As I swing open the door, it takes my beer-filled mind a second to register who is standing on my porch. When I do, my first reaction is to shut the door. Serves me right not checking the peephole. But when I go to shut it, I’m met with the resistance of his foot.
Before I can even get a shout or scream past my terrified lips, he reaches in and pulls me outside, closes the door, and pushes me back. My back meets the frame of the door hard, causing me to let out a small grunt of pain. He closes his hand around my neck and squeezes, cutting off my air supply and keeping my cries for help from escaping.
“Hello, Isabelle. You think you can get rid of me that easily? Look at what your boyfriend did to my face!”
His nose has a bandage over the bridge, clearly holding the broken bone together. His eyes are both bruised and blackened and his lip has a small cut in the corner. If I weren’t so scared, I would smile. Finally Brandon has had a taste of his own medicine.
“Don’t think I don’t know who he is either, Isabelle. You talked about him enough for me to know exactly who he was when I opened the door. You think you can threaten me? Tell my father and the board about my little extracurricular activities? I don’t think so, Isabelle. And if you know what’s good for you, you will call off the trashy animals sniffing around in my business. You got your papers signed, but hear me, you will always be mine. Call them off. Now.” He looks raging mad, so close to my face that the spit from his whispered words hits my face. I have no idea what he is talking about. “Answer me, bitch. You will be telling them to leave me alone, you understand?” he forces out, again spraying me with his spit.
I claw at his hand, trying to get him to loosen up his hold; I can feel my lungs burning, demanding oxygen. My nails are clawing his hands and wrist, trying desperately to get some air. My lack of being able to breathe must have missed the mark with Brandon, his rage blinding him from his actions. My vision is getting black around the edges, but not before I see him pull his arm back and bring his fist racing forward, meeting my right eye with unbearable pain. My head hits the doorframe, sending another wave of stomach-rolling pain shooting through my head. He releases my neck and throws me down onto the porch, standing over my body with his feet on either side of my stomach. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “I will be in touch, Isabelle, but you tell those motherfuckers to stop fucking coming around and asking questions. I did what your boyfriend said and signed those papers, but I don’t need those fucking papers to prove who you belong to. You fucking hear me, bitch? You are mine. I will fucking kill him if he touches you. Got that? I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Isabelle.” He gets off another punch to my right eye, finally releasing the scream that was trapped moments ago. Then he’s gone. The amount of pain my body feels is the only think keeping me from thinking I just dreamt this whole thing.
I can feel them from my position on the porch floor running inside the house. The front door is pulled open and strong hands lift me up. I wince in pain when my back meets a solid arm.
“What the fuck!” Greg, I think, says from somewhere behind me.
“Oh my God, Izzy! She’s bleeding, oh my God!” Dee screeches from the same direction.
My vision is blurry. I can only make out that the person holding me is male. If it weren’t for the deep scent of leather and cinnamon, I wouldn’t have known it is Axel who is holding me so tenderly.
“Coop, Locke, go fucking find that motherfucker before he gets away,” he grates out, his tone lethal. “Someone call the god damn police. Now! Princess, are you hurt anywhere else other than your head?”
“Neck.” Gasp. “Back.” Wheeze. “It was . . . Brandon . . . was here.” I can’t make out his expression, my right eye is throbbing and swollen shut. I can’t even open my left eye because the movement causes more excruciating pain to blast through my skull like lightning. Belatedly, I feel what must be warm blood running down the back of my neck.
The arms holding me go rock hard at the mention of Brandon. Not what he was expecting to hear. But then again, he wasn’t exactly planning on football Saturday turning into this mess.
“Here, hold this,” Greg says, placing something over the back of my head.
Axel adjusts his hold on me and stands from his crouched position on the porch. I can feel him walking through the house to the living room. I can hear the sounds of people moving around the room. Axel sits down on the couch but doesn’t release me.
“Sit up, Princess. Let’s take a look at your back, yeah?”
He helps me lean forward, making my stomach lurch, and I feel warm hands moving up my shirt.
“Fuck!” Greg yells. “How the fuck did this happen? You’ve got welts all the way up your spine, Iz!”
I don’t answer, because really, what’s the point? I think it’s pretty obvious how I got like this.