The Healing Touch - Anniversary Edition (A Manwhore Series Book 3)

by Apryl Baker

  There were still plenty who stopped just to get a picture with the hot guy, but Becca always nudged him to give them a bookmark. Why, he didn’t know. Not like they were interested in his books, anyway. She rolled her eyes when he got irritated.

  He was exceptionally proud of Becca. She hadn’t let her anxiety get the best of her. Two hours of constant readers, and she’d held her ground. He could see the strain in her eyes, though. It was more than she was used to, but she was handling it.

  His legs, though, were not only burning like he was standing in a pit of acid, but the pain started about half an hour ago. It raced up and down his legs, settling as a dull ache in the small of his back. He needed to sit, but there were so many people swarming, and he’d have to get right back up for photos.

  When they called lunch a few minutes later, he had never been so grateful for anything in his life. The chair wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he was glad for the small relief it provided.

  “You okay?” Becca handed him a cold bottle of water.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He winced when he tried to rub a particularly sore spot on his leg.

  “I’m not good, but I think I’m doing better than you are.” She gave him a wry smile. “You need to sit down and finish this signing. If you keep standing, I don’t know if you’ll be able to walk later.”

  “No. People will know…”

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet, D?” Becca resisted the urge to smack him. “People don’t care about your physique or if you’re the sexiest eye candy ever. They care about the books, about the words, and in turn, they care about you. If you let them in, no one is going to judge you. That’s the best thing about this community of readers. They rally around their favorite authors. Give them a chance.”

  “I don’t know…”

  Becca took his hand. “Trust me, Dimitri. If you keep this up, you might do some real damage to your legs. You haven’t had PT in almost a week. Don’t screw up your recovery because of your own insecurities.”

  “Recovery?”

  They both saw Sara Jane frowning down at them. “Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping—well, I was, but it was accidental eavesdropping. Are you sick or something?”

  When Dimitri didn’t say anything, Rebecca kicked him.

  “Ouch! What the hell did you do that for?”

  “Because you’re being an ass. If I can sit here and face my very real fear of crowds, then you can damn well ’fess up about your legs.”

  “That’s private and my business.”

  “Do I need to kick you in the balls again?”

  “You kicked him in the balls?” Sara Jane’s head kept turning back and forth between the two of them, eyes wide.

  “Why did you kick him in the balls?” This from the author at the next table. Dimitri groaned, but Becca ignored him.

  “Trust me, he deserved it.” She nudged him with her knee. “Go ahead and tell them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I think you’ve seen for yourself your preconceived notions are bupkis.”

  “Preconceived notions?” Sara pulled up a chair from one of the other tables, now empty as the author had gone to lunch. The signing room would be closed for the next hour, so they didn’t worry about anyone interrupting them. A few other authors had wandered over, wanting to meet Dimitri.

  “Uh-huh.” She spotted Henry and waved him over. “Henry, can you check to see if the hall is still crowded?”

  “Do you want to go eat?” Dimitri asked, trying his best not to wince at the idea of standing up.

  “No, I really, really need to pee, but if there are people out there, I’ll wait.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Nope, you sit right here and rest while explaining to Sara Jane about your legs and your idiotic ideas about why people like you.”

  “All clear, Becca,” Henry called from the doorway, and Becca stood, careful to not to get near any of the authors crowding around the table. She’d been fine all day behind her private barricade, but out in the open, one simple touch could send her spiraling. She inched around them and all but ran across the carpeted floor.

  “Can you wait outside the door for me, please?” She kept her voice low as they walked towards the ladies’ bathroom. “Knock on the door or something to warn me if someone comes in?”

  “Sure thing, baby girl.” He leaned against the wall. “Take your time.”

  Becca walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap, splashing her face with water. She hadn’t worn makeup because she didn’t have water resistant makeup and she’d sweated enough in there already to have lost a good two or three pounds. Her makeup wouldn’t have survived.

  She took deep, steadying breaths. Small dots danced in front of her. Her panic was crawling up her back, purring. She’d beat it back all morning, but it was finally starting to wear on her. She could feel it curling in her stomach, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

  The test had been going well, other than that. She wanted to make sure she could be a part of Dimitri’s life without worrying about flipping out every other second. Today had shown her she could control it with enough planning. Psyching herself up the last few days had helped tremendously.

  Maybe she really could do this.

  “Hello, my little sixpence whore.”

  She froze.

  The rage in that voice.

  Standing behind her was Dimitri’s ex.

  Looking ready to do her serious harm.

  Well, hell.

  Chapter Eighteen

  How the hell had she ended up in a bathroom with the ex flavor of the week? She looked every inch the beautiful seductress from last night in her short black dress and stilettos. Makeup done perfectly, not a hair out of place. If it weren’t for the fury vibrating off her, Becca wouldn’t even have looked at her twice. She didn’t associate with beauty queens on a regular basis, especially ones who liked to call her a whore and a bitch.

  “Cathy…”

  “Charlene,” the blonde seethed. “Are you so stupid you can’t even remember my name?”

  “You’re not important enough for me to remember you name.”

  That really set her off. Her hands clenched. Smart move, Becca. Insult the crazy ex. Mason said she wasn’t physically dangerous. She probably just needed to vent. Not that Becca was in the mood. She needed to pee, like, yesterday.

  “I’m not important?” She tossed her mane of hair over her shoulder. “Just who the fuck do you think you are? A bedwarmer? His new whore until he gets bored?”

  “I’ll never be any of those things.” She couldn’t resist the sly smile that flirted with her lips. “He loves me.”

  Charlene laughed. “He doesn’t love anyone. He’ll use you and throw you away.”

  “I don’t think so. Dimitri and I have known each other for almost ten years.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not. Dimitri and I have been friends since high school. I’m the only woman he talks to at least once a day. Every day since we met, he’s hit up my phone. Can you say that?”

  The anger in her eyes bled to rage. She started to quiver, her nose flaring.

  “I am sorry he treated you badly. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “You’re right, I didn’t. I worked too damn hard to lose everything because of you.”

  “You never had him to lose, Carlie…”

  “Charlene!” Before Becca could blink, the woman had grabbed her head and smashed it against the sink. Pain exploded along her cheek and erupted behind her eye.

  “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? I worked for this, you little whore. I did whatever sick fucking thing he wanted me to. I took care of him. I sacrificed three months of my life catering to him. It was me who was supposed to finally land a ring on my finger, not you!”

  What the hell? Becca’s head swam, but she was so mad, it didn’t matter. Years of training kicked in, and she tried to twist, to break the woman’s hold o
n her, but she was at a disadvantage.

  Another hard slam against the sink, and Becca struggled to grasp something to hold on to, but Charlene was too fast. She jerked her up and slammed her face into the mirror so hard it shattered.

  “Do you think I played the submissive whore expecting nothing in return?”

  Before Charlene could slam her head again, Becca managed to grab the sink and land a solid kick backward, hitting her right between the legs. It caused just as much damage to a female as it did for a man. She could vaguely hear shouting through the door, but she ignored it.

  Spitting out blood, she swung, landing a solid hit along Charlene’s jaw. The woman cursed and dropped, dodging the second blow. Becca felt a stinging pain right above her knee and looked down to see the woman had stabbed her with a nail file. A fucking nail file!

  She might have laughed at her if it didn’t hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

  Becca grabbed her by the hair and dragged her over to the toilet, submerging her head for a good minute. “Bitch, you have no idea who you’re fucking with. I am the daughter of Dallas Rhodes, Sergeant at Arms of the Rebel Sinners. You do not get to fuck with me.”

  Charlene kicked out, her feet connecting with Becca’s knee, and she went down. Bitch knew to take out the knees. She had to have taken at least a basic self-defense class. Becca blinked, and she was on her, her knees around her shoulders. Charlene’s fingers gripped her throat.

  “He’s mine! I worked for him. You have no right to take what’s mine.”

  Charlene squeezed around her throat, her knees on Becca’s arms. She felt her air slowly start to be cut off. This was so different from her panic-induced attacks, where her lungs simply stopped working. This felt like her throat was closing off and she was trying to suck enough air through a straw until even that was gone. She bucked, trying to dislodge her, but it wasn’t working.

  “You can’t have him. He’s mine! Do you understand me?” Charlene screamed into Becca’s face, every inch the psycho they’d assured her she wasn’t. What the hell happened?

  Her vision started to blur, and she scrambled, looking for anything to help her. She pulled her legs up, trying to slam her knees into Charlene’s back, but the angle was wrong. She did, however, feel the nail file protruding from her leg and grasped it.

  Yanking it free, she gasped at the pain, but used the file to stab at Charlene as best she could. At first, the blows came nowhere near her, but as Becca grew more desperate, her concentration became deeper, and she aimed the blade right at the woman’s side, angling her own arm to jab it deep.

  The pain was enough to loosen Charlene’s fingers, and Becca managed to buck her off, rolling in the tight space of the bathroom stall and grasping her by the back of the neck as she came up. She shoved her head in the toilet again and held it there, letting her up for air only after she started to choke. “Come near me again, and I promise, I will kill you. I know where to hide the body.” She slammed her head against the toilet’s basin before letting her go. “Do you understand me?”

  “Fuck you,” Charlene slurred, and Becca’s own anger reared up. She balled her fist up and smashed it against Charlene’s nose.

  “Stay the fuck away from me.” She threw her down and scrambled backward, waiting to see if Charlene would get up, but the wound in her side coupled with the blow to her head kept her down. Fucking bitch.

  She stood, very aware of the pain her body wanted to let her know it was in, and limped to the bathroom door, watching the wall of mirrors to make sure the stupid woman didn’t try to jump her again. When she reached the door, she found it locked. Charlene must have locked it when she was busy trying to calm her panic down and not paying attention. She thought she’d been alone. How the hell did she get past Henry? Or had she been in here waiting? Hoping Becca would come in? Something the police could get the answer to. Becca just wanted out of the damn bathroom.

  Dimitri and Henry were both on the other side, along with security.

  “What the fuck…”

  “His crazy ex,” she told Henry before inching around him, the enormity of the situation rising to swallow her. Her panic reared up, and she shook her head, trying to squash it.

  Count to ten, close your eyes, and count to ten.

  Dimitri was there when she opened her eyes, the hallway spinning. “Do you have any more psychos I need to know about?”

  Before Dimitri could answer, the room got dark and the voices faded as the panic and the pain finally got to be too much and she passed out.

  ~*~

  The soft hum of the AC woke her. She spotted Dimitri looking out over the terrace. Her head hurt the minute she stirred. Charlene had gotten in several good blows, and she had a concussion. The doctors had wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but she’d refused. All she wanted was to go somewhere quiet and recoup. Dimitri hadn’t said a word since she came to at the hospital, in the middle of them stitching up the cuts on her face. The ride back to the hotel had been in complete silence. Not that she’d minded at the time; her head had been killing her.

  Now, it worried her.

  She sat up, closing her eyes against the pain.

  “You’re not supposed to be up,” Dimitri fussed, coming over to the bed and pushing her back down.

  “He speaks.”

  “Don’t be smart.” He pushed her hair out of her face. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “I shocked the hell out of myself.” Becca had no clue she had a switch inside that someone could flip to ever cause her to do them physical harm. It reminded her of her dad, and that scared her. She wanted to be nothing like him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I hurt her, D. I didn’t think I could ever hurt anyone.”

  “She would have killed you if you hadn’t.” He checked the bandage on her leg. “I should have been there. I sat on my ass and trusted someone else to protect you. I’m so sorry, Krasivaya.”

  He was blaming himself for this? Granted, it was his ex, but no one knew she had this in her. She was a beauty queen, not the Karate Kid. Dimitri couldn’t have known.

  “No one knew she was capable of this. Don’t blame yourself for her actions.”

  “I’m not. I’m blaming myself for not being there to protect you because I couldn’t fucking walk!” The self-loathing that lashed out of him took her breath away.

  “Stop it, Dimitri. If you want to blame someone, blame Christy.”

  “Charlene.”

  “Whatever.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I couldn’t remember her name in the bathroom either, which pissed her off, but what I told her is still true. She’s not worth the time it would take me to learn her name. The only thing I care about is that I’m here, safe, and I’m glad you made me come on this trip.”

  “You’re glad?” Dimitri stared down at her like she’d lost her mind. “You got attacked, nearly choked to death, you’ve had more panic attacks in two days than you’ve probably had in a month…”

  “Not true. I usually have at least three or four a week.”

  He shook his head. “You make it sound normal.”

  “It is, at least for me. And, yeah, I am glad because I learned that when something or someone matters to me, really matters, I can control the panic instead of it controlling me. Doesn’t mean I’m cured—far from it—but it’s a step in the right direction.”

  “I guess your therapist knew what she was talking about, huh?” He kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed beside her. “Sometimes the only way to heal is to face what scares us.” He pulled her into his side, careful not to jostle her too much.

  He’d almost lost her. The fear ate at him, berated him for failing the one person who had never failed him. She was his to protect, and he’d not been there when she needed him. Becca might not blame him, but it was something that was going to take him a long time to come to terms with.

  When Henry told him she was locked in the bathroom and there was the sound of fighting g
oing on, his heart stopped. He’d gotten there as fast as he could, but he’d tortured his legs so much over the last few days, it hadn’t been fast enough. They’d been about to break the door down when she walked out, bloody and swaying.

  She fell, and he’d thought she was dead for a minute. Her face had been chalk white with the very red strangulation marks around her throat. It staggered him. Henry had to make him let her go so the EMTs could do their job. The hospital assured him she’d be fine. Her scans came back clean. There was no permanent damage done.

  He’d prayed to God for the first time in forever, promising anything and everything if only she’d be okay. When the doctors told him she was going to be fine, he’d sat in the chapel for a long time, thanking God and trying to come to terms with his feelings.

  His dad had been right about one thing. The thought of life without Becca was too much; it had brought him to his knees. He knew the love he had for her was the forever kind of love that he wrote about in his books. He was a manwhore, and unless he’d experienced love, he couldn’t convince readers of the love story between his characters. That love stemmed from the woman in his arms. He’d loved her all this time and had been too stupid to realize it.

  “Dimitri?”

  “Hmm?” He absently stroked her arm as he tried to find the words to tell her how much he loved her.

  “Do you think people can be terrible because of their family? Bad genes?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My dad loved fighting. He liked to hurt people. When I was in there, all I could think about was hurting her. I wasn’t Becca anymore, I was his daughter, and I flipped a switch. I hurt her, D. I even invoked his name, and it felt good. I don’t want to be like my dad. I can’t be like him.”