I held my breath when the fingertips of the spicy man stroked the lace fabric of my bra to reach my nipple. My heart echoed in my ears. The foul smells made me uneasy and sent my head spinning. I snapped my eyes shut, hoping it was all a bad dream.
A draught passed.
A heavy sound clattered.
I was able to breathe.
I fluttered my eyes open again. Like a madman, Radcliff had grabbed the spicy man by his throat, slamming him against the wall. The feet of the man had left the ground as his hands scrabbled weakly at Radcliff’s wrists. Blood dripped from the man’s jaw that wasn’t covered by his red mask. The other two stood backward, not daring to approach them.
Radcliff’s mask had fallen.
He was hell.
A silent volcano that would devastate everything at eruption. Effortlessly, he had the strength of iron. Every vein in his body stood out. His mask fell on the floor, displaying his scary scar and hellish red eyes, flaming his opponent. Despite the snarl on his face, his calmness was even more terrifying. He was boiling from the inside, and something told me this was the strict minimum and nothing of Radcliff’s wrath.
The spicy man shook nervously, the stronghold of Radcliff strangling him to suffocation. His feet begged for a release. I should have stopped this—that was the right thing to do. But I watched, mute, the life escaping from this man, breath by breath. My voice had been stolen, my right to speak revoked. It felt like a nightmare when you want to scream but it’s impossible. Nothing comes out.
The room went cold as if all the lost souls of hell had joined Radcliff in his torture. Invisible shadows flew around him; they were at his command. Masks of fear were upon all of us, but Radcliff remained unmoved. Destructive.
“Get the fuck out of my club.” Radcliff ground out the words between clenched teeth, throwing the spicy man away.
He crashed to the ground, coughing and catching his breath. He suffered Radcliff’s humiliation, each part of his body probably burning and aching from the lack of blood.
His two other friends helped him up on his feet. As soon as he rose up, he pushed them away with a firm gesture before gesticulating furiously. He readjusted his suit and puffed up with self-importance, finding his composure.
He slowly turned his head toward Radcliff, clearing his throat. Radcliff’s chest expanded as his shoulders pulled back. Fierce and dangerous, he was the king of that jungle.
“You made a mistake,” the spicy man spat out.
The three men went off like cowards. The room filled with a heavy silence between the two of us. Radcliff’s expression was tinged with menace, like a wild beast ready to attack. His breathing was sharp and heavy. He cracked his knuckles.
“Radcliff, I—”
With a vicious yank, it was my turn to crash against the wall, his violent grip on my wrist. Radcliff was pure anger, ruled by his demons. He towered on top of me, imprisoning me in his embrace.
His throat bobbed, and I hoped to counter the hardness of his face with the softness of my touch. I grazed my free hand across his cheek and scar, and nourished the hope to appease him. My dismayed eyes begged him to come back to me. I searched for his humanity, long lost in his expression.
“Radcliff, you’re hurting me,” I pleaded.
He loosened his grip, but fury was still running through his veins.
He looked away and cursed, “Fuccck!”
He slammed his palms so close to my face against the wall. Twice. I flinched, and my heart skipped a beat each time.
Trapped around his muscles, I was in his torment. He inched forward, gripping my jaw. I craned my neck to meet his stare, his sandalwood scent comforting me despite the terror of his eyes.
“You destroyed my reputation, Lily. You betrayed and insulted me.”
“I know.”
“You inserted yourself inside a business deal. You went against my order.” His voice was thin and cruel.
“I know.” I didn’t apologize.
“You provoked me.”
“Yes.”
