“We’re at that new Italian place downtown–Lorenzo’s.”
“Okay. I’m only about ten minutes from there. I’m on my way. Keep her talking,” I order, probably a little too harshly, but I’m shaking with both fear and fury.
“You might want to hurry,” the good Samaritan suggests. “Her date has already come to the door looking for her. I bought us some time and told him she was puking, but I have a feeling he’ll be back.”
I hang up and slam my fist hard against my desk, releasing a loud, “Fuuuuuuck!”
Stepping from my office, I scan the room in a hurry and find Hayes in our usual VIP booth with a scantily clad woman perched on his lap. “You look like shit. What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I need to leave. Arabella called and she's in trouble. She may have been drugged.” He knows we have history, so I’m thankfulwhen he nods and offers to help. I don’t need it at the moment, but I might later. I have no idea what I’m about to walk into.
Ten minutes later, I’m pulling up to Lorenzo’s. I don’t bother parking as I come to a stop right outside the front door, quickly shutting off the engine and hurrying inside. With laser focus, I find the sign for the restrooms and head in that direction, knocking lightly when I get to the women’s room. The stranger helping her, who I now know as Cassidy, cautiously lets me in and I click the lock behind me.
I direct my focus on Arabella and crouch down in front of her. She’s shaking like she’s cold, but her skin is hot and covered in a sheen of sweat.Fuck.
She’s staring intently at the ground and has yet to look at me, but startles when I touch her shoulder. “Arabella, can you look at me, please?” Her bloodshot, green eyes glance quickly in my direction and I’m able to see her pupils are blown wide. I see the moment it registers who she’s looking at and I’m grateful she’s still in there. I need to get her the fuck out of here.
I pull my keys from my pocket and toss them in Cassidy’s direction.
“I need you to move my car to the back entrance of the restaurant. I can’t take her out the front like this.”
“You got it,” she nods in agreement. Thankfully, this part of the building seems to be out of view from the main dining area, so I should be able to get her out of here without being seen. I’d like to go kick Brad’s douchey ass, but there’s no time for that. I’ll deal with him later.
“I’ve got you, love,” I whisper softly in her ear before picking her up, bridal style and hurrying out the back door where my car is already waiting. She’s dead weight now, passed out against my chest as I slide her into the passenger seat and buckle her in safely. She lets out a soft snore as her head falls to the sidecausing her hair to cover her face. Unable to help myself, I take a piece of her soft, blonde waves and tuck them behind her ear.
My heart is racing and I’ve never been more grateful to own a business that’s frequented by people of all walks of life than I am at this moment. Gravity sees chefs, businessmen, and college students but I’m more interested in the doctor and cop that I see almost every week.
My first call was to Miranda, who is conveniently an ER doctor and has agreed to meet me at my place to do an exam.
“I need to make sure she’s okay,” I assert.
“I know Ryker. I’ll be there soon.” Miranda’s a Domme that uses Gravity to peg and abuse her long time subby boy. I’ll definitely be comping her next month's dues after this.
My second call was James, a cop currently on duty at the local precinct. I waited on the line while he routed a squad car to check things out. Good thing, because I’m not exactly of sound mind right now and I’ll surely do something stupid if left to my own devices. All I want to do is rip him to pieces and that’s polite compared to what I’ve already done to him in my head, for daring to fuck with someone I care about.
Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking garage under the high rise apartment building downtown, where I own the entire top penthouse level. Sitting in silence for what feels like forever, I try to make sense of what happened and what I need to do. Is there someone I should call? I can’t make myself call Christine. She’s her mom, but let’s face it, she barely qualified six years ago and I have a sneaking suspicion that not much has changed. She’s already traumatized enough, I refuse to addher mother to the mix. So I make a decision I have no business making. Miranda will check her out and then I’ll keep her safe, under my roof until we figure this out. She’ll stay here until I’m sure it’s safe for her to go home.
I’ve never struggled with money, but my cash flow has increased significantly since opening Gravity, which allowed me to afford the penthouse that takes up the entire twentieth floor of a high rise apartment building in downtown Chicago. It also provides me with enough privacy to meet any needs I might have, including a private elevator that will thankfully allow me to carry her up without drawing any unwanted attention. The last thing I need or want is for anyone to question why I’m carrying a passed out woman, who’s young enough to be my daughter, up to my place.
I’m carrying her into the elevator, when she shifts in my arms and nuzzles her face into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Those small movements fill me with some small relief that she’s at least still with me.
I glance down at her and wonder what she’s been through since I last saw her. She was on target to go to college on scholarship and had an amazing life ahead of her. The girl I knew had a good head on her shoulders and was smarter than everyone else in the room, myself included. The woman in my arms, I recognize as Arabella Bradley, but something about her is different.
My chest tightens with the pull to help her get through whatever she’s dealing with, but it’s not my place. She said it last weekend.
I’m not her father.
13
Arabella
My head hurts. I want to throw up and I have to pee. But I’m so comfortable, I can’t bring myself to move. I can feel the sunlight coming in through the window and warming my skin in the most delightful way. Then it hits me. I don’t get direct morning sunlight through my bedroom window, because my apartment is on the west side of the building, not the east. Shit.
Sitting bolt upright in the bed, my eyes fly open to confirm I’m not in my room, but Iamalone.Where the fuck am I?I pull the covers off and look down to see I’m wearing what looks like an old, faded Aerosmith t-shirt, but it’s not mine.Nice choice.I’m not wearing a bra, but my panties are in place and intact. Thank god. Fuck my head hurts. How much did I drink last night?
My eyes roam around the larger than average bedroom. This appears to be a nice place. I figured he had money, but didn’t expect–this. Pulling my knees to my chest, I lean forward and bury my face. If Brad’s not in here with me, that means he’s awake and outthere. How could I have fucked this up? I knowthe rules. Rule 1–Get out the door before they even think about waking up.
Okay. So maybe there’s really only one rule.
