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“There will be no resilience, not with me. I am your master. Do you understand, or do I need to lash it into your pretty little head?”
I shake my head quickly, silently cursing myself for being so careless.
Unwrapping the chain from around his knuckles so it slackens, he thrashes me with three fast and hard blows that bite into my bare back, making me scream as the cool metal pelts my flesh. He laughs and doesn't even give me a chance to scramble onto my feet before he starts dragging me. I stay staring at the ground as I'm forced forward, and that's where my eyes remain until the sound of splintering wood and a loud crash echoes around the room, and my new Master's laughter silences.
“Who are you?” I hear the quiver in his voice, and when I resist all temptation and look up, I see why. The door is hanging from its hinges and in its place stands a mountain of a man. His shoulders are almost as wide as the frame he stands between, and he has at least a foot and a half on the man who's standing over me. He wears a suit like the guards do, but something tells me he’s not a guard.
No, he’s here for me.
Like a dark angel.
He’s silent as he approaches my master, his nostrils flaring as he reaches out his mighty arm and wraps a hand around his neck, effortlessly lifting him off his feet and crashing him into the nearest wall. His dirty blonde hair falls over his dark, angry eyes, and he stares at the man like he wants to do serious damage to him.
He’s easily the biggest man I’ve ever set eyes on, and yet I don't seem to fear him.
The chain falls from my master’s hand, and I scramble onto the floor to grasp it up and clutch it to my chest while my dark angel squeezes my master's throat so tight that he starts turning blue. His limbs frantically struggle to fight free, but the stranger holds firm, breathing through his nostrils heavily as he watches the life drain out of the man who has just purchased me.
The door isn’t there anymore. I have a chance to run, yet I stay kneeling on the floor watching for as long as it takes my new master to stop fighting.
When there’s no color left on his face and no life in his eyes the dark angel drops the limp body to the floor, then turns his attention to me. His eyes seething, and his chest rapidly rising up and down as he moves toward me. I back myself up until I’m underneath the vanity unit on the other side of the room, but he keeps coming toward me, his huge figure towering over my tiny frame. Then I watch in confusion as he slowly removes his black jacket and crouches down to my level. He reaches out, and I feel a comforting warmth as he wraps it around my shoulders. The white shirt he wears has a red patch on one side, and with closer inspection, I realize it’s blood.
His facial hair and cheeks are splattered with it too, but his eyes beg me to trust him, and for some inexplicable reason, I feel safe with him.
So safe that I take the chain I'm clutching tightly and offer it for him to take. Wherever he goes, I want to go there too. Even if he did just kill a man in front of me.
He’s the only person other than Clara to ever show me any compassion. If I’m to belong to anyone, I want it to be him.
He looks at the chain I’m offering out to him, and his brows knit together in confusion before his head shakes like I've offended him somehow. I shrink into myself, hoping that I haven't angered him enough to want to hurt me too, and then inhale a sharp breath when his arm slips around my shoulders, and he scoops me out from under the vanity; his other arm sliding beneath me and lifting me effortlessly from the floor.
“Keep your eyes closed, okay?” His deep throaty voice vibrates from his chest, and I automatically wrap my arms around his neck and bury my head into his shirt as he carries me out of the room. We’re moving fast. I can tell by the way I bounce against the solid trunk of a body.
He suddenly stops, and after another loud crash, cool air attacks my naked flesh and makes me cling to him tighter. He’s running with me now, and when I hear the gunfire coming from behind us, I hold on to him so tight I fear I might choke him.
His heart thuds against me as we keep moving. Bullets land on the ground beneath his feet before a loud rumble comes from behind us, and a black van skids up and shelters us from the gunfire. A side door slides open, and I see a girl dressed all in black.
“Get in,” she calls out over the sound of firing, and as soon as the man carrying me does as she says, throwing us into safety, the door slides shut, and the van screeches off.
My heart is beating out of control, and when I find the courage to look up, I see three other people staring back at me. A young guy, the girl, and a much older man who looks really mad.
Another man is driving, but he’s too focused on getting us out of here for me to see his face.
“What the fuck was that shit show, Screw?” the older man bellows, aiming all his anger at the man who has me clutched tightly in his arms and is trying to catch his breath.
“And what are you doing with her?” His hands run through his thick gray hair, and I cling tighter to my rescuer.
The younger boy has red rims around his eyes that suggest he’s been crying, or that he wants to.
The man who saved me offers no explanation to these people. He remains silent. His arms clenched tight around me. The girl whispers something to the older guy that causes him to back off and relax before she turns her attention to me, slowly shifting off the bench she’s on to be closer.
“I’m Maddy, are you hurt?” She talks so softly, with a smile that’s both welcoming and sad at the same time. I remember seeing the blood on his shirt back in my room, and I immediately struggle out of his arms so she can see.
“Oh god… Screw's been hit,” Maddy calls out over her shoulder, suddenly looking worried.
“How bad?” another male voice comes from up front, the driver. Screw, I think that’s what they called him, slightly loosens his hold on me to strip off his shirt. Even in the dimly lit van, I can see this man is built like a god, his firm-toned chest covered with colorful tattoos that spread down his arms and torso.
Balling up the shirt, he holds it tight to his wound, resting his head back against the steel panel of the van, and continues to breathe in and out his nostrils heavily.
“Looks like a straight through, but we better have the doc be at the club, ready,” Maddy decides from the brief look she got at his wound. I pull his jacket around me tighter when I notice the young boy staring at me like he wants to hurt me. He looks so much angrier than sad now.
