“Arrogant little faggot,” Guy mutters, walking to the table.
My eyes fill with tears, and I’m fighting to keep it together. Roland brought me what I need. He’s helping me again the only way he can. I’ll deal with the onslaught of understanding when I’m out of danger.
Fucking get it together, Lara…
Guy removes his red velvet blazer and drapes it on one of the chairs. His trousers are black, as is his shirt. His skin is pale and he lifts the decanter, pouring the amber liquid into two short glasses holding thin lemon rinds. He hands one to me and lifts his to the light.
“He knows I hate this shit,” he says. “But we’ll sample it anyway.”
“I don’t drink—”
“You will tonight,” he cuts me off.
He clinks our glasses, and I’m sure my chance is gone. My heart sinks, but a little bell sounds in the small room.
“God dammit,” he shouts, slamming his small glass on the table without taking a sip.
He digs in his coat pocket and pulls out a slim black phone.
“What the fuck?” He turns his back, and I’ve got seconds, less than seconds to do what I need to do.
My hands shake, but I step in front of the small table and turn the vial of powder upside down, emptying it into his glass. Please let it dissolve fast, I silently pray as a hand clamps on my shoulder, spinning me around.
“What are you doing?” He looks me up and down, but I’ve dropped the vial and covered it with my foot.
“I-I thought you’d want privacy,” I manage to answer.
“Take your glass.”
I lift the small crystal and he clinks his against mine. I watch as he takes a sip. I follow suit and my nose wrinkles as the sharp, burning flavor of whiskey covers my tongue.
I go to the fireplace repeating my silent prayer over and over in my mind. “What do I do?”
He follows me, taking another sip. “We’ve got all night to find out.”
I cringe and take another, longer drink, draining my glass. Then I gaze at the crackling fire, thinking of another room somewhere far away from here, where a man I love lives.
“I don’t know much.”
He looks me up and down. “That’s the point.”
Then he turns and takes one of the little cakes from the tray. “Open your mouth.”
A cold chill passes over me. He’s in front of me, glaring down with sinister green eyes. My lips part, and I open my mouth. Without ceremony, he shoves the petit four inside, smearing icing on my lips.
I whimper, and light hits his eyes as he watches his hand, his fingers moving down my jaw, smearing the bits on my neck.
“Not quite enough,” he muses.
He moves away for another cake, and I try to distract him. “How long have you been back?”
“Long enough to find the little morsel you’ve been hiding in your room. She’s very beautiful.”
My chest tightens at that backfire, and I steel myself. “She’s not for you.”
He quickly crosses to where I stand. “Everything is for me if I want it.”
I know I should be afraid, but my muscles feel weak. My feelings are drifting like the night on the roof when I shot my champagne. He pours us both more Sazerac, and I lift my glass draining it quickly. Maybe I can drown the memories of this night before they happen. The less I remember, the better.
“It’s the only thing that keeps this place open.” He stares at his glass a little too long, and my hope is restored. Is it working? “I should’ve shut this place down years ago.”
“Why close something that’s making money?”
“I’m not interested in owning a theater. Or playing pimp to a gaggle of used-up dancer-whores. If it weren’t for you and that little girl, they could die in the streets.”
I wince, but my numbness intensifies until my lids feel heavy. I step away from him and go to one of the velvet armchairs, wondering if I’ll even make it to sit before I collapse. My fingers fumble for the chair, but I drop to my hands and knees on the floor.
“Yes.” Guy comes closer. “That’s a position I like.”
A thud on the carpet behind me makes me look over my shoulder. He’s at my ass, and his hands fumble clumsily at his waist. “This will be painful at first, but don’t fight me. If you fight me, I’ll be sure it hurts.”
He’s saying the words as if to reassure me, but I can tell. He wants me to fight. He wants to hurt me.
I no longer seem to care. My emotions are gone as his hands rip the thong aside. His nails scratch the skin of my thighs as he moves my legs apart. I’m exposed, and I feel him touching my body. I know what’s coming, but I close my eyes and slip away…
20
“Someday you won’t remember this pain…”
Mark
“Lara!” My fists slam against the metal door again and again until I’m sure my bones will break.
My voice is hoarse.
My knuckles are bleeding, but I feel no pain.
Adrenaline is driving me now.
I’m on my knees at the back door, and this place is like a fucking vault for how sealed tight it is. I shoved my fists through the glass windows, but I couldn’t remove the bars covering them.
She’s in there.
That fucker has her.
I’m locked out here in the cold rain, yelling and beating against this door as my insides crumble to dust.
All my promises.
All the times I told her I’d protect her.
When she needs me the most, I fail her.
I can’t take it. I push off my knees and look to the lot. The Towncar is parked in its usual spot, and I check my pockets for the keys. Nothing.
I go to the gleaming navy car and hit the glass window with my fists. It doesn’t budge.
Stepping back, I look for anything to break the glass. I’ll hotwire it and drive it through the brick wall then I’ll find her. I know all the hiding places in this fucking hellhole.
My eyes light on a broken red brick at the chain link fence, and I hustle to where it lies and snatch it up. I’m running back to the car as fast as I can, the brick raised, ready to smash into it with all my strength when a voice grabs my attention.
“Mark! Come in! Come now!” Roland stands at the door, holding it open.
“What the fuck?” The brick slips from my fingers, and I pivot, running to the steps and pushing him out of the way as I fly up the hallway.
“Stop,” he yells. “She’s in her room. This way!”
“What?” I freeze and turn, heading back to the small room I passed in my haste to get to that fucking basement.
We meet at the door, and I burst in to see her lying curled in the fetal position, unconscious.
“What did you do to her?” My voice is a hoarse growl from twenty minutes of screaming in the rain.
I grab that fucking pianist by the lapels of his black coat and jerk him to me.
“Let me go!” His black eyes flash, and his expression is as enraged as mine. “I fucking saved her!”
“You let him take her!” I shake him hard. “You shoved me outside and let him take her!”