Archie’s mouth opens as if he might actually answer me.
Hayden’s voice snaps through the space like a crack of thunder. “Archie, shut the fuck up.”
I whip around to face him, pointing my finger. My once perfectly French-knotted hair has now sprung loose, and strands whip me in the face from my quick movement. “No. No, don’t you dare. You don’t get to shut him up after everything you’ve already kept from me. I deserve the god damn truth.”
Hayden’s jaw is tight, his eyes locked on Archie like he’s trying to kill him with his stare alone. “This isn’t your call, Archibald.”
“No,” I say, the trace of a wild animal in my voice. “It’s not yours anymore, either.”
I turn back to Archie. He’s watching me closely now, as if weighing how much more truth he’s allowed to reveal. But we all know he’s just someone trained to follow orders, but just drunk enough on the drama to enjoy breaking a rule.
“Say it,” I tell him. “Say what you meant.”
Archie looks at Hayden again.
Hayden doesn’t move; he simply glares as though one wrong move from Archie will lead to his death.
And I realize, right then, I already know too much and am walking an incredibly dangerous line.
“Martine,” Hayden warns, but I ignore him.
I see it in Archie’s face. He’s about to speak.
And then, suddenly, Hayden is moving faster than I can register.
Before I know what’s happening, he has one arm around my waist and the other behind my thighs. My feet leave the floor with a sharp gasp, and I slam my fists against his back, writhing as he hauls me up over his shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell, kicking. “You can’t keep throwing me over your fucking shoulder to shut me up! Put me down!”
He’s done this countless times now, using this move to subdue me, and a part of me quivers at the idea of what’s to come from his force.
I’m always in for a bit of pain marred with pleasure when I’m thrown over his shoulder.
“Not here,” he growls, voice low and final.
Staff freeze mid-motion. I catch Dale’s stunned expression, Archie’s crooked smirk, the absolute disbelief painted across the room as Hayden carries me through the hall.
I pound and pound against his back as though he’s a beast stealing me and dragging me to his cave.
“Hayden,” I snap, breathless, struggling against him. “Stop—”
But I know exactly where he’s going; he wants to fix this the only way we know how. The only sure way we know to communicate.
The bedroom door slams shut behind us.
He throws me onto the bed, chest heaving, hands already at the delicate zipper of my gown.
“Don’t,” I spit, pushing at him. “Don’t you dare use this to shut me up.”
“I’m not shutting you up,” he snaps, voice hard. “I’m reminding you of your place.”
The dress slips from my shoulder before I can stop him. The silk gives way with a tug, the fabric tearing off my skin.
“You don’t control me,” I say, shoving at his chest. “You don’t get to flip the switch when things stop going your way.”
“I have all of the control,” he growls, pinning me to the mattress. “You little fucking brat.”
His mouth crashes against mine, all heat and fury and unspoken desperation. His quick and hot need to tether himself to me, to quiet my crying, to own my body again.
