His grip on me falters as pain contorts his features, his howls of agony echoing off the walls. “You fucking bitch!” he roars. I waste no time seizing the opportunity to push him off, sending him crashing to the floor amid the shards of broken glass.
I leap off the couch and make a desperate dash for the phone in the foyer. But before I can reach it, he lunges forward, grabbing me by the ankle and yanking me down with a vicious force. A sharp pain shoots through my thigh, but I don’t dare look down. Instead, I focus all my energy on breaking free from his tight grip with wild kicks. I manage to connect a blow to his face and feel his nose crunch beneath my foot.
Good, I hope I broke it.
“Ahhh!” Jacob’s screams pierce the air as he releases my ankle, clutching at his injured nose in agony.
“Get the fuck away from her!”
The dark timbre of Dameon’s voice roars over Jacob’s cries, and the room goes deadly still. I lift my head from the floor to see Dameon towering over us, like one scary motherfucker, his presence radiating pure menace. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before, and one I hope to never witness again. Dameon bends down, his hand wrapping around Jacob’s throat like a vise. Despite Jacob’s feeble attempts to stop the blood flowing from his nose, the sight of Dameon’s murderous glare is enough to make his hands rise in a futile gesture of surrender. Before Jacob can utter a single word, Dameon’s fist crashes into his face, a single punch landing with a sickening crunch. The sound of Jacob’s screams mingles with the nauseating sound of bones breaking. When Dameon releases his grip on Jacob’s throat, he collapses to the ground in a bloody and unconscious heap. His face is covered in blood, a swollen bruise already forming where the punch landed. Pushing through the pain in my thigh, I force myself to my feet.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand, rounding on him. Dameon looks up from Jacob’s unmoving body, his brow furrowing.
“What?”
“I had it under control!” I seethe, frustration flowing through me as I gesture toward Jacob’s motionless form.
“Are you kidding me? I just saved you from being raped. It didn’t look like you had it under control when I walked in!”
“I did! And I don’t need to be saved by you or by any man! This isn’t a movie; this isn’tPretty Woman. I can save my myself!” I shout, grasping my chest.
“Fuck’s sake, Hailee, this is not the time to get on your feminist high horse.” His words cut through the air like a knife, making me see red.
“What the fuck did you say to me?” I narrow my eyes. “Men like this asshole feel they have a right to my body anytime they want because of my profession. And I’m sick of it!”
“Don’t lump me in the same group as this prick. You know damn well I’m not like him. And I know you can look after yourself. But let me make this clear: I will not stand back and watch while someone, whether they are male, female, old or young, is violently assaulted. Andespeciallynot someone I care about. In. My. Own. Fucking. Home!” Dameon bellows, his voice thundering through the room.
We fall silent, the tension between us crackling as our labored breathing fills the room. His admission lingers between us, deflating my anger like a balloon.
He cares about me?
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. When I reopen them, Dameon is scanning my body with concern.
“You’re hurt,” he observes, his voice gentle.
I follow his gaze and take stock of the damage. A large piece of glass protrudes from my thigh, blood seeping through and staining my dress. Now that the adrenaline and shock are wearing off, the pain intensifies, throbbing relentlessly. I assess myself further, noticing other scratches and cuts on my arms, yet more evidence of the struggle. It seems I fell on more glass than I initially thought.
“Can I take you to the hospital? Or would you like to drive yourself? I’m happy to sit in the passenger seat while you bleed out behind the wheel.” Dameon’s attempt at sarcasm makes my lips twitch.
Funny, asshole.
“Fine, let’s go,” I huff, my anger seeping out as a wave of exhaustion settles in.
***
We wait in the small cubicle at St. Vincent’s Hospital for the doctor to remove the glass and stitch up my leg. Dameon paces back and forth, his focus split between my thigh and the conversation he’s having on his phone.
“Thank you, Kevin. I’ll call you back,” he says, ending the call and slipping his phone into his pocket. He settles onto the seat next to my bed.
“Kevin’s babysitting Jacob while he waits for the police to arrive. He’s still unconscious. They will likely take him to hospital and arrest him there, but they will want to interview you. It’s up to you whether you want to press charges.”
I sigh. What’s the point in pressing charges? He’s powerful and wealthy and will get away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. I have little faith that he’ll face any real consequences for his actions. “What do you think I should do?”
He takes my hand in his, his thumb tracing comforting circles on my skin. “This is your decision, and yours alone. I’ll support you no matter what you choose.” His words are reassuring, but I can see the frustration in his eyes as he speaks. “Yes, I want to see him charged. He attacked you,” he growls, anger flashing in his gaze. “But I don’t think the charges will stick. He’ll lawyer up, use your background against you. I’m sorry, gorgeous.” His expression softens, a mixture of remorse and sympathy shadowing his features. He would know better than anyone. Men like Jacob can get away with literal murder. An attack on a sex worker in a private home will be easy to squash. I sigh heavily again.
“There is another option though…” he trails off, watching me intently.
“What option?”
