26
Azalea
Itrytoripmy arm out of Gavin’s bruising grip the entirety of our journey to Braxton’s room, but he only holds me tighter as he all but drags me across the carpeted floor. Digging my heels into the ground, I hope to throw him off balance, but his height and overall stature make that an impossible feat.
As we approach Braxton’s door, he uses his brute strength to shove me forward, pinning me between him and Braxton’s bedroom door. I have no way to escape, and I feel my heart leap into my throat at the realization. Gavin never relinquishes his firm hold on my arm, but instead tightens it to an alost unbearably painful amount when I make one last attempt to pull myself free.
It’s always the smallest men who hurt women for their own sick satisfaction, and the only way they find their pleasure from the experience is if they can see how much pain they’re causing. So I press my lips into a hard line to keep from making any kind of noise and keep my features from becoming pinched as he needlessly squeezes me tighter.
“I hope he lets me be the one who punishes you,” he sneers right before he raises his fist and pounds against the door with three loud thumps.
Each swift knock sends a jolt through my body, and I find myself no longer focused on Braxton’s reaction to finding out I was in his study but instead on what Gavin will do to me if Braxton truly does deem what I’ve done worthy of punishment. I try to squelch the panic seizing my lungs when I hear shuffling on the other end of the door. When it swings open, Braxton stands before us, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips.
Braxton finishes running a separate towel through his dark hair before he sighs. “What now—” When his vision is no longer obscured by the towel, he sees me standing in front of him and stops.
His eyes dart to where Gavin’s hand is still wrapped around my forearm, then back up to my no-doubt completely disheveled appearance. With all of the fighting and clawing I did to try and get away from Gavin, my hair has fallen out of the low bun that Rhoden pinned it into earlier, and the sleeves to my dress have drooped down my shoulders. With my wild curls falling around my face and my chest still heaving from the exertion of trying to break free, I’m sure I look anything but regal.
After a few rapid blinks, Braxton takes in a sharp breath. Schooling his features, his dark eyes go cold as he turns his attention to Gavin. “Do you like your hands, Tim?”
I knew he didn’t know his name, but it’s pathetic to watch Gavin not correct him.
“Your Highness?” Gavin’s gruff voice answers. His once gloating face crumples with confusion.
“Do you like your hands?” Braxton quirks a perfectly kempt brow. “I guess the better question is, would you like to keep them attached to your body?”
My eyebrows draw together as I watch the interaction between the two men, if you can consider Gavin a man. Even now, he’s practically sniveling before Braxton’s scrutinizing gaze, and all Braxton has done is ask him a question. Albeit, a threatening one, but still just a question. I’m more confused by Braxton’s reaction to all of this. It’s no secret that most of the servant staff prefer my company to his, so I find it puzzling that he would treat one of the only people who willingly bows to him in this castle so harshly. Gavin slowly nods his head, apprehension in his every movement.
“Then I suggest you remove your hand from Azalea’s arm,” Braxton says cooly.
Gavin doesn’t move at first, clearly still trying to work out how things aren’t going in his favor.
“But, Your Highness, she was—”
“Remove. Your. Hand. Now.” The lethality in Braxton’s tone has a shiver fighting to slide down my spine, and I’m not the one he’s directing his attention to.
I do my best to hold my composure as I feel Gavin’s hands finally release my arm. It takes all of my willpower to fight the screaming urge to cradle my, no doubt bruised, arm to my chest. I can feel my heartbeat pulsing in my bicep as the blood begins to freely flow through the no longer constricted veins.
Braxton studies my reaction before turning his attention back to Gavin.
“Go,” he commands. When Gavin remains frozen in place, he curls his lip back and barks, “Now.”
Gavin bows his head and turns to leave but is stopped when Braxton snatches the wrist of the hand Gavin had laid on me.
“And John, please consider this your one and only warning on what will happen if you ever touch Azalea again.”
With that, Braxton flicks his wrist, and I hear the horrifying crunch of bones as Gavin’s wrist is twisted to an unnaturalangle. Gavin howls in pain, and I step away from the scene until my back is pressed against the doorframe. Terror lodges in my throat as I stand immobile, watching as Braxton uncaringly twists his hand one more time, snapping what sounds like at least three more bones in Gavin’s wrist.
“Come to think of it, if you even look at her again, I will pluck your eyes from your skull and feed them to you. Do you understand?”
Snot runs down Gavin’s face as his widened eyes stare at his shattered wrist. Braxton squeezes his wrist, and Gavin howls in pain his face paling to an extent where I fear he might pass out.
“Do I make myself clear?” The question slips through Braxton’s bared teeth.
Gavin eagerly nods, tears mixing with the mucus running down his face.
“Say it,” Braxton snarls.
“I-I understand,” Gavin stammers, his voice hoarse.
