by Amanda Rose
"Maybe we should start making this a little more fun." He leers at me, and the other men around him step forward, clearly looking forward to this.
"How about we cut off a few of those clothes? We'd quite like to see more of their little slut."
I shiver, memories flooding me. The room is becoming a distant place, the people in it like shadows. The homeless guy is suddenly standing in front of me, putting his hands around my throat once more, and his hands are everywhere, he's got many, I don't see them, but they're touching me, my breasts, between my legs, burying his fingernails in my sensitive flesh. Tears are running down my face and I try to get away, but I'm tied to a chair, helpless, exposed. The man - one of them, one of the many - is smiling at the sight of my tears, and wipes them away with a fat finger. It's not a gentle gesture; it's the promise of more pain and humiliation.
Someone grips my chin and pulls me towards them, pressing his stinking lips against mine. I fight, pressing my lips together tightly, not letting him enter, but he bites me and slaps me and someone else punches me in the stomach. I gasp and my mouth opens, and then his tongue is in there and I bite, he shouts, more slaps, more punches, footsteps, doors slamming, shouts, shots.
Shots.
My bonds are loosened, my body falls forwards, into waiting arms.
I'm on the ground, being gently rocked, my hair being stroked.
"I'm so sorry," someone whispers, "we should never have left you alone."
I'm floating, the thought of being safe slowly permeating my scattered mind. Safe. I thought I was safe before. Then I suddenly wasn't. I'll never be safe. There will always be people who want to hurt me.
"Get the doc!" the man holding me shouts, and I cuddle against him, wanting him to protect me from all the sound and chaos.
I'm shivering, remembering that my clothes are lying in a destroyed heap on the floor.
Someone else comes, wraps me in a soft blanket, then I'm returned to the warm arms that rock me gently, making me feel at peace.
"Talk to me, sweetheart," he says, but it's too much effort. My mouth is bleeding and my cheeks have started to throb painfully. Everything is blurry, the world is foggy and unclear, but as long as those arms are around me, it's fine.
"What did they do?" A third voice, familiar. Ben. I weakly stretch out an arm, wanting him here, holding me. He is safe. I trust him.
He wraps himself around me, protecting me from the world. The other arms want to leave me, but I grip them as tightly as I can.
"Don't worry, I won't leave you," they whisper - he whispers. Luther.
"Are you sure this is wise? Us being so close to her after all that just happened?" Ben is trying to be sensible, but he's hugging me to his chest, and I know he won't let go.
"She wants us here, she will tell us if she wants us to let go of her," Luther says and I want to agree, but it's hard to form a coherent sentence.
"Doc is on his way," Alistair says from around the corner. "He'll be able to look at your arm as well, Ben."
That shocks me out of my delirium. Ben is hurt. I sit up, looking at him in panic. Ben can't be hurt.
"It's okay, it's just a scratch," he whispers reassuringly. "Relax, it will be fine."
"Did they...?" Alistair's voice is cold, precise.
"I don't think so," Luther replies quietly. "She was still tied to the chair when I arrived."
Al sighs. "We should have known. It was too easy. She shouldn't have been here alone. It's our fault."
"We know," Ben snarls and I shiver at his angry words. "Shhhhh," he whispers immediately, giving me a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sorry, I'm not angry at you or Alistair. I'm just..." He shrugs helplessly, mirroring Al.
Al, who's still standing apart from us. I need him. He needs to be here.
I open my mouth, trying to form words, but all that comes out is a weak moan. Pain is clouding my mind. Just like before...
...can't breathe...
...him...
...no air...
"Breathe, Em!" Alistair's clear voice is suddenly close, commanding me to do as he says. "You need to breathe. You're safe. We're here."
He puts an arm around my shoulders, joining the others in our tangle of pain.
They're taking away some of the agony in my mind and body, just by being here. They ground me in the present, Al reminding me to breathe again and again, until the doctor arrives and gives me something for the pain, so I can sleep and forget.
The boys take turns in putting cold bandages on my face as the doctor told them to. They make me sit up and drink, and check if I'm okay. I might have a concussion, he said, and I need to have a proper examination tomorrow. He gave them some pain meds to give to me, but it hurts even with them. The pain in my mind is worse than the pain in my body though. When Ben comes with new wet cloths again, I make him join me on the bed until he hugs me tight, giving me a semblance of safety. He is warm and he shot them all.
He will protect me.
I'm huddled between Ben and Alistair on the backseat of a cab, gripping their hands tightly. I've never been someone who gets easily scared, but right now, my body is in panic mode. And all we're doing is taking a taxi to a hotel.
The living room is full of blood stains and bullet holes and bad memories, so we've decided to stay at a hotel for now. The only reason we've waited until now is that they wanted to give me some rest. Luther has driven ahead to arrange it all, and now we're following. The pain killers are wearing off, but I've refused to take any more. I want my head to be clear. Even though my face and stomach hurt like hell. The guys wanted to take me to the hospital, but I refused. I've had enough of hospitals for a lifetime. My unconscious seems to have decided that they are safe, and that I am safe wherever they are. Looking at what happened yesterday, that doesn't seem very rational, but emotional me doesn't care. All I want is Ben, Alistair and Luther.
The cab pulls over in front of a large, sparkly hotel and Ben helps me out, passing me my crutches. They wanted to take the wheelchair but I refused. I think I blame that thing for giving me away to those monsters.
I've got a baseball cap pulled deep over my face to hide the bruises. I don't want anyone to think that the guys did this to me. I know they're blaming themselves, and at some point, we need to address that. It's silly for them to feel guilty. Nobody knew this would be a trap.
Ben shot all five of them, two fatally. There's going to be an enquiry, but for now, he was allowed to stay with us. Guess he didn't lie when he told me about having a gun license when we first met. The others are in hospital under police supervision, and will be taken into custody as soon as they're well enough. Hopefully, the guys will be able to get information from them, not just about how they managed to fool us all, but also about who else is involved. And where they keep all those poor girls. Thinking of them, my bruises hurt less. I was lucky, the guys came back just in time. They have nobody coming to rescue them. Not until we have more intel.
Luther awaits us in the lobby and leads us to a pretentious golden elevator. Our suite is on the top floor - and once again, I'm amazed at what the guys are able to afford. This isn't a simple set of rooms, this is a gigantic flat with several bedrooms, a fully equipped kitchen and two bathrooms. And a jacuzzi in the middle of one of them.
Luther catches me staring at it. "Would you like a bath?"
"I'd like nothing more," I say, trying to smile but failing utterly. I'm not quite there yet.
"I'll get it ready, just sit down and relax a bit."
"Wait... what about my leg?"
He grins and holds up a garish blue... thing. "Got that from the pharmacy around the corner. They say it is completely water proof, even when taking a long bath." He unfolds the protective sleeve to unroll a thick, leg-shaped rubber bag. My heart melts at his thoughtfulness.
"Now, sit down, I won't be long."
I do as he asks, gingerly sitting down on the white stretched linen on one of the big four poster beds. I feel dirty, and not deserving of suc
h cleanliness.
Someone knocks on the door and I freeze, panic setting in.
"Room service!"
Looking less cautious than I think he should be, Ben opens the door and takes something from the man outside. He turns around with a smile.
"Hot chocolate, Em?"
This time I manage to smile. "You don't know how amazing you are."
"I don't?" He shoots me a toothy grin. "I could show you exactly how amazing I am."
"Are you flirting with me?"
He immediately turns serious. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't. Not after... everything."
I smile sadly. "Flirting is good. It's normal. I need normality right now."
"Well, then I'm going to try my very best to do some proper flirting."
"Ignore him, I'm the king of flirtiness," Alistair interrupts. "Did you know you make me melt just like that hot chocolate?" He grins foolishly as Ben breaks out in laughter.
"That was terrible. Try this one: You're even sweeter than hot chocolate."
I snort. "Sorry boys, but you really need to work on your pick-up lines."
"You're so hot, you should get into the jacuzzi before you burn the place," Luther smirks as he comes out of the bathroom, holding a towel and the cast protector. He gives me a bow. "My lady, your bath has been prepared."
"I don't deserve you guys," I mutter, tears welling up in my eyes. But maybe that's just from the delicious steam of the mug of cocoa in my hands.
"We don't deserve you," Ben whispers and gives me a gently kiss on my forehead.
"Now get into that bath before the water gets cold," Luther says playfully and takes my mug from me. I growl and he laughs. "You'll get it back once you're lounging in the water."
"Does that mean you're going to come in when I'm naked?"
He pauses for a moment and I see the indecision behind his eyes. He's scared of how I will react. But I will make sure that this thing isn't going to come between us.
"If you would like me to?"
I smile at him. "You are very welcome to join me."
Alistair gasps in mock horror. "Now I'm offended. He gets to play with you and I'm not invited?"
I pretend to think hard. "I guess... if there's enough space... it wouldn't be fair if only one of you was in the bath tub with me."
With a wide grin, Luther kneels in front of me and pulls the blue waterproof bag over my cast. It looks hideous, but it's snug against my skin, hopefully not letting any water in. I should probably keep this bath quite short. If the cast gets wet, I will have to go back to hospital, and I try to avoid that at all costs. My place is here, with the guys.
"Arms up," Alistair whispers, suddenly by my side. He takes off my shirt, letting it fall carelessly onto the floor. Ben climbs onto the bed and unclasps my bra from behind, gently running his hands over my skin.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs and presses a soft kiss on my shoulder blade.
"Yes. Make me forget," I sigh as he puts his hands on my breasts while Alistair leans forward to kiss my lips.
"Guys, the water is getting cold," Luther complains. "Get up, Em, before those two eat you alive."
That sounds like a promise that I would love them to keep, but I accept that cold bath water is a terrible thing. He hoists me up and I let him pull down my baggy joggers. Looking up with a cheeky smile, he takes the rim of my panty between his teeth and yanks them down. Cool air strokes my core and I shiver in pleasure.
The jacuzzi awaits.
EPILOGUE
Mary puts a large piece of Christmas cake in front of me, next to the half-empty mug of cocoa and the slightly stained letter I've been staring at for the past five minutes.
Turns out, I'm rich.
And that Mary is not just a café owner, but also the guys' colleague. Superior, even. They call her M, just like in James Bond. Not sure if that is a joke or actually her code name. I'm having a hard time getting my head around the fact that when Ben took me here the first time, he did it so that M could check me out. Luckily, she approved of me.
And now she's handed me that letter. The zeros are dancing in front of my eyes. So much money. Compensation for the 'trouble' I went through two weeks ago. I'd like to correct it to torture, abuse, attempted rape, but I'm not sure Mary would appreciate it. She's already warily eyeing the chocolaty fingerprints on the white paper. Well, it was her decision to serve me both things at the same time. The cocoa and the money.
This means I'll never have to return to the streets. I'm independent now, I'll no longer have to rely on the guys. I can even pay them back for all the clothes and gadgets they bought me. Although Al would probably spank my ass for that. He's been doing that a lot recently. He's turned out a lot more dominant than I expected. And I absolutely love it.
"Is there something wrong with the cake?" Mary asks with a cheeky grin. "Do you want some more cream?"
"No, but some champagne would be nice. I'm buying," I reply while signing at the bottom of the letter, finishing with a flourish.
She chuckles. "I'm not strictly speaking licensed to sell alcohol, but I believe your boys took care of that."
Ben frowns at her calling them 'boys', but he takes a bottle of bubbly out of his backpack. Mary provides the glasses and joins us on the small table.
She holds up her glass, smiling at me.
"Welcome to SOCA."
To be continued…
Skye MacKinnon
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Description
When Mary goes on a date, she never expects him to show up as Santa. What a tool. But hey, that doesn't stop her. Underneath the beard, there's a hot guy. And if there's one thing she likes, it's hot guys. And he comes with a side of friends. Ho, ho, ho, merry Christmas indeed.
CHAPTER ONE
Erect my tree.
Ding
With an annoyingly loud bing, the doors of the elevator slid back open as the cold air from the lobby wafted into the small cubicle. Mary quickly turned away from the mirror, whipping out her phone so she could act casual. Like she hadn't just tried popping a pimple. A muffled ruffle made her actually look up from her phone and with a yelp she jumped backwards.
"What the?"
A giant, walking Christmas tree was shoved into the elevator, the branches driving her into a corner.
"Ouch! Oi, there are people in here?!" she yelled out, waving her arms in the air to alarm whatever twat was shoving those prickly hard branches against her.
"So sorry, madam!" a man's voice called out from the other side. Mary pressed herself against the far back of the elevator and stood up on her tippy toes, trying to check out the other passenger. She hoped this random dude wouldn't need to ride all the way up to her floor. This was a nice building. Who the fuck was trying to move in a giant ass Christmas tree? That was not how you did things here in the city. Here, you got yourself a fake looking thing that you could just take out from the storage space.
"Could you be more careful? And it's miss!" she called to the other end of the enclosed room, her voice jumping a pitch. She did not want to be called madam, even though it seemed to have become a more regular occurrence. Mary glanced at her reflection, wondering if she had grey hairs or wrinkles of sorts that might tell people she looked older than she actually was. People at twenty-three didn't usually get called madam, did they?
"I'm so sorry. I just need to ride to the fortieth floor. I'll be out in a jiffy!" the man called, trying to rearrange the tree. From what he heard, the voice on the other end didn't sound too pleased with his...choice of plants. Even though she was a little rude, he certainly didn't want to pick a fight with the holidays right around the corner. That wasn't exactly in the spirit of Christmas.
Mary brought up her bag and groaned into the dark leather. Just her luck, he needed to get out after her. How was she supposed to get out of this damn ele
vator with a whole lot of branches and sharp twigs poking her?
"Any idea on how I'm going to get out?" she sweetly asked, but even the tree could hear the venom in her words. Mary hated Christmas, she hated the holidays, and she certainly didn't care for the absurd tradition of bringing trees indoors. There was a good reason trees grew on the outside. It was because they belonged on the outside.
"Which floor do you need?"
"Thirty-seven."
"I'll try and move the tree?" the voice replied, shaking the tree once more. Mary cringed as it rained little needles on her. Those would be a pain to get out of her hair.
Ding.
With a sharp sound, the doors of the elevator slid open. Mary checked the counter on the higher end of the wall and groaned. Only up to the twenties. Was this damn elevator always this slow?
With two female voices going: "We'll take the stairs," and the soft hum of the doors closing, the elevator got back in motion. Mary groaned and angrily stared at the branch poking against her thigh. That wasn't exactly what she liked pressed against her.
"Couldn't you have taken the stairs?" she called out, impatiently following the numbers slide by as her floor approached.
"Not for forty floors," the voice answered reasonably. Mary pulled up her nose. She hated it when people made sense when she was being irrational. Of course, this person wouldn't have taken the stairs with a big ass tree.
"Could've waited till the elevator was empty," she muttered under her breath,
"What was that?" the man asked, pulling the tree closer to him.
"I said: Could've waited till the elevator was empty!" Mary repeated herself, squealing as a bunch of needles showered her.
"Well, excuse me." she heard from the other side of the Christmas tree, but it didn't sound in the slightest sincere. She’d probably pissed him off. Eh, what did she care? She just wanted to get to her flat, kick off her damn heels, and relax on her couch. With her flight cancelled and her holiday plans falling through, she was already in a sour mood. And now this kid was basically dry humping her with a tree. Not exactly the holiday season she had planned.
