by Madison Faye
Lunging down the steps, she was huffing and puffing as she got to the lobby. Her running immediately halted as she attempted to slow her breathing. She peeked out and saw the front desk; it was empty and she gazed all around. Trembling with anxiety, she stepped out with a casual air and walked toward the exit.
“Stop!” she heard that familiar slimy voice that James used.
No fucking way would she stop. She broke into a run, slammed the doors open, and nearly leapt through the front glass double doors. She was out on the street and the Paris traffic blared at her like a greeting world of noise. She darted out into traffic, hoping to get to the other side to taxi row.
Horns blared at her and cars slammed their screeching brakes. Angel almost hyperventilated as her feet finally made it to the curb. Spotting the first taxi, she waved and ran in a frenzy to get to the door. Tugging it open, she leapt inside and slammed it shut.
The cabby shook his head at her dramatic entrance. “Où aller?”
Where? Angel seemed to freeze as her chest still heaved. She knew smatterings of French, just not if they spoke really fast at her. Her gaze rose up to search the street, but all she could really see was the traffic. “La gare?”
He must’ve noticed her English pronunciation and he smiled. “The train?”
Relieved that he’d understood, she nodded and was holding onto her bag with whitening knuckles.
He swung his gaze down at her grip and her shaking body.
“Please, hurry?” she whispered breathlessly.
His eyes rounded and he turned to the wheel, maneuvering the car away from the curb.
Holding her breath now, she lowered herself to the seat. Her heart pounded and her body was still tight with fear. She finally loosened her grip and raised her bag to get her purse out. Brandon made sure she never had enough money to even pay for a two-block cab ride, but she’d been stealing cash from all his bimbos that he brought into the apartment. After a month, she had almost enough, and then the scuzzy blonde’s cash he brought in last night put her way over the top.
Angel had still been full of fear and doubts while planning to wait another week, but after last night? She swallowed at the memory. She’d decided to do it, to run. If he caught her, she would pay dearly, but she would end up dead anyway. She had that backup plan. Angel didn’t want to think about it—the desperation to be free of it and her resolution to do away with herself if she finally was faced with no way out, ever.
She counted the euros with shaky hands and checked to make sure her passport was still in her bag. She knew that the train would be the last place he would look. He would check the airport and the boats first. He was afraid of trains. She never knew why as he seemed unafraid of anything except maybe that he might not get it up when he wanted to. It had happened once or twice, and like a fool, Angel had looked happy and satisfied about it, then he punished her severely.
She shivered. It’d been her fault that she’d ever gotten involved with him in the first place. It was just that he looked so much like—her thoughts came to that place again. To the man who showed her what she had secretly desired, though she never knew about it. Dev… she allowed herself to actually say his name in her mind as her body flushed.
Devareaux. She could almost hear his voice purring at her. “Douce Angel.” Sweet Angel. If she admitted it, she’d only come to France, to Paris, in hopes that she might find him here. It was a wild thing to do and one that she’d paid for many times over.
The taxi halted in front of the station and she sat in the seat while she calmed herself. Twisting her body from side to side, she looked all around to see if anyone had followed.
“Pas de personnes suivies.” The cabby watched her actions in the rearview mirror. “It is all clear.” He nodded as he wore a sympathetic expression.
Angel swiveled around to look at him. Embarrassment flooded her. He could tell she was in trouble. She tried to smile and dug into her wallet.
“No, no, sweet girl, fille douce.” He nodded and got out to go around the car and opened her door. His expression remained guarded as he gazed all around.
The door opened and she slid out carefully. She had to stop herself from hunching down so as not to be seen.
The cabdriver winced and anger filled his eyes. “Tell me, who has done this?”
Her stunned gaze shot up at him.
His posture looked rigid and stiff, his expression angry. “I am from this city and I have heard of the fiends who come here to…” He bit at his lip.
Angel shook her head at him. “I can’t.”
He stepped close. “It will be my pay for the cab.”
Angel looked into his warm eyes. “Okay, it’s—” She halted and gazed around with panic jolting her body. “The Plaza West penthouse, suite 202, Brandon Hodges.” She took a deep breath, fearing that somehow, Brandon could hear her or something crazy like that and her entire body shook.
His dark eyes were fixed on her bare shoulder as her sundress had slipped off a little.
Her gaze shot down to see the purple bruise in the perfect shape of a handprint. She hastily pulled the material up and looked away, still concerned about getting caught.
“I shall escort you to the ticket and to the train.” His expression looked even more furious.
Angel’s first instinct was to refuse, but she was in desperate straits and she nodded her head. “I would be grateful.”
He smiled at her, though his eyes still looked angry as he gently took her elbow and walked her to the entrance.
Angel just now noticed that he was tall and had wide shoulders, with dark hair falling over his forehead in a natural sweep. She’d been too nervous to really look at him and she couldn’t care anyway, as her survival was at stake. She looked away from him, realizing that he seemed so commanding to be just a cabby. But here in this country things surprised her all the time.
The cabby nodded at the door attendant, who stood stiffly with a formal air at the station entrance.
“Bonjour, Bastien!” The man in uniform smiled at the cabdriver and seemed to relax his rigid-bodied stance.
Angel looked over at him and back at the cabby’s face. Bastien? His name is Bastien.
He still looked angry as he nodded and stopped to lean in toward the guard.
Another clench of dread clutched inside her chest, as she watched the cabdriver whisper something to him.
The guard swung his eyes over at her, and then his gaze shifted away.
He’s telling him something about me! Alarm rose up in her. Maybe he works for Brandon too! It was entirely possible, as she’d even been betrayed by maids, waiters, and elevator operators. Her breath was trapped in her chest. No, it’s just panic; how could he own this man, who just happened to be the first cab she took?
Bastien nodded, stepped back, and propelled her through the entrance.
Chapter Two
Angel’s feet slowed down and she jerked away from his grip on her elbow. “What was that?”
He blinked at her. “Qu’est-ce?” he asked with confusion.
“That back there with the guard?”
His expression shifted to relief and he let out a small laugh. “I was telling him to watch for problème éventuel—um, how you say, possible trouble? And to watch his door as a madman may show up.”
Angel’s eyes became slits as she studied him.
“Why would I help this tromper—this fool? This man who would…” He was clenching his fists at his sides.
Angel felt so bad for accusing him. “He has paid people all over to keep me—trap me.” Tears filled her eyes. “People like you.”
“Not like me.” His voice was steady. “He also won’t be paying anyone anything ever again.” His voice had dropped to a low and cold tone.
“Really?”
The cabby nodded. “Oui, really!” He took her arm again.
Still scared, but feeling some hope that she may get away as she’d planned, she allowed him to escort her to the
ticket booth. They waited in line and when she went to step up to the counter, she reached in and pulled out her passport billfold.
“Prochain,” the man at the booth called.
Angel smiled nervously at him, laying the passport down in front of him and reaching into her bag again for the money.
“Quelle est votre destination?” the ticket man asked as he picked up her billfold.
Her eyes shot up. She had no idea what her destination was. Is there a town in Europe called Freedom? She hadn’t planned in advance, as she never believed she would get this far. “Um…” she hesitated.
The cabby, Bastien, leaned in. “Do you have any family or friends in France?”
Angel batted her eyes as she thought of her estranged mom. She married a Frenchman, here in Europe. But that had been two years ago and she hadn’t heard from her since she called to tell Angel about the wedding, which she was never invited to, of course. “Um, I had been hoping to find my mother…” Angel shook her head.
He sighed from next to her.
“Je n’ai pas toute la journée!” the ticket man snapped at her.
Angel flinched at his tone and stepped back.
Bastien’s grip on her arm tightened and he stepped in front of her. “For her, you do have all the time in the world, oui?”
The man at the booth stared at Bastien and visibly paled as his eyes widened.
Bastien stared back at him.
“I am so sorry, madame!” the ticket guy apologized in thickly accented English. “So very sorry!” he exclaimed.
Angel looked from him to the cabby as she wrinkled her brow. “It’s all right. I, um—want to go to Marseille?” She wasn’t even sure where that was; she’d just now read it on the map board above the booth.
The man nodded and she stepped forward, sliding the money through the slot at the bottom of the ticket window.
Ticket man’s hands seemed to shake a little as though he were nervous at Bastien’s staring. He opened her passport and peered at it. “Qu’est-ce?”
Bastien took a closer step and looked down at it. “Oh, no.”
Angel was trying to look around the cabby to see what they were upset about. “What?”
The ticket man still looked fearful, but he shook his head at Bastien. “I cannot.” He slid the passport and the money back out through the slot.
Bastien took them and handed them to Angel.
Shaking badly, she stared down at the passport. Her face had been black-marked and the word D-E-A-D had been scrawled across her name. “Oh!” she cried out and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, yes. That’s me—dead!” She laughed with a gasping sound. “He will make sure!”
Bastien looked concerned.
Angel knew she was getting hysterical, but she couldn’t seem to get a hold of herself. She started to pull back from the booth and Bastien.
His expression was full of sympathy. “It is okay, it will be—”
“No!” she shouted.
People stopped and were staring at her and her insane shouting.
Angel bit at her lip and straightened her shoulders as she saw the stares and people gaping. “It’s quite all right now,” she informed him in a suddenly steady voice. She was numb and didn’t care what happened. She couldn’t leave on any known conveyance, not these days without a passport. Brandon had fixed her again.
Fixed. The word began to echo in her mind as she was forced to bend over while he whipped her and she was sucking on his dick. “I will fix your disobedience!” At first, it had made her wet and needy, but then he wouldn’t stop. He’d whipped her until her ass cheeks had bled. She loved to be dominated, but he was a violent dominator and she did not love to be literally beaten until she couldn’t stay conscious. “It’s all fixed,” she repeated in a dull voice. Her heart rate slowed and her shaking stopped. She turned from Bastien and took a step back.
Brandon stood at the main entrance, arguing with the doorman.
At the expected sight, her body went cold. She stared at the monster, whose presence didn’t really surprise her at this point, and turned toward the train’s entrance. Moving swiftly, she headed for it.
“Mademoiselle!” Bastien called from behind her.
Angel kept walking. She suddenly broke into a run and sprinted down the stairs to the platform. The trains were running and she heard the deafening roar. It will be over soon. She rushed to the edge and stood looking at the train as it sped toward the station. Lifting her foot, she went to drop down, waiting for it to near.
Hands grabbed her arms and she screamed. He’s got me! “No, let me go, I will be free!” she screamed as the train roared by so close that it shocked the breath from her lungs. The thunderous sound of it waved over her while everything whirled around her and went black.
Chapter Three
Angel awoke and looked up at a brown-colored material. The inside of a vehicle? She was in a car. Releasing a breath, she sat up and swung her gaze over to see that the cabby, Bastien was driving.
Glancing over at her for a second, he didn’t say anything.
Angel looked down at the floorboard to see her bag at her feet. “Thank you.”
He grunted in response and maneuvered through traffic.
Angel suddenly realized what she’d almost done. “I’m…?” She wanted to apologize for the trouble she’d caused, but I’m sorry wouldn’t cover it. She placed her hands in her lap.
Now he glanced over at her. “I am taking you to my home,” he stated flatly with that French twirl to his words.
Surprised, she looked over. “Won’t your family wonder?”
He chuckled though his dark eyes remained angry looking. “No, I am a grown boy and I live without my famille now.”
“No, I mean your wife, kids?”
He paused for a second then replied, “None.”
Angel should have felt some trepidation at going home with a stranger she’d only met hours ago, but she found all her fear had been used up already. She just wanted to finally relax, maybe fall into a deep, untroubled sleep for a day, or even a whole week. “Okay.”
“It had better be okay.” He didn’t smile. “Because you need someone to…” his voice faded away, “…take care of you.”
Finally, curiosity nudged at her and she took a good look at her driver. He was tall, that she already knew, and he looked to be maybe thirty-eight or so with silky dark hair and that sweet French accent. What the hell are you doing, Angel? She turned her head away. Checking him out, when he knows you’re on the run from an abuser? She’d always liked older men. Maybe one could say she had a daddy thing. She shook her head, all because she’d had no father. A therapist had told her this none too subtly. She kept her hands primly in her lap as he pulled the car into a parking garage.
She looked at the seats and the dash as she realized it wasn’t the cab she’d ridden to the station in. She gazed around at the all leather interior; the hood was silver. It looked to be a French Fiat and she was about to ask how they happened to be in a whole other vehicle.
Maneuvering the little coupe to a stop, he got out and shut the door.
Her question faded away as she watched him walk around and open her door.
While she grabbed her bag, he scooped her up from the small seat. “Oh!” She was taken aback by his strong embrace as he swung her out and shut the door with his boot.
Angel said nothing about it. Obviously, he’d already carried her after she’d passed out and still felt like he needed to do it some more. She put her face to his chest and noticed how good he smelled. It seemed so safe in the cradle of his arms and she felt secure for the first time in a year. Why couldn’t I find a guy like this one? Why do I always hook up with the demented ones? She knew the answer already. Because you like doms, Angel, and most of them are mean, and they’re just bad. She shook all the thoughts of regret away. I don’t need another relationship anyway. I need to get a plan.
Bastien carried her up two flights of stairs to a steel do
or. He kicked at the door and it beeped with an odd mechanical sound.
Angel found this to be strange. Was there someone else here?
“Participant au bleu,” he called out.
The door beeped twice and swung open.
Angel blinked her eyes and stared across his chest into the interior.
“Lumières!” he called out and the lights came on.
He carried her down metal stairs and Angel stared at an apartment that stunned her.
It was full of antiques, paintings, velvet curtains, old tables, vintage chairs. The beauty and grace of old Europe spread out before her entranced eyes. “Oh, wow!” she exclaimed as he set her down on her feet.
As he let her go, he stood very still. “Yes?”
Her eyes spanned all around to see things she recognized from her own knowledge of collections and antiques. “It is so—beautiful!”
The now quiet Bastien stood behind her as she gasped and oohed while her gaze fell on this vase or that miniature. “Hummel…?” she gushed. “Oh, that!” She laughed outright as she pointed at an old Tiffany lamp. “I always wanted one of those!”
Bastien stepped closer. “You like it?”
Angel nodded. “Like it?’ She laughed. “It’s a world apart, it’s—” She halted. “Magnificent!”
“Most women think it’s all junk.”
“Junk?” she almost shouted. “They don’t know squat!”
At her enthusiasm for his collections, he laughed and pulled her along the stairs as they dropped into his antique world.
“How do you afford it all?” she asked.
Shrugging his wide shoulders, he led her to an ornate fourteenth-century chair that sat in front of its matching table. “I only have myself to take care of now and I have a knack for making deals.”
Angel stepped gingerly toward the chair, remembering how people had responded to his dealing at the station. “Oh, you mean that I can actually sit here?”
