Because of You

by T. E. Sivec

  “It was my way of showing you how vulnerable you are. You had no idea who I was. I could have pulled a weapon on you at any point, and you would have been helpless against me,” he snaps back, taking another step towards me and invading my personal space once again.

  I push down the pang of disappointment that his words bring, reminding me that he couldn't have cared less about being close to me; he just wanted to prove a point.

  “Give me a break with this stalker bullshit! You and I both know there is nothing there. You’ve been here for a week and haven’t found anything, so save me the melodrama.”

  A new song comes over the sound system, and I recognize it as one of my own. I’m not in the mood to listen to people screaming the lyrics, patting me on the back, or jumping up and down to the beat, not when I’m trying to cool down my libido and pretend like Brady’s close proximity isn’t tying me up in knots.

  I shoulder past Brady, quickly shoving my way through all of the sweaty bodies that surround us, until I’m finally off of the dance floor. I can just make out Brady shouting at me, asking me where I’m going, but I ignore him and the crowd swallows me up as I angle my body and squeeze through the mass of partiers to get to the exit for some fresh air.

  The bouncer standing by one of the side doors gives me a curt nod and holds open the door for me. I step out into the warm night air and take a deep breath, my ears ringing now that I’m out of the close confines of the club. The music beats are replaced with the distant sounds of traffic from the nearby highway as I hear the door click shut behind me. I close my eyes and tilt my head up to the sky, enjoying my first moment of peace all evening. Before I can fill my lungs completely with fresh air, a hand is clamped roughly around my mouth, and I’m pulled up and off of my feet.

  After the shock wears off that someone has just grabbed me while I'm alone on the street, I don’t immediately begin to fight. My first thought is that Brady has followed me out here and wants to teach me another lesson.

  As the man crosses the street, I realize too late that this isn’t Brady. Brady is lean and muscular, not built like a linebacker with arms the size of tree stumps. I frantically begin kicking out my legs in front of me and squirming as hard as I can. My screams are muffled by the large, sweaty hand that pushes harder against my mouth, and my weak attempts at getting free are no match for the giant who towers over me and clutches my back against the front of him. He’s dragging me away from the building and across the street. My eyes desperately search around for someone, anyone to come outside and notice me. His arm is banded around both of my arms, forcing them to stay put at my sides so I can’t even claw him or pound into him with the fists I’ve made. I’m still trying to scream around his hand, my voice straining with the effort, but he only squeezes onto my face harder—so hard I can taste blood in my mouth from my teeth cutting into my cheeks. I jerk my head angrily from side to side, trying to dislodge his hand while I continue kicking my feet out as hard as I can. He’s holding me off of the ground as he hustles backwards, further and further away from the side door of the club, and my high heeled feet hit nothing but air. One of my shoes flies off and clatters to the ground.

  Why did I come out here alone? Even if there wasn’t some strange guy sending me letters, I KNOW better than to do something this foolish.

  The man suddenly stops walking, setting my feet on the ground but keeping a tight hold on me. He leans his face to one side of my head, and I can feel his sweaty, stale breath against my ear. I shudder in fear and revulsion as he traces his tongue along my earlobe before whispering into my ear.

  “You’re going to be mine someday very soon, princess. I’m not ready for you just yet, but I will be. And you’re going to be ready for me,” he states menacingly as the arm wrapped around my arms and waist moves lower, the fingers of his big, meaty hand sliding in between my legs right where my short dress stops.

  Oh God, don’t let him do this. I don’t want his hands on me.

  I’m so busy squeezing my eyes shut and trying to block out the way his callused fingers feel on the inside of my thighs as they inch upward, it takes me a moment to realize his grip around my mouth has slipped and he’s not holding on so tight. Without giving a second thought to what I’m about to do, I open my mouth wide and clamp down as hard as I can on the knuckle and finger of his right hand. The man lets out a shocked, painful scream as I squeeze my jaw together as hard as I can. His hand between my legs immediately drops, and he shoves me roughly away from him. Only having one shoe on throws me off balance, and I stumble, tripping over a bump in the sidewalk, and fall down hard on my knees. The palms of my hands scrape against the concrete as I use them to brace my fall. Ignoring the pain that shoots up my knees and my arms, I let out the most blood curdling scream I can muster as I awkwardly try to push myself back up to my feet and scramble away at the same time. I continue to scream as I crawl and stumble my way back towards the club, back towards people who will help me.

  I see the door of the club that I came out of burst open and slam against the opposite wall, and a feeling of relief washes through me. A feeling that is quickly snuffed out when rough hands clutch a handful of my hair and yank me backwards roughly. My feet slide out from under me, and my butt slams onto the sidewalk so hard that pain shoots up my tailbone and I cry out. I fling my arms behind my head to smack and scratch at the arm that is dragging me away from freedom, my feet slipping and sliding against the ground trying to gain traction.

  I tilt my head back to try and finally get a look at who is doing this to me, but all I see is a fist coming towards my face and then nothing but black.

  I hear her scream as soon as the bouncer throws the door open. It echoes through the alley, and there is so much pain and fear in it that my heart momentarily stutters in my chest. I take off at a frantic run, shouting over my shoulder for the guy holding the door to call 9-1-1.

  I can see her just across the street, crumpled to the ground, blood covering her knees. A large man wearing nondescript clothes and a ski mask over his face yanks her back by her hair, his fist raised above her head. I push myself harder and faster, my legs and arms pumping and my adrenalin spiking as I make it to the other side of the street, but not before I watch the man slam his fist into Layla’s face.

  Seconds later, I ram my body into the side of his like a fullback during the Super Bowl. We both crash to the ground, my body landing on top of his and pushing him into the dirt. I’m pretty good at hand-to-hand combat, but this guy is three times my size and he fights dirty. I take an uppercut to the chin and a knee to the groin before I can get my bearings and throw my fist into his jaw. With an elbow to my chest that knocks the wind out of me, he shoves me off of him, scrambles up off of the ground, and takes off running in the opposite direction of the club. I quickly push myself up to my knees, whip my gun out from its hiding spot tucked in the back of my jeans, and take aim at his dark silhouette as he weaves in and out of parked cars before disappearing down another side street.

  “Son of a bitch!” I shout, smacking my hand down on the ground before turning around to check on Layla, stowing my gun back in its holster as I move.

  She’s out cold a few feet away from me, sprawled on the ground with dirt and grass stains all over her dress, cinders and blood covering her hands and knees. A lot of blood. Entirely too much for my liking. I need to get her the fuck out of here and fast. The cuts are small from what I can tell, but they are bleeding like a bitch. Sliding my gun back into place, I crawl over to her lifeless form and gingerly smooth her tangled mess of hair off of her face. I wince at the sight of the bruise that’s already starting to form on her cheekbone. As sirens in the distance start to get closer, I see groups of people gathering just outside the club door out of the corner of my eye, and I know I need to get her out of here immediately before someone takes a picture.

  I cup Layla’s uninjured cheek in my hand and gently turn her face towards me.

  “Come on, baby, wake up. Let me see thos
e beautiful blue eyes.”

  My thumb strokes her cheek softly as I continue to coax her awake, scanning her body for other injuries I might have missed.

  I swear to Christ if that asshole touched her anywhere else…

  I push back my fury as I hear a quiet, painful moan come from her lips.

  “That’s it, Layla. Come on, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  Before I can say anything else, the squeal of tires causes me to jerk my head up away from Layla, and I see a black SUV slam to a stop on the street right in front of us. I reach behind me for my gun when the passenger window slides down and Finn yells out to me.

  “Come on! Let’s go! Get her in the car before the cops get here and this place is a fucking circus. We’ll go back to her cabin and call them from there.”

  I know the right thing to do would be to wait here so we can give our statements and Layla can get medical treatment, but Finn is right. In about five seconds, that club is going to empty when the news starts spreading, and every single person in there is going to be hovering over Layla, taking pictures and asking questions, not caring for one minute that she was just attacked.

  Taking one last look at the hordes of people already gathering on the sidewalk, I curse under my breath, slide one arm under Layla’s neck and the other under her knees, and scoop her up into my arms, rushing over to the backseat of Finn’s vehicle. Getting inside as quickly as I can, I situate Layla on my lap, cradling her to me as Finn guns the engine and takes off down the street, narrowly missing a parked car.

  “WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?” I yell at Finn as he weaves in and out of traffic. “You were supposed to be watching her. You are NEVER to let her out of your sight. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  My body is vibrating with rage as I think about what could have happened to the woman lying in my arms. She’s sweet, beautiful, smart, and funny, and in just one minute, her life could have been snuffed out. I can’t help but take my anger out on the one person in her life that is supposed to protect her.

  “I don’t know! Fuck! I turned my back for one minute, I swear. I saw you come up behind her on the dance floor so I figured she was fine,” Finn rambles nervously before his guilt turns to fury that matches my own. “Where the hell were YOU?You were standing right there next to her! How the hell did she get outside alone?”

  Not that I owe this guy any fucking explanation, but I give it to him anyway so he will shut the hell up.

  “She stormed off and made her way through the crowd before I could stop her. I got people out of my way as fast as I fucking could. That guy must have been standing there, watching, waiting for her. She wasn’t out that door for more than thirty seconds before I got outside.”

  I ignore my own anger with myself; directing it towards Finn is easier. I should never have said what I did, done what I had to her. I should have kept my cool and remained professional.

  Thinking back to earlier in the evening, standing in the shadows watching her dance with all those men all night long filled me with an emotion I'm not used to—jealousy. No one should get to be that close to her, touch her, and hold her. No one except me.

  A guttural roar almost slipped out when the last guy put his hands on her hips. Without thinking about what I was doing, I stalked across the dance floor and shoved him away, but not before leaning in close to him and telling him that if he so much as looked at Layla again, I would wipe up the dance floor with his bloody face.

  I’m silent in the back seat of the car as I process those last few minutes on the dance floor and how every cell in my body screamed for me to just pull Layla against me and kiss her. Kiss that sweet, smart ass mouth and just forget about all of the reasons why it's a bad idea. Holding her soft, warm body against mine instantly flooded me with need, and I was hard as a rock as soon as she pushed her ass into me. I told her it was all just to prove a point, but that was a lie. I wanted her close to me. I wanted to touch her, taste her.

  So I did.

  And now I’m completely fucked because one taste of her skin isn’t nearly enough.

  I feel her squirm in my arms and lower my head to look at her as she slowly starts to wake up. I see flashes of her face illuminated by the street lights outside as we rush through traffic and watch as her eyes slowly blink open and come into focus.

  “Ow.” She winces and her hand comes up to cup the side of her face with the nasty bruise and small cut on it.

  “We’re almost home Lay, hold on,” Finn tells her, glancing quickly over his shoulder to check on her while he maneuvers the SUV into another lane.

  Her chin quivers and I watch the streetlights cast sparkles in her eyes as they fill with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, staring up at me. “That was so stupid. I shouldn’t have gone outside alone. I know that. I know better.”

  A tear escapes from one eye, and I watch it slide down one cheek, mesmerized by the path it takes over her skin. Keeping my palm against her uninjured cheek, I use my thumb to wipe away the wetness.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have pissed you off. I’m old enough to know that you never tell a sexy woman you only wanted to dance with her to prove a point,” I tell her softly, trying to lighten the mood.

  It does the trick. The shame and guilt disappears from her face as she lets out a short, watery laugh.

  The car comes to a quick stop, and I pull my gaze away from Layla to look up, noticing we’re parked right out front of the biggest, most luxurious home I’ve ever seen.

  Sweet mother of God. This is what they call a cabin? What the hell do they call a mansion? A shack in the woods?

  The back door opens and Finn reaches inside trying to pull Layla off of my lap. I shove his hands away, not ready to let go of her just yet, and not trusting Finn to keep her safe, even if it is just to help her walk to the door.

  “It’s alright, I’ve got it,” I tell him irritably as I slide out of the car, hugging Layla’s body to mine and hefting her up higher in my arms as I make my way across the driveway to the front porch.

  Finn doesn’t say a word, but I can sense the fury pouring out of him as he slams the car door closed behind me, and I can hear him breathing angrily through his nose as he follows, pounding his feet on the stairs behind me.

  He brushes past me, his shoulder purposefully bumping into mine as he reaches the front door and punches in the security code to disarm the alarm. The door clicks to let us know the alarm is off, and Finn opens it, holding it wide so I can enter with Layla. My feet come to a stop as Finn hits a few switches to the right of the door, and the living room is bathed in soft, white light.

  Layla’s house is definitely a cabin of sorts. The walls and ceiling are paneled with natural grain cedar, and the floor is smooth and shiny hardwood, but that’s pretty much where the similarities to a log cabin end. The living room has vaulted, twenty-foot ceilings with a giant wagon wheel light fixture hanging down in the center, each spoke holding an electric lighted candle. The wall directly across from where I’m standing is nothing but framed windows from floor to ceiling, with a gorgeous view of the fields, valleys, and forest that make up her backyard. Despite its size, the room is homey with dark brown, well-worn leather furniture, throw pillows, and a few unfolded blankets tossed over the backs. The floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that takes up half of the wall to my left adds to the warmth of the home. Its mantle is filled with pictures of Layla as a child, Layla and Finn, and one of a teenage Layla holding a guitar next to a man I assume is her father.

  “Stop gawking and put me down,” Layla speaks up from my arms as she catches me staring around the room with my mouth open.

  “Sorry,” I apologize with a laugh as I walk her over to the leather sectional in front of the fireplace and set her down gently. “I’m not used to hanging out with famous rock stars that live in palaces.”

  I kneel down next to the couch and take both of her hands in mine, turning them palm up so I can inspect the damage she did when sh
e fell.

  “This is not a palace and I’m not a rock star,” Layla insists with a grimace as I turn her hands this way and that to try and make sure there isn’t any glass imbedded in them.

  “Really? So, everyone you know has a 1958 Gibson Les Paul hanging on their wall in a glass case...signed by Jimmy Page?” I'm completely floored and can't even comprehend what I'm looking at. “Obviously, I'm hanging out with the wrong people,” I reply with a chuckle as I glance over at the guitar above the fireplace that my eyes immediately zeroed in on when I set her down on the couch.

  “The cops and EMTs will be here in about twenty minutes,” Finn states, coming up behind me and shoving his phone into his back pocket. “They’re finishing up statements at the club.” I can hear the guilt in Finn’s voice, and part of me wants to turn around and finish our argument from the car and ask him again what the hell he was thinking taking his eyes off of Layla for even one minute.

  Layla looks over my shoulder and up at Finn, her face softening with a smile for him. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I was an idiot. I should never have left the club by myself,” she reassures him softly.

  I don’t share the same sentiment, so I keep my mouth shut and continue checking her hands and knees for glass and to make sure the bleeding has stopped, which it hasn’t. I’ve never seen someone bleed this much from a few little cuts and scrapes.

  “What did the guy want? What did he say to you? Did he do anything else to you?”

  I watch the color drain from Layla at Finn’s rapid-fire questions, and I want to stand up and shove my fist into his face. She swallows roughly a few times, and her eyes blink back more tears as Finn continues his interrogation. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he sounded like some crazy fan instead of her friend. Someone who just wants the dirty details and gossip instead of making sure his friend is okay.