by M. S. Parker
When he stood up, he had a knife in his hand. It was a pocketknife, blade only a couple of inches long, but it looked sharp. He walked over to my window and cut the curtain ties, then turned toward me.
Fear spiked, even more than it had when I saw the knife. He was going to tie me down. My head was still throbbing, but fear was a great motivator if channeled correctly. I let it course through me, wake me up. Fight or flight was mankind's most basic instinct and I was counting on that to save me.
He took another step toward me and I bolted. My legs were unsteady and I stumbled, but I'd caught him off guard enough that my mistake didn't cost me. I made it through the door before he started to come after me. I heard him curse at me as I ran down the hall. I knew now that he would've locked the door behind him, so a quick exit wasn't possible that way. The best I could hope for was to get to the kitchen for a knife and keep him at bay while I screamed for help.
I'd just stepped into the living room when he grabbed at my hair. A few of my own strands came out as he ripped off the wig, but I didn't let it stop me. The second time he managed to get ahold of me, however, it was my own hair and he got enough of it to jerk me to a sudden and painful halt.
“Why?!” he screamed the word in my ear and I winced as much from that as I did from the pain in my scalp. “Why did you do that?!”
He threw me to the ground and I barely got my hands out in time to stop me from hitting the floor face-first. He was still yelling at me even as I rolled onto my back.
“We were supposed to be together! It would've been perfect!” His face was red as he dropped down onto me, a knee on either side of my waist.
I struck out at him and saw him wince as one of my fists hit him in the chest. He wasn't skinny, but he was far from muscular. Unfortunately for me, his arms were longer and as soon as he caught my wrists, I was done.
I wasn't going without a fight though. Someone had to have heard him yelling and there was no way the people in this building would let that go without being concerned. I twisted and bucked, knowing that if I screamed, he'd hit me and I wasn't sure I could take another blow without blacking out. I could, however, make sure this wasn't easy for him. He swore at me, but was too busy trying to pin my legs down to get free enough to hit me. He switched my wrists to one hand and that's when I saw that it was over.
He'd picked up his knife again.
“Don't move or I'll cut you.”
I immediately stopped moving. I didn't know if he had the guts to cut me, but I didn't want to find out. I needed to take a moment and re-assess the situation.
“Now,” he said. “You're going to be a good little girl and I'm finally going to get to fuck you.”
He shifted his weight, pushing my legs apart even as his free hand fumbled with my dress. His fingers grazed the edge of my panties.
And then someone knocked on the door.
“Jenna, babe, it's me.”
Chapter 20
When I was a teenager and heard all of the other girls talking about whoever the latest celebrity or fictional Prince Charming was, I used to think how foolish and silly they were. It wasn't just that there was no white knight coming to save the damsel in distress. There weren't any men as good as the ones they thought were real. They didn't understand that the celebrities were played up by their agents and PR people. They didn’t get that those guys weren't as cute, sweet or sexy as the media made them out to be. As for the fictional guys, they were just that. Stories. Make-believe. I liked to read, but I never confused fantasy for reality. Just like I knew there weren't any unicorns, werewolves, vampires or hobbits, I knew that there was no such thing as true love, a man worth dying for or a man who could be completely trusted and make me feel safe.
I'd recently come to realize that last bit wasn't necessarily the truth. There was one voice that I would immediately respond to, one voice that made me feel safer than any lock or weapon could.
The moment I heard Rylan say my name, the surge of relief that went through me was so intense that I stopped fighting against Christophe for a full second. Fortunately, he was just as distracted by someone at the door and calling for me. He froze. My paralysis didn't last as long and I yanked one hand free and punched him as hard as I could.
Pain flared through my knuckles and up my arm, but it was worth it to see him knocked off balance.
Less than ten seconds had passed since Rylan had knocked on the door.
“Rylan!” I yelled as I pushed against Christophe, trying to use his surprise to my advantage.
Christophe backhanded me and I tasted blood.
“Jenna?” Rylan's voice was more urgent and I heard the doorknob try to turn. “Are you okay?”
“Stupid bitch!” Christophe snarled as he grabbed my hair and twisted.
I cried out in pain as my neck was forced into an awkward angle.
A loud bang from the hallway told me that Rylan wasn't going to wait for me to ask him to come in.
Christophe slammed my head against the side of the couch and I was suddenly glad I didn't have a coffee-table. It hurt, but not half as bad as I knew hard wood would've. Hot pain flared across my cheek and I felt blood spill as Christophe's knife cut me.
“How many scars you think I can add to that body of yours before the boss gets in here?” His breath was hot against the side of my face.
He pushed against me, trying to force my nose and mouth against the fabric. I pushed back, ignoring the rug burns on my knees and legs as I fought for every inch.
Another second bang, followed by a loud cracking sound, and then Christophe was being pulled away from me. He held onto my hair, yanking me backwards. I hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
“Get the hell away from her!”
I'd never heard Rylan so angry. If it had been directed at me, I would've been terrified.
“She's mine!” Christophe shouted right back and let go of my hair.
I rolled onto my side, gasping, but needing to see what was happening almost as much as I needed air.
Rylan's fist connected with Christophe's jaw and the other man's head snapped back. Christophe stumbled, but didn't fall.
“He has a knife!” I barely managed to get the words out, but it was enough to give Rylan the warning he needed.
Christophe swung with the blade and Rylan jumped back, the knife missing him by several inches. I pushed myself up, watching as blood dripped onto my carpet. The thought popped into my head that my landlord was going to be pissed if that didn't come out and I wondered how hard I'd hit my head.
“It's over, Christophe,” Rylan said. He sounded calmer, but I could still hear the anger running under his words. He was controlling himself. “The cops are on their way.”
I wondered if that was true. I certainly hoped so. Rylan was in amazing shape and I had no doubt that, in a fair fight, he'd beat the shit out of Christophe. The problem was, I didn't think Christophe would fight fair. The simple fact that he was stark naked and swinging a knife instead of trying to run spoke to the lack of rational thinking at the moment.
“No!” Christophe shook his head. “She's mine. You can't have her. I've watched you go from girl to girl since I started working for you, and I know you were doing the same thing before that. She's just another notch on your belt, but to me, she's everything.”
If Rylan had called me 'everything’, I would've been thrilled. Christophe's words just creeped me out. I finally managed to get to my knees. I still felt a bit too light-headed to try standing on my own. We were like three points of a triangle, with Christophe being too close for me to get to the door, even if I'd been standing. Rylan would've been able to make it out, but I already knew he wouldn’t go for that.
“Why don't we just sit down and talk?” I tried to make my voice soothing. “The three of us.”
“You don't want to talk to me,” Christophe spat. “The entire time we were watching the movies, you didn't want to talk. I could tell.”
He took
a step toward me and Rylan launched himself the short distance and tackled the other man. The knife went flying. With Rylan and Christophe trading blows, I went for the knife.
As my fingers closed around the handle, I heard the sound of flesh against flesh, and then a sound of pain coming from Rylan. Panic gave me strength and I rolled back toward the fight. I saw blood at the corner of Rylan's mouth and anger overshadowed everything else I was feeling. For the first time in my life, I was furious on behalf of someone other than myself.
I was still on the floor, so I didn't have many options, but I wasn't exactly going through a list of things I could do. I acted without thinking.
The knife was as sharp as I'd hoped, easily going straight through the top of Christophe's foot and out the bottom, into the floor.
He screamed, swinging down at me even as he tried to yank his foot up. I barely managed to get out of the way. He grabbed the handle of the knife and I knew it wouldn't take much to get it out.
In the distance, I heard sirens. Even if Rylan hadn't called the cops, someone had. Not surprising. I was sure most of the apartments around me had heard at least the last couple minutes of what was going on.
“I'm going to fucking kill you!” he growled as his fingers slipped on the handle. “I'm going to have you, slice you up and kill you.”
I heard the solid thunk before I even realized that Rylan had hit him again. Christophe's eyes widened in surprise for the briefest of moments and then he dropped to the floor. His leg twisted under him and the knife pulled. I could almost hear the flesh tearing. It came free from the floor and I caught a glimpse of a bloody half-inch of steel before I looked away.
I heard a deep, shuddering breath that sound almost like a sob, and it took me a moment to realize that it was me.
“Jenna.” Rylan's voice was soft and he was close.
I turned toward the sound. He was on his knees next to me, his expression pained beyond concern or worry. One hand was stretched out toward me, but he didn't touch me. I could see in his eyes how much he wanted to. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
His fingers brushed across my cheek and I felt them slide across the blood. “Oh, love, what did he do to you?”
My eyes burned with unshed tears. His lip was swollen and there was blood smeared next to his mouth. One cheek was red and already swelling. But it was me he was worried about.
His thumb traced under my bottom lip and I winced as he touched one of the tender spots. Anger blazed for a moment in his eyes and then faded behind other emotions.
“I want...” He stopped and shook his head.
“What?” I put my hand over his.
“What do you need me to do?”
Love swelled inside me. I couldn't call it anything else. That's what it was. Love. I knew it as well as I knew anything.
“What do you want?” I asked. My fingers tightened around his. “Tell me.”
“I want to hold you.” The need was there, raw on his face. “But after...” His mouth twitched. “I don't want to touch you in any way that would–”
I practically threw myself against him, burying my face against his chest so he wouldn't see the tears that I couldn't hold back anymore. The pain in my face was still there, but as his arms wrapped around me, they were all I could feel. He was all I could feel.
“I'm so sorry,” he said. “I didn't know. I thought you were safe. You should've been safe.”
One hand moved up and down my arm. The other made circles on my back. I began to shiver, unaware that I'd been cold until the heat from Rylan's body began to seep into me.
“You didn't do anything wrong.” My voice was muffled.
“How could I not know what kind of man he was?” Rylan shifted. His finger hooked under my chin and tilted my face up until I was looking at him. “I should've done a better job. I should've protected you.”
“You couldn't have known,” I said. It hurt my heart that he was blaming himself. Hurt my heart, but also made me love him even more. I knew that there were plenty of men who would've blamed me. They would've asked what I'd done to deserve this, how I'd led Christophe on.
I opened my mouth to tell Rylan everything, but stopped when a pair of police officers came through the broken door, guns in hand.
Chapter 21
The cops wanted to break us up to question us, but something about the way Rylan's arm had tightened around me and the look in his eyes must've told them that it wasn't a good idea to press the issue. The problem was, I didn't want Rylan to be here when I had to answer certain questions.
Like when I had to tell the police about the video, or the real reason why Christophe came after me. That wasn’t the way for Rylan to learn what happened.
“It's okay,” I said. I hated the thought of going through this without him, but I hated the thought of him finding out the truth about my past this way even more. I would tell him, I promised myself, but not here and now. Not like this.
He gave me a doubtful look.
“Let them do their job,” I said. “I'll be okay.”
“They should talk to you at the hospital,” he argued, giving the detectives a dirty look. The paramedic who was checking my vitals ducked his head to try to hide a smile.
“I don't need to go to the hospital,” I protested.
“I'll tell you what,” Rylan said. “I'll go with Detective Charles here to answer questions if, once Detective Walters is done with the preliminaries, you go to the hospital.”
Dammit. I scowled, then winced. His expression softened. “Fine,” I said. I squeezed his hand. “Deal.”
“Right this way.” The dark-haired detective motioned for Rylan to step out into the hallway. “Let's start with how you knew Miss Lang was in trouble.”
“She was late for work,” Rylan began, his voice fading as he left the apartment. I only caught part of the rest of what he said, “So I called her twice and she didn't answer...”
“Miss Lang.” Detective Walters caught my attention. He had lighter hair and a nicer face. It made sense that he was the one who was going to talk to me. I was the victim here, after all, even if Christophe was the one who was already in an ambulance and on the way to the hospital.
“Yes.” I forced myself to focus. My head was still a bit fuzzy.
“How about you start at the beginning. Tell me what happened and if I have any questions after, I'll ask them.”
I nodded. “I work with Christophe Constantine at Archer Enterprises, but that's not why he came after me. I didn't know it when I met him, but he'd seen me before. When I was a kid.” I took a deep breath and said the words I'd never thought I'd have to say again. “Back when my mother pimped me out to pedophiles.”
I knew the detective had spent his professional career using blank face, but I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes.
“Among other things, I was forced to make films that were then sold to other pedophiles around the world,” I continued. “When I was thirteen, I was rescued and a lot of people were arrested. They couldn't get them all though. Apparently, Christophe was one of them.” I gestured toward my television. “You'll find proof in my DVD player.”
This time, Detective Walters couldn't completely hide his surprise.
“I left work at five-thirty yesterday,” I said. “I came home, grabbed a bite to eat, changed my clothes and headed to the gym. I thought I felt someone watching me, but I didn't see anyone. I honestly don't know if it was Christophe then, or just me being paranoid.” I sucked in a breath as the paramedic began looking at the hand I'd used to hit Christophe twice. “I came home from the gym, took a shower and went to bed.”
I went on from there, telling him how I'd woken up because I thought I'd heard something and then everything that followed. I wanted to keep my voice flat, unemotional, but I knew that the detective wasn't just taking my statement. He was watching me, taking mental notes of how I was behaving, my reactions to what had happened. I had to let at least some of my emotions through, enough
that I didn't sound like a robot. If I had to testify, a defense attorney would try to take this moment apart.
When I finished, the detective was silent for a moment, scribbling something on his notepad. Then he looked up and asked, “Did Mr. Constantine have a key to your place?”
I shook my head. “Not to my knowledge.”
“The door was locked when Mr. Archer arrived?”
“I assume so. He tried to get in and couldn't until he kicked the door open.”
“Did you lock the door before you went to bed?”
“Yes.”
“Were you and Mr. Constantine romantically involved?”
I bit back the smart retort that wanted to ask if he was a complete moron considering what I'd told him, but I controlled my temper. He was only doing his job. “No. We worked together. That was it.”
“So if we ask around, no one's going to say that the two of you were overly friendly?”
I rubbed my temples. The dizziness was going away, but a headache was replacing it. I had a choice here. I could tell him the truth without talking to Rylan about it or I could leave it out of the conversation and then get accused of hiding it later.
“I was friendly with Christophe at work because he was friendly with me,” I said. “He never demonstrated anything inappropriate.” I looked up at him. “The two of us are not nor have we ever been in a relationship other than in his twisted fantasies.”
“Do you have a boyfriend, Ms Lang?”
Well, there went the vague. It was pretty black and white now.
“Yes,” I said. “I do.” I glanced toward the door. “Rylan and I are keeping it quiet because he's my boss, but the two of us have recently become involved.”
Obviously, this wasn't a surprise to the detective. I had a feeling that he'd asked to see if I'd tell the truth.
