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‘You have to rape me because you know I’d never choose someone like you,’ I said, keenly aware that his hardness was still pressed up against my stomach. ‘And that kills you inside, you pathetic bastard.’
His smile was instantly replaced by a look of utter scorn. He was about to reply when I spied something out of the corner of my eye. He’d emptied his pants pockets onto the counter when he’d first arrived and taunted me with the photograph, but I’d been too busy keeping him in my line of sight to look at what he’d put on the counter besides the photo. But now, I saw. And it terrified me.
A syringe. It was capped and half-full with something clear. Oh, Jesus, I thought as he thrust his hips, dry humping me through the thin cotton that separated us. This is going to happen. This man is going to rape me.
‘You were going to drug me?’ I whispered shakily.
I was about to say something more when a fist caught me hard on the mouth, stunning me. I brought my hand up to my face and my fingers came away wet and red. I slowly turned my gaze to Murphy’s.
He tutted, grabbing my wrists and squeezing until I thought they would snap in two. ‘Shut up and lie still,’ he said.
Screw that. I wasn’t lying still. I struggled and fought as he continued to pin me down; my strength no match for his.
‘You’re a firecracker,’ Murphy hissed, choking me with one hand as he rolled one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger with the other. The knife now lay beside his knee, out of my immediate reach. ‘And right now I’m going to fu—’
He was cut off by the front door crashing open. His eyes grew wide for a brief second and when I tried to push him away, he held my hips tightly.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked me, ignoring whoever was standing at the door.
‘Let me go,’ I whispered urgently, turning my head to see who had arrived.
Dornan wasn’t alone. I didn’t know whether to be relieved, or horrified.
I was a little of both.
‘Gypsy Brothers,’ Murphy said, as he forced his thumb into my mouth. My eyes watered as I looked to John and Dornan with a pleading stare.
Dornan’s eyes locked with mine, that unmistakable current passing between us once more. He looked like he was ready to beat Murphy to death with his bare hands. ‘Motherfucker!’ he roared, charging towards us.
‘Uh-uh,’ Murphy tutted, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. The knife was back in his hand, back at my throat. I hadn’t even seen him pick it up.
‘It’s rude to interrupt, guys,’ Murphy drawled, seemingly delighted at the disgust written all over my face. ‘You should probably wait outside. I don’t want to slip and cut her pretty little head off by accident.’
‘Let go of her,’ John ordered, one hand behind his back. He was going for his gun, I realised. Jesus Christ. I hoped he was a good aim.
A vein was pulsing in Dornan’s forehead. He was going to explode.
‘I’m not raping her,’ Murphy said, looking to me. ‘Tell him. Tell him how much you want it.’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘Tell him who you want to be with,’ he said, reaching with one hand for the photograph that sat above him on the counter. Fuck! If he took that back, he’d hold it over me and do something worse next time.
‘Let go of her,’ John said. Murphy sneered at him, still gripping me tightly, and then his smile vanished as John aimed his gun at Murphy’s head.
‘You don’t want me to ask a third time,’ John warned. Murphy dropped my wrist and the knife, and held his hands in the air in surrender. ‘John,’ he hastened, ‘you don’t want to shoot a federal marshal. We were just having some fun. It’s not my fault the girl’s crazy.’
‘Get up,’ John ordered. Before Murphy was even on his feet, Dornan had him in a chokehold, dragging him into the living room.
I shuddered as a strong arm scooped me up and set me on shaky feet. I pulled my dress down, humiliated and sickened.
John crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. He looked impressively scary in his full leathers. He rocked the prez patch on the back of his leather cut, and the gun he held so casually in one of his hands, with two intertwined snakes engraved down the silver barrel, looked different from the rest I’d seen.
‘What’s the photo of, sweetheart,’ he asked me. I froze, opening my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My son. My son.
John saw that I was having some kind of emotional seizure and looked over to the living room, where Dornan was beating the shit out of Murphy. He looked like he was going to kill him. Without missing a beat, Dornan drew his gun and cocked it. Inside the apartment, the sound of the metal click was as foreboding as it was terrifying.
‘D,’ John said slowly.
