The wire Brody had taped between my breasts was gone. I could feel that the earpiece wasn’t in my ear either. It had probably fallen out when Nick had smashed my head against the diner wall.
I was alone.
I slumped in my seat, fighting dizziness. I couldn’t allow it to take over. I had to think. I had to make a plan, find a weapon. I had to fight back.
The door opened abruptly, and I jumped. Nick walked in and dropped an armful of logs onto the dirty floor in front of the fireplace and kicked the door shut. He placed a security bar across the middle of the door, fitting into specially carved notches on either side of the frame.
“So no one can disturb us,” he said and tossed me a smile he probably thought was charming, but just came off as psychotic.
“We never finished our conversation from before,” he continued, and pulled a rickety wooden chair up in front of me. He sat and took his gloves off.
“You wanted to know why you’re here. You’re here because instead of just dating me and letting me fuck you, like the men in the video, you decided to be a bitch, and sic Sinclair on me. You got me kicked off the team.”
“I didn’t drug my drink. You did that all by yourself.”
“Because you were being difficult.”
“Difficult,” I repeated and shook my head. “A woman turning you down is being difficult?”
“What else? It’s the curse of modern men. You fucking feminazi bitches won’t just listen and do what you’re told.”
I thought of Brody and his complaints about me not following his rules, and the games we’d played since then.
Two men. Two different approaches. One had made me fall in love with him. His rules, his morals, his strict code of conduct and self-discipline. Then, there was Nick, sloppy and selfish and dangerous. He’d never understand why he was so loathsome.
“You got me kicked off the team. That’s my future, gone, because of you.”
I shook my head again, knowing nothing I said would make a difference.
Nick leaned forward and jerked my head up, forcing me to look at him.
“So, what are you going to do to make it up to me?” He stared down at my ripped shirt where my bra was visible.
Part of my brain screamed to make nice. Kiss his hand and tell him that I’d be good. I’d spread my legs and make this a conscious choice. Not a violation. No, not this time, because Iwantedit.
Maybe I could have managed it, before Brody. Before I fell in love for the first time. Now, I just couldn’t do it. A tear escaped from my eye and ran down my face, dripping off my chin onto my hand.
Nick turned away from me, biting his lip and smirking, his thoughts clearly having moved to my impending assault. Resignation hit me, so thick and suffocating I could barely breathe. Then his phone rang, and I felt a momentary reprieve when he got up to answer. He stood in the corner, his voice getting louder and louder. After a moment, he hung up and launched one of the rickety chairs at the wall. It splintered into pieces on the floor, the thunderous sound nearly giving me a heart attack.
He glowered at me as he stalked over.
“Do you have any idea what that Sinclair asshole has done?”
I just waited to see what he’d say. Nick glanced over at the wires on the floor. The listening device that he’d found on me.
“Yeah, I guess you already know. You trapped Drew, set him up to get in trouble, right? And now he’s in the hospital pending fucking arrest?!” Nick roared and punched me again.
I rocked in the chair but didn’t fall. My thoughts reeled.In the hospital?What had happened after I’d left?
Nick was suddenly there again, ripping my head back, gripping my hair mercilessly. He got in my face.
“You really fucking owe me! And you’d better hope it’s good enough to calm me down, or I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Then he kissed me. I kept my face neutral, keeping my lips as closed as I could manage. He pressed his fingers into my jaw to force it open. When that wasn’t working, he moved along to my neck, roughly grabbing my tits. God, he was inept. His touch was the ultimate anti-aphrodisiac.
“Welcome me, or I’ll really hurt you,” he snarled in my ear, licking my neck.
The panic attack still hovered, and right beside it, the urge to just roll over and try to convince myself that this was my choice.
