every air molecule, transform every dreg of energy, and turn it into rocket fuel as propulsion.

  I careened around the corner, spying Penn’s building.

  So far.

  I’ll make it.

  I skidded on an old newspaper but didn’t slow down.

  The thief cursed and grumbled, keeping pace with me, slowly catching up.

  Headlights appeared in the distance, bright and glowing, warm and welcoming.

  I flew off the sidewalk, directly into the car’s path.

  Instead of slowing down to help, the vehicle sped up as if to run me over and deliver my corpse to the man currently wanting to hurt me.

  I waved my arms. “Stop. Help!”

  The darkness in the car showed a single driver, their hands clenching the wheel. He drove directly for me. I had a split second to decide what to do—where to run before he struck.

  But the collision never happened.

  The driver wrenched the steering and drove over the curb, slamming to a stop.

  The engine screamed as the front door flung open and a man leaped from the interior. “Get in the fucking car.” He pointed at me. “Now!”

  It took a second to register.

  My ears knew that voice.

  My body knew that body.

  I’d never been so thankful to see someone. Even if he’d thrown me from his house. Even if he hurt me in ways I wouldn’t admit.

  Penn threw himself over the hood as the man chasing me skidded to a standstill only an arm’s length from grabbing me.

  I pressed against the car, my mouth gulping air. My feet burning from sprinting on concrete and debris.

  Then my pain was no more as Penn launched himself at the man. “You motherfucker.”

  Together, they went down.

  Penn landed on top of him and didn’t give gravity the joy of crunching him into the pavement before his fists rained on his face.

  He didn’t speak. Just beat him.

  The robber did his best to cover his face with his arms, curling up, trying to push Penn off. But he didn’t stand a chance.

  I counted one, two, three, four, five fists to the jaw before Penn effortlessly pushed off from the man’s chest and stood over him.

  He cracked his knuckles as if he’d just washed his hands not doused them in some criminal’s blood. “Rob again. T
ry to rape again. And you’re fucking dead.” With a black shoe, he kicked the man in the ribcage. “Got it?”

  The guy looked up, blinking through a rivulet of blood. For a second, his eyes were blank, full of hate and rebellion. Then they focused on Penn’s face. On the way he stood so regal and calm, demanding utmost obedience. Recognition popped in vibrant color, and the robber swayed to his feet, wrapping an arm around his kicked chest, and holding his head with the other. “Shit, it’s you.”

  What?

  I froze, desperate to know what he meant.

  Penn stiffened. “Leave. Tonight is your lucky night.”

  The man nodded, dropping his eyes, forgetting I even existed. Turning in his filthy sneakers, he took off at a stumbling jog.

  He ran away with my earrings, just like the men in the alley ran away with my sapphire star.

  I’d been saved again, but this time…all I felt was terror not desire.

  24

  “GET IN THE fucking car, Elle.” Penn’s voice remained low and hushed but rang with steely authority.

  He knew him.

  He knew Penn.

  How? Why? What does it mean?

  I blindly grabbed the door handle and cracked it open. Numb, I slid into the passenger seat as he strolled nonchalantly to the driver’s side and climbed in.

  A few seconds passed after the doors slammed shut, cocooning us in heavy, oppressive silence. His bloody knuckles clenched the steering wheel as if he could throttle it.

  My throat had permanently closed with fear and questions. So, so many questions.

  How did that man know Penn?

  Who was Penn?

  And why…just why…did he beat up that man with the same effortless grace as the man in the alley that fateful night?

  Penn reached across the gear stick, placing his hand on my thigh.

  I flinched, yanking my legs to the side.

  His fingers dug into my muscle, keeping with me. He breathed hard, squeezed me, and then let me go. Pressing the clutch, he slid the still rumbling engine into gear and drove off the curb and back onto the road.

  The bump jostled us, but we didn’t speak.