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“I just want to be near you,” said her intruder. “I just want a tarot reading. I brought money.”
“This isn’t right,” she said. “I’m scared.”
“You don’t need to be scared,” he said. Then he took out something from his other pocket. It gleamed in the light — a pair of solid metal handcuffs.
“What’s that for?” Esme asked.
“You don’t have to be scared. I just have to make sure you don’t run, that’s all. I’ve come all this way just to see you. To hear you read my tarot in person. I’m not having you run. Not this time.”
There was something particularly chilling about the way he said, “Not this time.” What did he mean?
“Don’t put them on me,” Esme said, her voice quiet, barely even there. “Please, I don’t want this. This isn’t right.”
“It’s for your own good. I’m gonna pay you for your time. I’ll pay you for anything that you want to give me.”
Esme felt the tears as she realized that she was powerless. Once again, she was transported back to that place: a place of fear and shame, a place of deep, deep hurt.
Then, she felt the cold metal close around her wrist.
Twist of Fate tugged her gently, moving her into her own home, as he searched for a place to lock her. And just before he clasped the other side of the handcuff to a table leg, there was a gruff, furious voice from the doorway.
“Take your fucking hands off her this instant.”
It was Rainer. He was here.
The rat of a man who’d put a handcuff around Esme’s wrist froze. He turned to look at Rainer, a nervous, shit-eating grin on his face.
“Chill dude,” he said, before he had a chance to take Rainer in. The guy’s eyes scanned up and down Rainer’s impressive, imposing form. He took in the frayed denim cut — the MC badge stitched over the biker’s heart. No doubt he clocked the tattoos inked over bulging arms as Rainer stood with his hands on his hips. “J-just chill.”
“I don’t chill,” Rainer said, pounding a pounding his right fist into his left palm. “I really don’t fucking chill, shit-stain.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” the shit-stain stammered. “It’s all consensual, my dude. Just a bit of slap and tickle.”
“So, what does it look like?” Rainer asked, taking another step forward. He was sure that this scumbag wasn’t here on Esme’s invitation. He’d never been gladder to follow his gut. He’d been close to not coming, really fucking close.
If it hadn’t been for that damn stain on the carpet, he’d probably be at his shop right now, cluelessly working on Baron’s hog. And Esme would be here, alone, having to deal with… this. The thought made him feel sick.
“I d-don’t know.”
“He wasn’t listening to me,” Esme said, her voice trembling. “I asked him to leave.”
“That true?” Rainer asked.
The shit-stain held up his hands. “No. I mean, I was just leaving. I was just here to give Esme a—”
“Don’t you dare say her fucking name!” Rainer bellowed, surprising himself with his anger. “I don’t ever want to hear her name out of your lips again! You understand? You’re not worthy of breathing the same fucking air as her, let alone saying her name.”
Shit-stain flinched. “I get it, I get it, I won’t say her name. I was just here to give her this money.” He pointed to a pile of cash on the carpet.
“I don’t want his money,” Esme said.
“In that case, I figure there’s no good reason for you being here.”
“I’ll go! I’ll go!”
Rainer thought about this for a second. He’d found this guy alone with Esme, clearly making her act against his will. There was no way that he was letting him leave.
“I don’t think so,” Rainer said.
