Bang

  “Where’s he going?”

  “Just giving us some alone time. I want to talk to you. I wanna know if you’re okay.”

  I shake my head and a few tears slip out. “It’s awful, Pike. It’s so bad.”

  “You’re gonna be okay.”

  I shake my head again.

  “I know you don’t see it, but you’re a strong girl. You will be okay.”

  “He does horrible things to me. Things he never did before,” I reveal. He cradles me to his chest and kisses the top of my head as I hold on to him, adding, “And now you’re not there to take it away.”

  Moving my head up to him, he kisses me, resting his lips on mine and I go soft in his hold. He shifts and moves over me, lying me down on my back against the cold leather seat.

  “What are you doing?” I mumble against his kisses.

  “Taking it away.”

  “But your friend . . .”

  With his hand on the button of my pants, he says, “He won’t be back for a while.” He pops the button, looking down at me, and then asks, “Is this okay?”

  I nod as I murmur, “Yes. Just take it away.”

  And he does, right there in the back seat of his friend’s car. Pike cleans me of the past three months, fading away all the filth Carl left behind and covers it with the goodness of himself.

  PIKE HAS CONTINUED to pick me up after school for the past seven months, but only once or twice a week. He’s mostly with Matt, but every now and then, Matt loans him his car and Pike and I can be alone. I love those times. I found out that Pike and Matt work together, running drugs on the street. After I met him, it didn’t take long for Matt to question Pike about fucking a fourteen-year-old in the back of his car every week. I had never seen Pike so pissed and defensive, threatening Matt that he’d knock the shit out of him if he ever questioned him again.

  Matt is slime and gives me the creeps. He eyes me constantly, like he’s waiting for his chance to get into my pants as well. I don’t say anything to Pike about it, but I don’t trust the guy.

  Every time I see Pike, he has a new tattoo. I hate that he’s marking himself up so much. Kinda like, with each tattoo, he’s taking away a piece of the Pike I know and replacing it with a new Pike—a Pike I only get to see once a week in the back seat of that Mustang while we have sex. We don’t have a lot of time to talk, so it feels as if I pretty much use him to escape. It’s overwhelming now, the emotions afterward. I’ve started crying a lot when we’re done. It worries Pike. He tries to talk to me, and I’ve tried explaining how it’s starting to make me feel guilty, but he assures me it’s okay. So after sex, I cry and Pike holds me, doing what he can to make me feel better.

  But Pike hasn’t come around in two weeks. He told me to give him time to sort out his plans for when he turns eighteen, and I’ve been trying to be patient. His birthday was last week, and I’ve been on pins and needles, anxious to get the hell away from Carl and Bobbi. Carl has been getting more violent with me lately, punching me during sex and spitting in my face. He fisted me across my face last night, giving me a black eye before tossing me on my stomach and taking me from behind. He doesn’t do that all too often, only when he’s really pissed about something. But last night got really bad, and he lost control. I kept my mouth shut and let my mind drift as far away as it could, waiting for it all to be over. He still has that same mattress. It’s now stained in blood, vomit, sweat, and Carl’s urine.

  This is why I’m so anxious for Pike to come get me.

  So after I apply more ointment to the split skin of my black eye, I sit on my bed and stare out the window, looking for Matt’s black Mustang. Soon I grow tired as I peer into the darkness outside. Disappointed, I sulk down under my covers and stare at the purple walls for a few minutes before turning out the light and drifting off to sleep.

  A weight on my arm causes my eyes to pop open. Startled in the blackness, my heart pounding, I hear a soothing, “Shh.”

  “Pike?” I whisper as I sit up and reach out for him.

  His hand runs down my cheek as he softly breathes, “You still believe in me?”

  “Yes.”

  Pike tosses the sheets off of me, and the adrenaline kicks in. Like a million bees swarming in my chest, my heart pumps as Pike and I move fast, tossing my clothes and few belongings into a bag. Everything blurs in a speedy haze, and I almost feel like I’m going to be sick. My stomach is in knots with fear and excitement that I’m seconds away from being free from the hell I have been living for the past six years.

  When Pike zips the bag and throws it over his shoulder, he takes my hand in his. I can see his smile grow in the shadows of the moonlight, and I can’t help myself when I lean in and kiss him, giving him every piece of my heart for this gift he’s giving me. My fairytale, rescuing me from the evil monster that lurks in the dungeon.

  “I love you so much, Pike.”

  “I love you too,” he quietly murmurs. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  With my hand in his, he walks me over to the window he’d crawled in and slips out before helping me out. We teeter along the roof to the edge where Pike tosses the bag down to Matt who is waiting on the front lawn. He quickly runs to the car, tossing the bag in while Pike jumps off the roof and into the grass below. You’d think I’d be scared to jump, but I would jump ten stories down into a pile of varmints if it meant escaping from here. So when Pike holds his arms out, I jump, leaping into whatever life awaits me on the other side.

  Once in the car, Matt drives us away as I stare back at that shitty, white house that has kept me caged since I was eight. I’ve spent nearly half my life locked in that tiny closet and forced down into that basement. The car finally turns, and when the house vanishes, I fall into Pike’s chest and begin sobbing like a baby.

  Free. Relieved. Saved.

  Pike swore fourteen was still going to be my year. I wanted to believe him, but I always doubted. Nothing has ever worked out for me, nothing until now. My cries are loud, but nobody speaks, and eventually, after time passes, I curl up in Pike’s lap and close my eyes while Matt continues to drive into the night.

  CHRISTMAS HAS PASSED and Bennett has been home for the past couple of weeks. With the holidays, time has been consumed, leaving little interaction with Declan. We did meet up for coffee before Bennett returned from Dubai. The encounter was more pleasant than our usual tension. We just talked, and he told me about living in Scotland and falling into his father’s business. I almost feel bad for manipulating him so much—almost. My purpose is clear, and no one will stand in the way of me righting the wrong.

  To appease Jacqueline, I agreed to meet up with her for lunch with a couple of the other girls. So when Baldwin drops me off at Le Sardine, a local French bistro in the west loop, I see the girls already sitting at one of the white, linen-covered tables.

  “There she is,” Jacqueline says as I approach and take a seat.

  “Sorry I’m late. I had to take a few calls.”

  “Are you all set for New Year’s Eve?” Marcia asks as I take a sip of the water that’s set for me.

  “I believe so. I’m just happy Bennett is here. A part of me was worried he’d have to go back out of town.”

  “Please. He’d never miss this event, or a chance to show you off,” Jacqueline says. “The man is crazy about you. I’m a little jealous.”

  Who is she kidding? Jacqueline is innately jealous and does a shit job at covering her attraction to my husband, but I give a charming smile, responding with, “I’m just happy he’s back home.”

  Marcia’s attention goes to the front of the restaurant, and when I turn to see what’s caught her eye, I tense for just a moment.

  “He is so fuckable,” she says under her breath, causing Jacqueline to blurt out, “Marcia! My God.”

  “What?” she defends. “Look at him and tell me you wouldn’t let him do things to you.”

  I watch as Declan talks to the hostess as Jacqueline responds, “You’re marrie
d.”

  “I don’t care. It’s worth the risk, right?”

  “Ask Nina.”

  Turning my attention back, I question, “Ask me what?”

  “About him,” Jacqueline says as she nods her head towards Declan.

  “What makes you think I know anything?”

  “Don’t be coy. He owns the hotel you’re planning the party at,” she states.

  “Doesn’t mean I know him personally,” I defend. “But from what I do know, he seems like a nice man.” As I say this, Declan catches my eye, and with a slight smile, walks back towards the kitchen. Scooting my chair out, I politely excuse myself, saying, “With that being said, I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” Marcia asks.

  “To go say hello,” I tell her as I drop my napkin on the table and walk to the back of the restaurant.

  When he turns to see me, I smile, and slide up next to him along the cold granite countertop that divides the dining room from the kitchen. “You following me?” I question with flirtation.

  “Do you want me to follow you?”

  Taking a pause, I turn on my game and respond, “Maybe.”

  His smile meets his eyes.

  “I haven’t heard from you in a while,” I say.

  “I figured you were busy with family affairs. Didn’t know you were wanting to hear from me,” he says, flirting right back.

  “I enjoyed our coffee date,” I tell him. “I like talking to you. Just missed it, that’s all.”

  “Is that all you missed?”

  “Declan,” I softly nag.

  “Yeah, I know. You’re married.”

  Needing to break him, I softly whisper, “I miss spending time with you.”

  His eyes hesitate for a second, and then he grips my elbow, causing me to instinctively look over my shoulder to see that, for the moment, the girls aren’t looking at us. Declan quickly pulls me back to a private hallway that leads to the restrooms.

  “What are you doing?” I ask and tug against his hold, but he has me pinned against a wall before I can say anything else.

  His face is close to mine as we stare at each other. My heart pounds in fear that someone will see us, and he reads my anxiety, saying, “No one can see us.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re flirting with me, Nina. You’re leading me on.”

  “I’m not.”

  His eyes roll down to my mouth, and then he speaks in a soft, guttural tone, saying, “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I whisper.

  “What are you feeling?” he questions, pressing his body into mine, pushing my back flat against the wall. “Tell me what you’re feeling . . .”

  Pressing.

  “. . . right . . .”

  Closer.

  “. . . now.”

  “I love my husband.”

  “Is that you telling me or you trying to convince yourself?”

  Releasing a fractured breath, I see the darkness in his eyes, and I make my move, saying, “I don’t know.”

  His hand comes to meet my neck, almost forcefully, wrapping his fingers and thumb around its slender form, pinning my head back to the wall in a possessive, yet soft, chokehold. Taking a moment, he simply looks into my eyes and I finally see the hunger before he kisses me, sucking the breath straight from my womb. Lips crashing, heavy breaths, all the while, keeping me in his firm grip. His aggressiveness spurs me to grab on to his dress shirt, clenching the crisp fabric in my hands while he takes over. Sinking his tongue into my mouth, I taste the ice of his breath, or maybe it’s my soul I taste. I lure him in further as I slide my tongue along his, and when I do this, he quietly growls into my mouth, causing a slight vibration between us.

  Abruptly, he pulls away, keeping his powerful hand around my neck as he takes a step back. He stares; he doesn’t speak, he just stares, examining my reaction. But my reaction is calculated, pulled straight from my playbook.

  Quaking, aroused breaths.

  Making the rise and fall of my chest visible to him.

  Letting out an erotic but nervous hum.

  Relaxing my muscles and sinking into the hold he has on me.

  “Say it,” he demands.

  I shake my head, denying his request, and when I do, the tips of his fingers increase the pressure around my neck.

  “Tell me how you feel,” he urges.

  I quicken my breathing and am able to push the deceit out in the form of a tear. Slowly spilling over, I feel the wetness linger down my cheek, but before it drips off my jaw, Declan’s tongue licks it away. The tender touch surprises me, and when I drop my head, he finally releases his hold on me and cradles my face, tilting it up to look at him.

  His eyes soften, and I give him the words I know he wants, saying quietly, “I don’t know what the word is for what I feel for you, but I feel it.”

  “Do you want it?”

  With slight mock-hesitation, it’s game on when I respond, “Yes.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts, and this time, he’s gentle when he moves me to kiss him. His lips are soft as they press into mine, but he keeps it short, and then says, “Come to the hotel after you’re done here.”

  “Okay,” I answer without any question, and then he’s gone, walking away from me. I take a moment to compose myself before returning to the table, and when I walk back out into the restaurant, I do a quick glance and notice that Declan has already left.

  “And where were you?” Marcia asks with gossipy intent.

  “Restroom.”

  “With?” she presses.

  Narrowing my eyes, I tell her, “You’re insinuations are vastly inappropriate and offensive. If you’re wanting dirty gossip, you’re going to have to find it elsewhere.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything,” she says, back-stepping.

  I pick up the menu, mind still on Declan, while Jacqueline and Marcia fall back into whatever conversation they were having before I returned. We spend the rest of our lunch in idle chitchat, and then Jacqueline goes on her usual rants about our other so-called friends. I sit, playing along, nodding my head to feign my interest in what’s being said.

  After the bill is paid, we exchange cheek kisses before leaving. Baldwin is parked out front, waiting on me, and when he opens the car door, he asks, “Good lunch?”

  “Lovely,” I respond sarcastically, and when he gets into the front seat, he looks at me through the rearview mirror with a pondering look that I have to smile at and then admit, “Okay, maybe lovely isn’t the right word.”

  He laughs and pulls out into traffic.

  “I need to stop by Lotus before we go home. Seems my signature is needed on a few invoices and I want to see that the room is set up properly.”

  “Of course.”

  Pulling up to the hotel, I get out of the car and walk in, heading straight back to Declan’s office. He sits behind his desk, and when I step in, he stands up, saying, “Close the door.”

  I do.

  He strides right up to me, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me, never breaking his fluid movements. Slipping my arms around him, I kiss him back. Excitement rushes through me, or maybe it’s the adrenaline of finally knowing this is happening. The plan that Pike and I set out to accomplish over four years ago. All this time, and finally, it’s happening. I want to throw myself at Declan, but I have to be smart, remember the game, and not lose focus of what I need to do. So I control the endorphins and pull away.

  “What is it?” he questions.

  “I’m just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  Taking a moment, I respond, “Scared.”

  “Of me?”

  I shake my head with his hands still on my face, holding me.

  “Of this?”

  “Yes.” With a drop of my head, I lay my forehead against his ch
est, adding, “I’m married. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re married, yes. But are you happy?”

  Looking up into his eyes, I say, “I’m not sure what I am. All I know is that this feels good. You feel good.”

  The intensity in his eyes reveals the pleasure he’s taking in my candid words, and I take advantage when I slip my hand around the back of his neck and pull his lips down to mine, showing him that it’s him I want—because truth be told, he is what I want, what I need.

  “Come see me,” he says when we break our connection.

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “I can’t. I have a dinner,” I tell him.

  “I want you to come see me.”

  Taking a step back, out of his hold, I hesitate, saying, “I don’t know.”

  His jaw twitches in what I can assume is frustration or anger. “Don’t waver, Nina.”

  “That’s so easy for you to say, isn’t it?” I nearly snap. “Because you’re not the one who is about to fall into a situation that will turn you into a person who acts in Machiavellian schemes. I am.”

  “I am too. I know what I want. And even if it comes with the manipulation right now, I still want it.”

  “I don’t know,” I say in a heavy sigh. “I’m not that kind of person, Declan. I’m faithful and good. This—kissing you—it’s already hurting me. But . . .”

  “Say it,” he demands.

  “But it’s already filling something in me I didn’t know was even empty until you. I just . . . I just need a little time to think about this.”

  “I’m not a patient man, Nina.”

  “I know. But please, just . . .”

  He steps to me, gripping my arms tightly in his hands, and says, “We both know what you want here. You’re lying to yourself right now if you say it’s Bennett or else you wouldn’t have come here.”

  “Stop.”

  “No.”

  Tugging my arms away, his grip tightens and I see the beginnings of a smirk.

  “Declan, stop. Let go.”

  “No,” he says in a hardened voice. “I don’t play games, and this is you, playing with me.”

  “I’m not playing, Declan. This isn’t a game; this is my life, a life I’ve made with my husband, and right now, I’m really confused. Just let me think,” I tell him.