‘Fucking slut.’ He elongates the insult as though it wasn’t already frightening enough. I’m no shrinking violet. I stand up for what I believe in. Stand up for those I love. I never once imagined that, should a man put his hands on me, I would react like this.
Tears prickle from the force of his hand, but my fear is debilitating and like a punch to my chest. I have no breath for breathing. I want to run but don’t have the freedom or the wherewithal to do so.
And then, I’m suddenly free. Slumped against the car, my heart beating as though I’ve just taken part in a marathon.And I don’t run. Not by choice, at any rate.
‘Chas!’ Paisley’s voice is like a balm as she throws her arms around me, pulling me back from the car. ‘What was that about? Did he hurt you?’
As I turn, her eyes flick over me as though to discern my state of wellbeing. But you can’t always tell what’s broken just by viewing the surface. All the same, I shake my head. He didn’t hurt me. At least, not physically.And at least, not this time.
It’s about then I notice the motorbike and the man. Two men, really. Keir stands off to the side, almost refereeing the fierce looks being exchanged between Flynn and Tate. Looks that speak of violence and hate.
I open my mouth, to what purpose, I’m not sure, but I’m pleased I don’t take that moment to look away, not as Tate pushes Flynn. Not as Flynn retaliates by bringing his fist to Tate’s stomach, hard and fast, making his body bow. I wished I could hear what Flynn says as he places his hand on Tate’s shoulder, lowering to whisper something in his ear.
And then it’s over.
And he’s walking over to me.
And he looks so pissed.
And I want to cry but I can’t let myself do it.
His hands on my upper arms, his jaw flexes under the stubble covering his skin, and his eyes are just so ... unyielding and grim.
‘You look like shit,’ my mouth seems to say, though I’m almost certain my brain meant to ask him what he’s doing here.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and even in this state I can see that this is a delaying tactic... for a smile. A smile that is a precursor to laughter.
‘I wished I could say the same.’
‘You wished I looked like shit?’ I answer, bemused, though I’m sure I must look like someone who’s just had the piss frightened out of them.Try not to look down. If you had peed yourself, I’m sure you’d know by now. You’d be feeling a little cold down there, surely.
He inhales, and when he exhales, the merriment seems to drain out of him. ‘Yeah, I wished you looked like shit. It’d be easier to walk away.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I sound like a cartoon mouse—a blubbering, eye-watering, snot bubbling mouse. ‘I know it’s not enough, but I really am so, so very sorry.’
‘I know.’ He nods, his hands tightening. ‘Me, too.’
And then he turns away.
Chapter 33
FLYNN
Part of me wishes I could walk away. It would make life easier, for sure, but I’d be poorer for the experience. I know this—feel this—on so many levels. I know it intellectually; Chastity is a good person whose experiences led her to believe she couldn’t trust her own judgement. I know it viscerally; just being around her is enough for me to learn how her mind works. She believesinpeople. And she’s a good person with a generous heart. The place she falls short is trusting her own judgement. And that I know inmyheart. We may not have known each other for very long but a litany of small incidences tells me all I need to know. The text check ins with friends, the way she holds an infant. The love and concern she has for her family, both blood and chosen, the way she cares for her own staff. In an industry dominated by men and rife with exploitation, she stands strong. She’s an advocate of the industry in her own right, standing up for the rights of people—to watch porn and be watched, ethically. Then there are the smaller things that endear her to me. Her love of romantic comedies and her abhorrence for anything glorifying horror or death. The way she smiles at me with a dozen variations, my favourite of which is when she’s not buying my bullshit and not calling me out on it, either. A smile that’s cute and exasperated and elevates my joy to ridiculous rates. The way she hums to herself as she works in her home office and the way her body seeks mine in her sleep.
The way she looked at me when I told her I loved her, and the delight in her voice as she’d said it back to me.
The woman has a hard shell and a tender centre, and I can’t help but want it all.
Besides, how could I miss out on a woman whose name includes my favourite part of her anatomy? Chas-tity.Well, almost.
Keir stands at the restaurant doorway, presumably where the food fucker slunk off to. He’s lucky to still have his own teeth after I saw the look on Chastity’s face. I’ve seen her smile a dozen ways, and loved them all, and I’ve watched her face wear a thousand expressions, yet until a few moments ago, I’d never seen her fearful.
‘Do you want me to sort Chas’s car?’ Keir asks, tipping his chin. ‘She’ll get clamped, or worse, left there.’
I nod, though Chastity’s car is the least of my concerns and I act on instinct rather than intellect as I swing on the toes of my oxfords and storm my way back to her. She looks worried, which is near enough to frightened, but I can’t think about that. Not as I take her head in my hands, my gaze fiercely demanding of hers.
I just stare at her because I know if I open my mouth, the words won’t make sense. So instead, I tilt my head and slant my mouth over hers.
