Desire Me

by Kayla C. Oliver

  I move my lips and he leans in as if to hear what I’ve said. And I smash my forehead into him. Pain flowers through me and I let out a yelp of pure pain and surprise as he stumbles back, rage in his features. There’s something more than rage. I see murder behind those cruel eyes.

  In seconds Dakin and another guy burst into the room. Dakin strikes faster than a cobra and suddenly, Jackson’s nose is dripping blood as the other guy grabs his arms and hauls him out of the room.

  Then Dakin is on me, holding me, asking if I’m alright. His fingers find my forehead and I hear him whisper that he’ll kill him. But I cling to him.

  “Don’t kill him,” I whisper. “He’s not worth it.” He’s not. He’s a fucking piece of shit, but he’s never attacked me before. Not physically. He’s yelled at me; he’s been an asshole. But more often than not, he settles for silent disdain.

  Still, he hadn’t been like that in the beginning. He’d been so sweet, so caring and deep. Or maybe I’d been too stupid to see him for the monster he really was.

  “Are you okay?” Dakin asks, and I cling to him.

  “He didn’t do anything. Not really,” I say, gulping back tears as I realize the ache in my throat. At the door, I see the other guy who’d dragged Jackson off.

  “Should I call Zac?”

  Dakin shakes his head, holding my cheek to his chest. I listen to the strong and steady beat of his heart and realize that I might be in more trouble if he hadn’t been right there.

  “I’m sorry,” Dakin says. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

  “But you did,” I whisper, feeling miserable.

  Suddenly, I hear Jackson yelling and every hair on my body stands on end. “I’ll fucking kill her!” he shouts. “I’m the one who should be fucking her, not that piece of shit!”

  My face blazes red hot and I feel Dakin stiffen. “Don’t listen to him,” he says, cupping a hand over my ear and keeping the other pressed firmly to his chest.

  “Who’s Zac?” I ask, needing to think about something other than Jackson’s ugly words. Dakin seems surprised by the question.

  “He’s a cop.”

  “Why did you tell him not to call the cop?” I’m confused.

  “Because you’ve been drinking,” Dakin says, and anger rises up in me. I push him away and stand on my feet a few feet away from him.

  “What?” I ask, not believing my ears. But I do believe it. And my heart sinks like a stone. “I was attacked and you told them not to call the cops?”

  Dakin sits on the edge of his bed, watching me like I’m a wild cat and he’s waiting for me to strike.

  “Why?” I ask, tears beginning to crowd my eyes again. I hate myself for crying. I hate myself for being so weak and so pathetic.

  He seems so matter of fact when he responds. “You’ve been drinking.”

  At his house. He’d get hit with supplying a minor. He only cares about his own damn self. What an asshole.

  “I’m leaving,” I say, misery threatening to drown me.

  But he’s on his feet in a flash and his hand closes around my arm just above my elbow. “You can’t go,” he says, and I jerk out of his grasp.

  “Too bad,” I say before turning toward the door. He’s in the doorway before I can get out, and he braces both arms on the frame and blocks me so very neatly. He’s imposing, his eyes are bright and narrow, and I know he feels like he’s fighting a battle he has to win.

  Well, so am I.

  “Let me go,” I tell him with as much authority as I can muster. He has no right to hold me here against my will.

  “No,” he says simply and I look up at him, hating him for doing this to me.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask, and he studies my face as if trying to decide how to answer. And I know the next thing out of his mouth is bullshit.

  “Because I want to keep you safe. Please stay.” There’s a sincerity in him that I want to believe, but I just can’t. If he really had my best interest in mind, he’d have called the cops.

  Then again, my phone is in here. I could call the cops. The thought makes me pause, and I begin to wonder why I’m hesitating. Jackson tried to rape me, to kill me, possibly. Yet the thought of calling the cops on him still leaves me shaking in fear.

  As if this is some bad movie, I hear Jackson again, but he’s up here now, behind Dakin, talking in a voice that’s oddly calm and composed.

  “Step aside, pretty boy. You swore you’d help me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dakin

  As soon as the words leave Jackson’s mouth, I want to kill him. But Camille goes white as a sheet and there’s a look of betrayal in her eyes that shreds my very soul to bits.

  I can explain. I told Jackson I’d help him, but clearly not in the way he thinks I meant. I was going to help him by getting him locked up before he could really hurt anyone. Or kicking the shit out of him until he can’t fuck with anyone else. Still, while looking at the whole world crumbling in Camille’s eyes, I know I have to protect her first and explain later.

  Seeing red, I turn and walk over to Jackson and grab him by the collar with one hand. Shoving him back, I drag his ass down the stairs, back first. His hands grab at my arm as I haul him down to the room of guests who have heard nothing over the heavy bass in the music they’re enjoying.

  But the music stops as I jerk the struggling Jackson off the last step and onto his feet.

  “This son of a bitch is a rapist,” I say loud enough for the room to hear. It’s so quiet I can hear Jackson’s heartbeat. “If he has attacked you,” I say, scanning the women in the room with a silent plea and an offering of strength, “report him. I know it’s scary, it’s hard, and it’s humiliating. But he’ll never stop if he’s not punished.”

  I scan again, seeing uncertainty. “But you’re strong. Stronger than he is.”

  While Jackson struggles, I let him go and he falls flat on his ass amidst sudden whispers and a few titters of laughter.

  “I’ll fucking kill you and that bitch,” Jackson spits.

  A small, cruel smile tugs at my lips. “Not if I find out what you’ve done first,” I say and his eyes widen.

  “Did you just threaten me?” He sounds incredulous.

  “Not a threat,” I say simply, “A promise. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

  Jackson scans the crowd looking for a single, friendly face. But people are staring at him like he’s something they tracked in on the bottom of their shoes and I know I’ve destroyed him for this group.

  And word will spread.

  Jackson looks at me and lifts a finger to point at me. “You’re dead,” he says. Beside me, I feel Jake step by my side and cross his arms over his chest.

  “That sounds like a threat,” he says softly, but I put a hand on his chest to keep him still.

  Jackson’s eyes narrow and I see him snap. He lunges for me and I meet his face with a savage right hook that sends a shockwave up my arm into my shoulder. Everything gives as I smash him again. He hits the floor, but I’m only a second behind as I hit him again and again, with every ounce of fury and hatred in me lashing out at this son of a bitch.

  Jake tries to grab me, but I shove him back with enough force to take him down and return my rage to Jackson.

  “Stop!” I feel Camille’s presence rather than hear her.

  Suddenly, she’s before me, her eyes on Jackson before they come up to meet mine. And I see something there I’d never expected: fear.

  “You’re going to kill him,” she whispers over the sudden buzz in the room. I look up, seeing most of the group has dissipated, but those still around are staring at me, shock clear on their features.

  But not Camille. She’s looking at me like she’s scared of me.

  And I look down at Jackson. He’s bloody and bruised. Jake touches my arm. “He swung at you first.”

  The room agrees with nods and a girl walks up to me and hugs me. “Thank you,” she whispers, before looking at Jake with a loo
k that clearly says she has something to say. He takes her aside and I know he’s calling Zac.

  It’s what I set out to do, but this isn’t how I wanted to get here.

  Camille takes my fingers in her hand and rises to her feet in a graceful motion that sends my pummeling heart into overdrive. I follow her as she leads me off towards the bathroom. She says nothing as she takes my hands and moves them under the faucet.

  I watch her attention to detail as she turns on the water, adjusting it to be warm and begins to scrub my hands and knuckles with soap. Her features are tight, worried, and I still see lingering fear there.

  “How much did you hear?” I ask, needing to know.

  She hesitates and her eyes meet mine. “Enough.”

  As the water runs red, then pink, and finally clear, I sense she’s scared of me and I feel like a monster. I didn’t want her to see that. I should have had more self-control. I should have been a better man.

  I don’t lose my damned temper. Not ever. This fluke will haunt me forever, I’m certain.

  Camille rinses my hands, her fingers trembling and I want to tell her she doesn’t have to be in here with me. She doesn’t have to stay. She can go, but I need her to be safe. It isn’t about keeping her here to protect myself.

  I’m not sure why I feel so protective of her. Maybe because I couldn’t help several of the other girls. I knew; there was always a nagging doubt about what he did behind closed doors. But I didn’t have proof, and I didn’t have a good way to get it.

  “You can go home,” I say softly.

  She looks up at me, surprised. “No,” she says, shaking her head a little, “We have a few things to talk about.”

  That phrase makes my balls retract. Nothing good ever comes from that string of words in that order. But I’m sure as hell not going to tell her no.

  Chapter Nine

  Camille

  I’m shaken. The last few shreds of hazy heat form the alcohol have left me clear headed and nervous. I missed something, something major.

  I didn’t know Jackson was such a bad person. And hearing Dakin tell all the girls in the room that if he did anything to them that they needed to overcome their shame and step up, left me shaking and terrified. I was with a monster.

  How did I get off the hook? Why did he let me walk away?

  But the fresh memory of him attacking me in the room rises up. I didn’t get away. He was just playing me. He was letting me walk away so he could really enjoy it when I came crawling back.

  With a towel, I dry Dakin’s hands and notice he’s still studying me as intently as he was in the moments after I’d told him not to kill Jackson.

  A shiver runs through me and my blood runs cold. Dakin would have killed Jackson. And I know his friend tried to stop him, but Dakin threw the guy to the floor without breathing heavy and kept raining the wrath of hell down on Jackson.

  “I’d never hurt you,” Dakin says in such a low voice I almost miss the words.

  And I know he’s telling the truth. “I know,” I say, thinking back on how he’d been so adamant that he wouldn’t even sleep with me if I’d been drinking.

  Our eyes lock and I feel my heart begin to pump double time. Still, some part of me whispers that he’s dangerous. I don’t know him all that well. And what I’ve seen is two sides of one coin. He’s kind and sweet to me. But someone who can lose their temper like that is someone who might blur lines of what’s right and wrong.

  What’s to stop him from losing his temper at me?

  But I can’t imagine it. He’s been so careful and protective of me I can’t even bring myself to imagine that kind of violence being directed at me for anything I could possibly do. Plus, if he did that because of what he’d accused Jackson of… I’ve got nothing to worry about from him.

  “Is that why you wouldn’t let me leave?” I ask, inspecting the small scratches on his knuckles. They don’t look like they need to be bandaged, but I look around for some medical stuff anyway. I’d rather be safe than sorry.

  I find a medical kit under the sink and take it out. “I’m fine,” he says, pulling away as I reach for him again, but I grab his hand and give him my best I’m in charge look. He relents and gives me his hands.

  “I didn’t want him to follow you,” he says, watching me take out some antibacterial cream. I smear it on the cuts and take out some gauze.

  “But you were protecting yourself, too,” I say, needing him to be honest with me. “You didn’t want people to find out I’d been drinking. You might have gotten charged with supplying a minor.”

  But he shakes his head. “That was such a small part of it. I wanted you to be safe. I knew it was only a matter of time before things escalated with you. He’s got a pattern.” I sense his anger ramping up and know he’s blaming himself.

  “Thank you,” I say as I place the gauze on his knuckles and grab a roll of medical tape. I look up into his eyes. “For making sure I wasn’t the next one,” I say, the words catching in my throat as I realize how close I was to disaster. He’d saved me from something horrible.

  I wind the tape around his hands, feeling tears rising up to choke me. How had I not known? I mean, I had a creep vibe from him; I knew he wasn’t genuine. But I never would have suspected he was as bad as Dakin said he was. And judging by the number of girls who’d hung back to talk to Dakin’s friend who knew the cop, I had a feeling there was a long line of people that had something to say about Jackson’s crimes.

  As I finish wrapping up Dakin’s hands, he reaches out and touches my face, but I can’t look at him. I can’t let him know I’m about to cry. I’m so damn stupid!

  “Hey,” he says softly as I put the tape back in the bag. Both his hands come up to capture my cheeks and I shiver at the sensation of his rough fingers on my face. He tilts my head up and I blink back the tears. But there’s nothing more than worry and warmth in his eyes as he studies me.

  “It’s okay,” he says. Suddenly, he leans in and places his lips on my forehead. My arms slip around his shoulders and I cling to him. He’s warm and safe, reminiscent of home and love.

  His arms come around me and I just cling to him like he can wipe away all the fear, all the humiliation, and all the uncertainty I feel right now. “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling like an idiot. I’m here crying and nothing even really happened to me. Sure, Jackson kind of attacked me, but compared to the other girls, I feel like I’ve got nothing to complain about.

  He didn’t actually get to hurt me. He raped them. I can’t complain about being grabbed by the throat.

  “You’re safe,” Dakin whispers, his lips still on my forehead.

  I pull back and gather up the last remnants of my self-confidence, composure, and strength.

  But Dakin seems bothered. “Don’t close up,” he says gently and I smile at him through the sheen of tears in my eyes.

  “I’m okay,” I say. Because I am. He didn’t rape me. I got lucky, and I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. Besides, didn’t I leave the house hoping to go home without my virginity?

  Oh, hell no, I think. I did not just give myself that stupid, victim blaming line that I wouldn’t have dressed that way if I didn’t want to get raped line. Fuck him for making me even go there in my mind.

  “I should have let you kill him,” I whisper.

  Chapter Ten

  Dakin

  I see it in her eyes. She’s blaming herself. But her struggle begins to fade and she looks up at me again. “Why did he think you were going to help him?” she asks, and my heart begins to sink.

  It’s not what she thinks, but I’m certain it’ll look bad no matter how I tell her. So I lie. I’m not proud of it, I feel like shit, like a total asshole for not being honest with her. But I don’t see any good coming from the truth.

  “I was going to help him get home, but I guess it was ambiguous.” There’s a flash in her eyes and I know she knows I’m not being totally honest.

  I take her hand and we leave the bathroo
m and head back up to my room. Since I know she might decide to leave, I’ve got to go talk to a few of the bodyguards I trust. I’ll have them follow her and keep her safe.

  “Stay here,” I tell her. “Lock the door behind you.”

  She perches on the bed and nods.

  “Do you want to talk to the cops tonight?” I ask, needing to give her the option. She shakes her head and answers in a clear voice that’s unmistakably strong.

  “I’ll give them a statement tomorrow if they even want one from me,” she says, her hand creeping up to her throat. The skin there is a tiny bit red, but I’m not sure it’ll even bruise.

  “There’s enough on him…” I say, knowing that she’s rethinking talking to the cops at all. The girls who are going against him will all build a pretty solid case, I’m sure. And I know the DA. He’ll gladly push to hang Jackson out to dry.

  She nods and I step out. But I don’t walk away until I hear the soft snick of the door lock.

  Downstairs, the party has dimmed a bit, and the girls who needed to talk to Zac are gone. Jake is smiling ear to ear and I know he’s trying to get the party back into swing. Several of the buddies I rock climb with are in the group and I see fresh drinks being poured.

  I walk over to the group I’ll gladly rub shoulders with. Brice lifts his drink in my direction. Jake’s eyeballing me as I take the drink Shane offers me.

  “Damn, man,” Brice says, shaking his head.

  But I’m here to talk to Cliff, who’s standing to my right with a sullen expression. “If she leaves, man, I need you to keep an eye on her.”

  Cliff nods, downing his drink and leaving the group.

  “How’s the other guy look?” Brice asks me, and I shrug.

  “Like hammered shit,” Jake says. He nods at my hands. “Little lady?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at me in a knowing manner.

  I nod, not willing to talk about it.

  And I see it, that moment where the guys look at each other and glance at me. They fucking know.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Brice says, and I feel anger rising up.