The Carrero Heart_Beginning_Arrick and Sophie

by L. T. Marshall

  Camilla seems to have a group of friends at the far end of the darkest and most secluded part of the club. A roped off private area that is being guarded by a heavily suited man who lifts it for us to get by. A table already set up with trays of champagne, and cocktails, and I am dragged to dance within them, looking around warily at this weird set up and wondering if all clubs have this roped VIP area on the floor. I guess this is for the important people who want to be down beside the action, yet not dance beside the commoners.

  There’s a mix of men of various ages, girls and women, who all seem to be sexually gyrating into them, that look too old, or just plain wrong for them. My first thought is how random and eclectic this group of people is, and something just seems weird about the pairings. They don’t look celebrity at all, the men look rich, but the girls look decidedly ‘hookerish.’

  It’s not like Arrick’s group of friends, all similar ages, and similar levels of attractiveness, with girls in matching fashions, behaving like grownups and friends. This is a mix of class, age and calibre, and watching a middle-aged man in an open tux, with a bowtie hanging out of his pocket, groping a girl who looks younger than me with a hand most definitely up her skirt, it just gives me a seriously wrong vibe.

  The girl turns her head this way for a moment, her eyes are heavy and lazy, she looks wasted and completely out of her head, and his grinding and pushing against her only brings attention to the fact that his hidden hand is doing somethings obscene under there. Her mouth parts and her head flops back as he moves in to bite at her neck and I look away in repulsion. Something just seems really off. Even though they are concealed in shadow, under an overhanging roof of another VIP lounge above us, it seems a little too public for this sort of thing. Especially for a club with this much money walking around.

  I hear her moaning under the throng of music and turn back with a glare, they’re far enough into the shadows at the wall now that it’s not glaringly obvious, and Camilla’s group of oddballs don’t give them a second glance. I notice him unbuttoning his pants, that lurch in my stomach hits me hard. The girl looks too young and too wasted to be doing this shit and I move impulsively towards her, pushing aside all other thoughts, other than this cannot happen.

  I’m blocked by Camilla, thrusting a champagne glass in my face almost immediately, it’s like she knows my intention and is telling me to back off without saying an actual word. The glass she gives me is of something clear, and can’t help but notice the weird oily swirl running down the centre as though something alien has been freshly poured in.

  I glance from the drink and back to Camilla, catching sight over her shoulder of the girl I had been about to rescue being fucked in a corner, pounded against in the most vulgar way, while her face is that same hellish gaping emptiness and feel myself recoil, nausea rising up. From here, all you see is his back and shoulders, no hint that he’s exposed at the front, his hand pushed hard at the wall, concealing her mostly, while one hand keeps her leg up at his hip so he can screw her standing up. Subtle thrusting motions are all that give the game away.

  My gut is screaming that this whole scene is off, even if this is the norm for places I used to frequent. Public sex seems to go hand in hand with drunks and drugged up assholes, it isn’t the first time I have seen clubbers go all at it in the shadows, but in this place. A place Arrick frequents, and I know he would never condone any of this, it’s sending off a million warning bells.

  ‘I’ve had enough.’ I try to hand it back to her. Pretty certain there’s something in it and she just shoves it back at my face. The mistrust in my stomach makes me stiffly stop it, and bring my eyes to her in an act of defiance. Camilla frowns, smiles wider and leans in quickly, catching me off guard. Catching my mouth in hers and delivering a seductive lip suck and attempt to kiss me properly, that sends me into immediate defensive mode, practically spitting out the taste of her cherry lipstick and champagne saliva. I pull away, shoving her back harshly and spill the drink between us in the process.

  ‘I’m not like that.’ I stutter, completely thrown off guard, I have never had a girl make a pass at me, and I have no idea how to even react. It sends a new wave of repulsion, similar to what I get with men, yet somehow worse, it feels like more of a betrayal somehow.

  ‘You’re such a square…It’s just a harmless little girl snog. Everyone does it.’ She licks her red lips and smiles at me seductively, eyes homed in on me once more and edges in a lot more slowly, as if somehow warning me means she gets to have another go. This time I push her further and harder, and step back.

  ‘No! I said NO!’ I snap, bristling defensively, that inner child of me lashing out when cornered and feeling my breath hitching in panic. She giggles and runs a finger down my cheek with a little petted lipped smile, cooling my rage for a moment.

  ‘You’re no fun pooky.’ She adopts a cute baby voice, like she’s talking to a fucking puppy and taps my glass again. Unphased by my outburst or hostile reaction at all.

  ‘Drink up and we will have a little dance instead.’ She tips my glass up at my mouth so I taste the first sip, my eyes glued on her warily, caught in some dreamlike state, and yet my gut kicks in at a thousand miles an hour, and I just know for certain I shouldn’t drink this.

  She is distracted for a second by another man, this one looks mid-thirties too, leaning into her ear and saying something which has her turning away to get a better angle to listen, I see my chance. I tip the glass to the side and empty the contents over my shoulder, feeling the splash of liquid up the back of my leg, and knowing I probably just soaked my dress and the person gyrating behind me. I pull it back to my mouth quickly as she turns back to me with a smile. Camilla grins when she sees my now empty glass and that inner mistrust seems to grow larger, gut is sure that she has put something in my alcohol.

  I suddenly picture the girl from the wall in my head, her trashed expression, and wonder if she had succumbed to the same thing already. I had heard of drugs being used on girls in clubs, to make them more pliable, loosen inhibitions and zombie them out so that men could abuse them for their own pleasure. Up until now, I didn’t think it was actually true, now I am not so sure.

  ‘Good girl. See, not so hard to unwind and relax a little. You’re in good hands Sophieboo. Trust Aunty Camilla to take care of you.’ She removes it from me and slides me back into a little clearing, making it obvious she wants to dance now I have dutifully had my drink. My heart is hammering, eyes taking in the number of girls around us in various clinches and poses with these men. The goosebumps over my skin alert me to the high screaming voice in my head, telling me that I am completely out of my depth. I need to get away from here and these people.

  I see another girl in the corner, I vaguely recognise her as another runaway rich kid whose parents think has gone off the rails. I’m sure her parents know mine, and she is leaning forward on the lap of a man with grey hair… grey fucking hair! He’s like fifty, and he manoeuvres under her. I can’t tell if he’s messing with her, unbuckling pants or doing the deed, but I am starting to realise that under here, where another floor above, acts as a roof to conceal this shit, in the dark private corner where Camilla has set up, there’s a lot of sex going on. Sex between wealthy looking older men, and young tearaway girls, like I was. Subtle to drunk dancers who are paying no attention, but I’m practically sober, alarm bells ringing and homing in on what’s happening around me in sheer mortification. It’s all so fucking sordid.

  Camilla starts gyrating in towards me sexily, pulling my hips into her own pelvis and running her hands up and down me seductively, in time to the music. She seems to have no boundaries in which part of my body she can happily stroke, her hands cup my breast more than once and I slide them away, knowing I should be moving, running and getting back upstairs and away from this. My heads telling me to keep calm and be rational, I never drunk the champagne, I’m not in immediate danger, and if I keep my cool I can dance, smile, and make my goodbyes after this song, without any
real effect. She will just assume whatever was in my drink didn’t work. It will cause less drama, mean I am more likely to be able to walk away from this, and when I do, I am marching to the nearest security and telling them what the fuck is going on here. My heads already trying to figure out who in the police department I should even call about this shit, if any crime is even going on here. None of the girls are saying no exactly, no one is fighting them off.

  She’s trashed, acting like the worst kind of whore and obviously swings both ways, evident by the fact she keeps trying to angle in to kiss me. She has no chance in hell of getting me to go girl on girl, if that’s what she’s thinking, and I feel the anger bristling up inside of me, holding back my panicking violent Sophie child, in a bid to handle this like an adult.

  I feel new hands come at me from behind, Camilla leans into me suddenly, reaching behind me and pulls someone forward, so they cup my ass and male hands rest on my hips. The body heat engulfs me instantly, prickling my skin and putting me on even more of a defensive. She starts swaying me to the music and ignores my signs of struggling to move out of this embrace, caught between an obvious male with a fucking hard on jammed at my ass and her gyrating in my groin like lesbian of the year, in a porn flick. I feel that strangling suffocation of panic, eyes flicking up to the roof in a bid to psychicly attract Arry. Needing him more than ever right now.

  ‘Just relax, don’t fight it and he will make you feel really, really good. Richard is hung like a donkey and fucks like a bull.’ She whispers into my face, running her mouth across mine again; as I recoil my head bangs into a male chest of warmth behind me, and I realise I am being completely backed into submission with no way out, somehow, she has impaled my body in his and has my wrist in hers, held tight, feet pinned to the floor by the weight they have put on me. Hands come around and grasp my breasts and I lash out furiously, trying to yank free with little effect, wriggling to move but it’s almost futile. I’m held taught, I can only imagine they think the super drug is going to render me docile at any minute, and I am starting to panic. So many flashing images running through my head to send me off the brink, if I let that pervert back in to render me useless. I claw away the memories and try to focus on staying here, in the now.

  ‘What the fuck Cam?’ I snap at her, but the male behind me yanks me back against him harder, clutching my breasts painfully from behind, diving into my naked neck and shoulder and biting my skin with little care to leaving marks. I react psychotically, turning in his arms with new found strength from a sudden adrenalin boost, yanking my wrists free and throwing my hands at his chest with slaps and shoves that are quickly restrained, with fast reflexes and what feels like a million hands.

  ‘She’s a feisty one…You know I love me some fucking fire, Cam.’ He laughs at me and looks over my head, trying to back me further into the secluded area with him, I struggle and fight to not get further back there, head full of that girl being pounded against the wall. Panicking like crazy, tears biting my eyes and heart exploding in my chest.

  I don’t hear her response, don’t turn to see her before he dives in again, yanking me cruelly close with far too strong hands and forces his mouth on mine, his grip on my arms biting hard, teeth clashing against my lips in the most painful way, which I have slammed shut.

  He’s not the kind of young boozed up asshole I’m used to dealing with, he’s about thirty-five maybe more, strong, well-built and obviously works out. He just reeks of money and power and no way in hell am I able to fight this off. He’s intent on getting what he thinks he’s owed, some sort of sex hungry prick with little concern about raping women it seems. I open my mouth and bite his lip hard, tasting blood with satisfaction, trying like crazy to get him off me, but he feels like an octopus, limbs encircling and trapping me. He grabs me by the throat and tightens harshly, hurting and choking off my air supply, pulling me in to his mouth with a deadly evil gaze, right into my eyes which renders me momentarily mute. I am completely terrified in this moment. Gasping in fast at the shock of this swift reaction, aware that I can’t inhale or swallow and my body goes limp.

  ‘I have a million fucking rape fantasies, I suggest you play nice if you don’t want to be on the receiving end. I love slaves and some BDSM, really know how to make a girl fucking scream, and I don’t mean in pleasure. Camilla owes me. Pipe down and let the drugs take effect, you will thank me for it later.’ His cruel words calm me momentarily, my body reeling in shock and that psychotic controlled tone makes me freeze submissively for a moment. I turn my head slightly to catch Camilla, to plead for her to help me with wild eyes and tears falling freely. I don’t know why I think she will, considering the bitch tried to dope me up. She blows me a kiss, coldly uncaring and turns on her heel with a little smirking backwards glance. Disappears into the crowds around us and leaves me trapped in this cruel embrace.

  Finding my inner fire, sparked by her response, clawing out from inside of me as his mouth ascends on my cleavage. He is obviously someone who is used to getting what he wants, doesn’t take no for an answer, but I am not about to give in because I know I can’t win. It isn’t in me to give in that easily, even when my father abused me for years. He left me black and blue from the beatings, because I just wouldn’t yield to him. I am not about to fucking yield right now, to this power-crazy asshole with a hard on, especially not when surrounded by people who might actually help me if I make a scene.

  I push with all my might and bring my knee hard up into his groin, the way Arrick taught me years before, little memories of self-defence moves he tried to get me to remember. Kept hounding me to learn under his careful guidance, and right now, wishing I actually listened to him and took more lessons. I get a twisted sense of satisfaction when I collide with something soft, then hard, with the force to actually hurt my own limb in the process, and he lets me go, crumbling into a bent pose with a muffled ‘ughhh’.

  I make a dash for it, but he seems to be only half wounded, recovers inhumanly fast, grabbing my wrist and tugs me back to him so I collide with him once more. This time he grabs me by the throat with intent, and pulls me tight to him, so I am nose to nose, squeezing so that I can’t breathe, can’t take a breath and I start to panic. I grasp at his fingers with both hands, no longer fighting to get away, but just fighting to take in air and I can feel that terror inducing fear rising as I realise I can’t. I’m suffocating and I’m going to black out if he doesn’t let up on my throat. His grip is superhuman tight and he has no qualms about applying pressure, obvious he uses this form of control a lot.

  He lifts me up a little so my feet barley scrape the floor, making it tighter, weird gasps come from my own mouth and he seems to sneer at what he’s doing to me. A smirk on his face that puts the fear of god into me. This here is a monster, much like the one I ran from. A man who has no qualms about inflicting pain and suffering and taking what he wants. I know I am pretty much screwed, even in a public club like this, this kind of shit happens all the time. With enough money and power, you can make anything go away, and he obviously knows it. This isn’t the first time he has obviously exerted force on a little girl and I have no doubt that as soon as I get weak or pass out from this, he will fuck me, in a dark rancid corner like that girl, and then walk away like nothing happened. His smug confidence in how he’s handling me makes that clear.

  What the hell is Camilla into?

  He forces another kiss on me, loosening my throat enough that I can semi gasp, still unable to do anything but claw at his hands and try to pull back. I taste the blood I caused on his lip, gagging at its vileness, crushing cruel hard lips against mine, pushing hard to open me up to him. My body is weak, resolve deteriorating with the lack of oxygen and I know that I am pretty much fucked right now. I’ve been on the receiving end of an overpowering male, intent on sticking his dick inside of you. I know how useless a girl can be when faced with brute strength, regardless to where we are. I know if I lock myself in my own head then I can endure it, like I did so many t
imes before. I won’t let this destroy me, I never let any of it destroy me.

  I am literally ripped out of his grip by warm hands around me, yanking me back and depositing me on my feet, hard, in the flash of an eye, gasping and choking. Suddenly able to inhale air. I gasp for it, crouch and crumble to my knees, clutching my throat pathetically, as I expand my lungs and come back to reality; the sheer force of relief that I can actually breathe and get dizzy with the sudden intake of oxygen. Everything’s spinning, suddenly aware I am not being held by anyone anymore. I have no idea who the hell just grabbed me, and dumped me like this to languish on the floor amid pounding feet.

  I look up as the blood drains from my body, cold wash of terror and realise exactly who. That formidable hard body, his speed and skill unmatched by mere normal men, as I see him pounding his fist into the creep’s face in sheer rage. Arrick looks insane, he has bypassed all calm and cool typical Arrick responses and is instead beating the guy into oblivion. In a fury of punches and movements that would befit a ring fight, he seems lost in his own head and unable to stop. Beating down a rain of pain on his victim.

  Fear grips me, sense hits me harder, and I realise he might actually kill him. I jump to my feet, closing the few feet that have opened between us amid the grinding crowd and start hauling him by the back of his shirt, yelling his name. Begging him to stop. He’s like a demon possessed, pounding the guy to the ground, swift trained blows, precisely placed, like a well-oiled machine on autopilot.

  Arrick seems to be deaf to me, oblivious to my pulling at his shoulders and arms, he hits him again and again. The guy tries to fight back, obviously someone who can fight, yet still no match and is already on the floor, but Arrick’s too fast, too well trained and too enraged to be controlled. The other man has no chance. He’s on the ground, cowering as Arrick rains an assault of blows and kicks, and surrounding dancers are starting to turn with the commotion which at first had been concealed. I look around in panic, thinking of what this will do to his career, his reputation. It will be in every paper and magazine if I don’t stop it. This could ruin his life.