by Dani Stowe
“Mr. Rohr!” shouts Ajax, who is an extremely heavy bald dude that reminds me of my bodyguard—the one who taught me how to fight when I was younger. Ajax’s arm loops around Taloulah’s fiancé’s neck, choking the PI and pulling him away.
Blood pools at the side of my cheek so I lean over and spit. “No, no. Let him go, Ajax,” I instruct.
“But Mr. Rohr,” Ajax squeals still gripping onto the PI.
“I’m going to kill you!” cries the fiancé, still trying to swing and kick me. “I told Loulah to leave you weeks ago and when she finally got the nerve to quit this morning, you tried to have your way with her. Lucky thing I showed up at her apartment right when she got home. I saw her clothes torn and the bite marks, you sick fuck! She wanted to call off the wedding tomorrow because of you.” The fiancé pulls at the big arm around his neck. “Let me go! Your boss beats women. He needs to get his ass beat.”
“Boss?” Ajax raises a brow with a most dumbfounded face that speaks disbelief as he struggles to keep Taloulah’s fiancé at bay. “Did you really do those things to Ms. Berkeley?”
“Yeah,” I nod and spit again. “It’s okay, Ajax. You can let her fiancé go.”
Ajax unleashes the man and I notice the look in the fiancé’s eye as he comes at me again. It’s a look I recognize whenever I see myself in the mirror, a look that resembles that of my father whenever he felt the need to teach me a lesson. It’s the look of an animal, except this man appears completely wild and unhinged.
But I figure I’m used to this, so I take my beating like I would whenever I was in the presence of my father, except this time I take it knowing full well, for once, I deserve it.
Chapter 11
Taloulah
I’m a very bad girl.
I should be spanked.
I should be beaten.
I should be whipped, lashed, thrashed, and tortured with hot wax or oil or whatever it is that people use to torture others.
I should’ve done more to protect Nick.
I look down at my strapless dress with a sweetheart neckline that grips around my waist and falls loose into a ballgown. I smooth my hands over the top layer of shimmering white lace on tulle fabric sprinkled with sparkling petite daisy-like flower embellishments and I can’t stop thinking about Nick.
This is your wedding day! Your fucking wedding day and you are not marrying Nick!
Pushing my gown forward with both hands, I sit on the beige padded stool in front of the vanity of the dressing room in the small white church, which my fiancé picked out and I’m glad he did. I don’t know much about churches and it feels odd that I never dreamed about getting married in one. My dreams were always consumed with the idea I would marry Nick, though I doubted he’d ever chose to get married in a church.
Girl, who are you kidding? Nick would probably never choose to get married in the first place.
And here I go again. Thinking about Nick.
Nick got his ass beat yesterday because of me—again—because of me. I tried to call him last night but he wouldn’t pick up. When Ajax called to inquire about me, which I thought was very sweet, he gave me the scoop on all that went down, which was Nick landing on the floor in his own office after a good pounding and he didn’t fight back. Of course, Nick wouldn’t fight back. Nick threatened to kill my fiancé, but Nick would never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve to feel pain.
Strangely, I feel more obligated to get married to my fiancé with everything that’s gone down. I need to cut ties with the bad boy whom I never really stood a chance with in the first place. Nick, however, has become a man’s man—a class act who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, particularly when it comes to getting what he wants and sticking up for the things he adores, like his friends and his company. We all see it—what he carries around inside of him—the persistence, the focus, the toughness, and the loyalty. Even his temper has an appeal. When he speaks in anger, he speaks with danger and one’s heart can’t help but to yield to something so relentless.
But I was lucky enough to see the other part of Nick as well. The part that makes him a nerd.
He would never admit to being a geek, of course. The only difference between Nick and the rest of NIM is he’s devilishly handsome. But Nick was just as guilty of not adhering to social norms as the rest of the Lords of NIM. They are all socially inept, they are all experts in what they do, they are all obsessed with true love, and they all had rough childhoods, Nick probably more so, which is why he always digs his face into his books. Geeks have an insatiable need to understand things and when they can’t figure things out, especially nonsensical things, they escape for any sort of understanding. So, there’s no bigger nerd than Nick.
I laugh to myself but sigh when I peep my head up to see my painted face in the mirror. Charlotte did my makeup for me. Nancy pulled my hair into a flowering bun at the top of my head and Sue... well, she wanted to do my nails but we all decided to get that professionally done together at the salon. As usual, they gave me a fabulous makeover. I do believe I look pretty as a bride. I can hardly recognize myself.
I drop my head, squeezing my eyes shut, because none of it seems to matter. Nick’s not here to see any of it. Even when he’s not around, I’m still caught up in wanting to impress him. “I wonder what Nicholas Rohr would say if he could see you now.”
“You’re beautiful.” Nick’s voice rings louder in my ears than the church bells that rung earlier upon our arrival.
My heart leaps up into my throat where I feel like I’m about to choke. I cough and my dress suddenly feels tight, making it difficult to breathe with the sight of Nicholas Rohr standing behind me, his reflection in the vanity’s mirror.
“How’d you get in here?” I croak.
“I made a donation to the man upstairs and he showed me the way.”
I huff as I spin my head around to see Nick standing there—bruised face, split lip, fat cheek. His hands in his pants’ pockets.
Oh Jesus! He’s dressed in his custom tailored, American-made Bespoke Edge slim fit black suit, which means he’s not going to go away easily. I really need to end this—the two of us, we make no sense because somehow, I keep getting him hurt.
“You shouldn’t be here. How did you find me? You were not supposed to get an invitation.”
He flicks his nose with his thumb. “I found your contact list on your computer and made a donation to your print service as well. They made me a courtesy copy.”
“Of course,” I roll my eyes.
“Hey! Don’t roll your eyes at me. You know I don’t like that. Pack up whatever shit you want and get out of that ridiculous dress. I’m taking you home.”
Ridiculous dress? I don’t know if I should cry or curse. Only Nick would call someone beautiful and then make them feel awkward at the same time.
I stand up. “I’m not going home with you.”
“Yes, you are, so get your shit and let’s go.”
“You’re not going to talk me to me like that. Not anymore.”
Nick cocks his head sideways and licks the split in his lip, which forces him to grimace. “Err, fine,” he growls. “Will you please pack up your shhhhtuff so we can get outta here?”
“I’m not going with you.”
Nick pulls his hand out of his pocket to point at me, “Yes, you are. You don’t love him.” He points to himself with his thumb. “You love me. Now, let’s go.”
“I don’t love him...” I shake my head and stomp my foot at the twisting of my own words. “I mean, I do love him, but more importantly, he loves me, so get out.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“This is my wedding day, Nicholas! Can’t you just be something other than a jerk to me? This one time?”
“I’m not being a jerk. I’m being your friend. Tell me you don’t love me,” he says cockily, putting his hands back in his pockets like he’s tempting me, daring me to lie and cross him. “Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll leave.”
/> Friend. There’s that word again. “I don’t—”
I hear a tic-tac.
Nick cocks his head back, bringing up his chin but keeping his beady eyes on me, boring into me, forcing me to be still. He rocks back and forth in his shiny black shoes with no socks (which he knows irritates me) from his heels to his toes and the speedy tic-tac noise repeats itself.
I cringe. I know that tic-tac sound.
I look to Nick’s right hand deep in his pants’ pocket. Beneath the fabric he shakes what I assume is a little plastic container that contains a little white pill. A pill that was meant to be a joke. A pill that I could never in my wildest dreams ever believe would become a reality.
Shit. I clench my fists to my cheeks. The Bang.
It took Elliot to formulate the damn thing, Jaxon to purify it, and Dontyne to ensure the pill’s efficiency, so now Nick has every intention of exploiting it on me, which is ironic. No one is more responsible for the development of this drug, no one more than me because it was all my idea...
Nick was shaking profusely inside the limo and I couldn’t understand what he was trying to do. He just got belted across his back and ass a hundred times and he was still trying to be smooth, cool, a playboy. I got the impression he wanted to make-out with me, which seemed absurd at the time. And though I considered helping him in that way, giving myself to him to help ease his pain at that moment, I knew the boy needed serious help—and love. Real love.
“Nick, you don’t have to be smooth right now,” I said.
He huffed angrily.
“I’m serious, Nick,” I cupped his face. “You can be yourself with me. After what you’ve been through, be yourself with me.”
“Be myself?” he chuckled, slapping my hands away. “Trust me, you don’t want me to be myself. I’m just like him.”
“Like him?” Who was he talking about? “Like your father?” I’m sure I sounded dumbfounded, so I spoke sternly. “You’re nothing like him.”
“Oh, c’mon, Lou.” He flashed me puppy dog eyes. His brows lifting adorably at the center like he was begging me for something. Forgiveness? Approval? “I’m sure you’ve heard about how I give it to girls in the sack.”
“I’ve heard,” I acknowledged. “But do you really enjoy doing that to them? I don’t think they like it.”
I was so naïve.
“Oh, trust me,” he grinned. “They like it.”
It seemed strange—the rumors about Nick and his naughty behavior were true. And the truth scared me more than the rumors, though I grew curious as to why girls would like that sort of thing or if they were just doing it to please him and get what they wanted out of him—money, his popularity, a sample of his testosterone.
I was unconsciously rubbing my thighs, itchy from the caked sweat and ash of the evening. “I wish there was a way we could tell how someone really feels about you. You know, like a pill and then you’d know ahead time if they’ll love you or hurt you.”
Nick moved my hair away from my neck and my body buzzed with excitement. I fought to keep my cool.
“I wish so, too,” he whispered, his eyes glossing over my legs then my butt when a light bulb went off in my head.
He wanted to do that to me! Spank me. Smack my butt. Whatever. It made him feel better to spread his pain around. That’s why he did it to the girls he dated. I figure the least I could do after what Nick had just been through was take some of that pain for him as well. If they could do it, I could. I figure I might even like it, as they apparently did.
I turned around, planting my hands on the seat and poked my butt in the air right in Nick’s face. “Spank me,” I said.
“What?” he laughed.
“I said spank me. As hard as you want. However you want. As many times as you need.”
“Oh, c’mon.” He lightly tapped under my cheek with a laugh.
“Oh my God,” I blurted, sarcasm flowing. “Is that the best you can do? I know you want to hit me, so hit me!”
A dizzying whack landed on my backside so hard I fell forward, my chest coming flush with the seat as I moaned in agony from the throbbing sting. The strike was so bad it made my eyes water. I rolled to my back and Nick pulled me up by the arm, my back still arching from the remaining shock as my head trailed until I tipped my chin forward and found myself nose to nose with Nick.
The world seemed to cease in that moment. It was like we were in a vacuum—all space and time coming to a halt. Nick was still shaking but twiddling his fingers through my hair. I thought he was about to kiss me, his gaze captivated only by my lips, which parted for him, ready to pucker against his mouth, until my watery eyes let go of one small tear.
Nick flinched when he noticed the single streak down my cheek and he smeared the wet trail with his thumb, smoothing the wetness over the entire left side of my hot face.
Our eyes met and he shook his head. “Not you,” he said with a sigh. “I’m never going to hurt you. Never again. I’d rather hurt myself than hurt you.”
My heart felt crushed a little. I wanted him to hit me again, even though it hurt. I knew he needed it—an outlet, someone to share his pain. “But I want you to be yourself with me,” I begged, putting my hands on his shoulders. “I accept you. Be yourself with me.”
He massaged my head and pushed me away, no longer shaking. “I can do that. Maybe a small pat on the back end every now and then when you misbehave.” He winked. “But only if you agree to always stick with me.” He smiled. It was a brilliant smile—cocky and smooth but earnest and lustful all at once. “Do you think you can do that, Lou? Be the one to stick with me? You’re smart. I need a smart girl like you. I do believe you’re the only girl that could ever understand me and you need someone to protect you. I will be myself with you if you let me take care of you, except I promise I’ll never hurt you the way my father hurt me.”
Be the one.
That’s what the heartthrob said.
That’s all I heard from the boy with a heart made of solid gold.
That’s what he called me.
The one.
I smiled back. “Of course, I’ll stick with you.” I didn’t need a pill to know then how bad he needed me.
My eyes dart to Nick’s puffy face, but the bruises and swelling do nothing to hide his intentions. I grit my teeth. “You’re not going to take that pill.”
He tips his chin down, eyes blaring devilishly at me. “It’s just one. C’mon,” he smirks. “What’s the matter, Lou? Are you afraid to face how you really feel about me? How you’ve stuck around all these years because you’re completely infatuated with me? Are you afraid you’ll end up on your hands and knees begging me to whip you, beat you, fuck you. I know you, Lou. Now, tell me you love me so I can save you from this stupid hot mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Nick, please don’t do this,” I beg, afraid my mascara is about run once the dam in my eyes breaks and releases a flood. Whatever is lurking in my core goes deep. The feelings I have for this man, I really don’t want to face them straight on. I blink, trying to get a grip on the levees. “I don’t need saving. I’m exactly where I need to be and you need to go. I’m saving myself this time.”
“I don’t think so, Lou.” He waves his finger at me repeatedly. “I think you’re just trying to dig yourself in deeper to test me.” He points to his heart. “To see how far I’ll dive back into the fire to come get you.”
“Nick, you’re talking like a fucking crazy person all because you’re afraid to feel stranded and alone.” I clench my fists at my sides. “Don’t you get it? I’m saving myself from you!”
“From me, huh?” Nick quickly slips his hand in his pocket and I hear the top pop off the container.
“Nick!” I shout, lunging in his direction, fire beneath my feet.
“That’s right,” he scoffs haughtily as he pops the pill under his tongue. “You come to me, Taloulah.”
Chapter 12
Nicholas
She trips.
> Of course, she trips. That’s my Lou. Except...
She’s not getting up.
Her face is planted along with her knees against the scuffed hard wooden floors of the dressing room. She tries to push herself up but she sways on all fours like she’s weak or dizzy.
Something’s not right.
I go to her, crouching to her side. “Hey, Lou. You okay?” I put my arm around her waist before she falls over.
“Ow,” she whimpers clutching a hand to her chest. “It hurts, Nick. It hurts.”
Taloulah’s body starts twitching in short bursts at odd angles. It’s fucking weird and I don’t remember reading about this reaction in the rest of NIM’s reports.
“Nick, I can’t breathe,” she’s gasping. “Nick, my chest feels like its about burst.” She rubs across her breasts. “Nick, I feel like I’m swelling. Something’s swelling inside me. Nick, I feel like I’m going to explode.” She coughs with a gag and her voice gets louder.
“Shh,” I hush and rub the back of her head. I don’t understand this reaction and it seems to be getting worse as she pleads louder and louder.
“Nick, I’m going to choke,” she cries. “Help me. Nicholas, it hurts!” she shouts. “It hurts!”
I sense what’s coming next as Taloulah inhales deeply. I know her so well. It’s like whenever she accidentally hurts me, she’ll take in a hefty gulp of air before she lets out a screech followed by crying. I wrap my hand around Taloulah’s mouth to absorb her scream.
“Calm down,” I coo as she screams into my palm.
I peek at the door. I know I locked it when I snuck in but I look again as I need to be sure.
I pull her back against me and squeeze her tight, keeping one hand around her mouth. She’s fighting me now—struggling to scream her head off against whatever side effect has taken over her body, which I don’t understand. I thought for sure she’d fall on her knees, confess her unconditional love, then ditch the wedding to sneak away with me to where we belong—together in the tower I built for us both.
