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CHAPTER 4
SELA
IT was worse than anything I felt in a war zone. Worse than Oren when he used to hit me drunk. Worse than almost anything. It made me feel small again, lose my voice, my confidence, I went away inside my head, anywhere but there, just let it pass. In the darkness all I could see was that cruel face, the cruelest face I've ever seen, eyes were dead and black, like a shark's eyes.
I remember saying 'please', then I heard the crash through the door and someone being thrown against the wall. I heard Oren's voice stammer something like 'What. .,” then heard flesh meet flesh like a big heavy book falling off a table. Then I was cradled like a baby in someone's arms, like a child, a kind voice asked, “Are you OK?” I was still far away, and not sure if anything came out, I nodded my head, and turned it towards his chest, and breathed deep, he smelled like soap and leather and apples. He walked out with me in his arms and placed me into a car.
He got behind the wheel, and it felt like I was all the way back from wherever I had gone.
“Where can I take you?” he asked.
My real voice came back to me, “I don't know. Anywhere but here. Or home.” I couldn't go back to my apartment that was clear, and anyways I didn’t have my keys or money or credit cards or license.
I sat back and thought about Oren. It was unbelievable. This was the end I was looking for though. He had sold me, or tried to, and did not care. Whatever love he had for me was gone, whatever humanity he had was gone, all that I had cared about was gone, down the bottle and now this.
I had wasted the last 5 years of my life. Whatever I had owed him was settled now, paid for. Finally, I took a look at my savior: strong square jaw line, impeccable grey suit, soft blue shirt cuffs rolled up on enormous forearms. I hadn't given a thought to who might have come for me. This was not the security guard, it must have been that floating voice I had heard, but it sounded softer now.
“Thank you, sorry I haven't said it before.”
“Not necessary, I should have stopped it sooner.” There was anger in his voice and his wrists twisted the steering wheel as he talked. “It was a violation of the rules from the start, I should apologize to you for not stopping it sooner Sela.”
That jaw, that voice, he was coming into focus. “Dorian Grant?”
“Yes,”
“How do you know me?”
“From your photographs. It's my job to know who comes into the club, but I knew who you were already. I didn't know what Dante and Oren had planned, but I should have. I should have stopped it sooner. Before it started. ”
“I'm just glad someone stopped it.”
“Do you have any idea what you were doing in there?”
“No.”
“Of course not. What did they promise you?”
“A story I guess.”
“A story? About me? About the club?” He laughed, and shined those pearly whites easily, but it was an angry laugh, there was no joy in it. “And who was going to print it? We are the media. Any blog or website that tried would have an army of lawyers suing them.”
Fool proof, I thought in my head.
“Well, you can forget about it all now. After tonight.”
He pulled into an underground parking garage and we drove through a maze of cars until a second entrance opened up, into a private garage, he saw me tense up.
“Don't worry, this is my actual home, my apartment. You'll stay tonight in the guest room and figure out tomorrow in the morning.”
He opened the door for me and led me to the elevator, which raced up fast enough to give my stomach butterflies, like a roller coaster. I had never fainted in my life, not in war zones, not being shot at, not seeing blood and body parts, not earlier that night, but at that moment, I was sure I was going to faint. He grabbed me again, in his arms, and I felt better, safe, it passed. When the elevator stopped, for a second I hoped we wouldn't get out, we'd just stay there, but the elevator ding! snapped us both out of it.
“You'll stay in the guest room. There should be clothes and whatever you need, if not give a yell. I'll see you in the morning.”
I went to the bathroom, took off his jacket and saw blood and bruises on my arms and down my legs. What the hell was I doing? What was I doing here? How could I sleep when no one knew I was here and even if he did rescue me, he was apparently part of that awful thing.
I splashed cold water on my face, and the questions stopped and my mind stopped racing. The cold water felt good, and I looked at myself in the mirror and almost smiled for a moment, but the butterflies in my stomach came back , everything went black.
I woke in the bed, being tended to by Mr Grant. “I've never fainted,” was all I could say.
“A night of firsts for you then. Now you have,” he said kindly, but dismissively.
“The blood . . .” I started to say.
“Just scratches. Be quiet now,” he growled.
I was laying on the bed, almost naked, he had taken off my dress, or what was left of it, and had me covered in towels and almost tucked in by big fluffy towels on the sides of my legs, arms, hips and torso. A pillow was under my head, and he rubbed my body with a soft cloth, one had rubbing alcohol, and the other a warm oil that smelled like apples.
He worked quickly, his hands knew what they were doing. The hot and cold sensations of the alcohol, then the warm oil, electrified my body. And his touch was gentle, but strong. He cleaned whatever scrapes and filth were on me with the cold alcohol, and as it evaporated in a flash of cold, his other hand came over the same spot with a warm oil. Every time it felt like I was going to shiver from the cold, the warmth chased it away and relaxed me. It was almost making me dizzy, and very warm. I had to start talking or else I would start moaning if I concentrated on what his hands were doing to me. I tried to cover the scars on my stomach, but his hands would quickly, strongly take my hands away and lay them to the side.
“I can't believe I cracked up like that, fainted. I've seen worse, been in worse.”
“I know you have.” he said, and concentrated on his work. “Forget about it. You've had a tough day.”
“I've had tougher, but this is wonderful now.”
“Stop talking now, and be still,” he told me, and I could hear some anger in his voice. My hands were fidgeting, and my legs were moving, and his hand would move to them and hold them steady, but then they'd start again. I had to move them or else his hands were going to make me moan, make me orgasm, and send me over a cliff. I could feel the waves build in me, but I tried to fight them off with my mind. This was almost the first time I felt the need to fight off an orgasm, mostly I had to encourage them, make sure I felt it, tell myself closer . . . closer . . . closer, but now I was being carried to it, and the last thing I wanted was to start screaming and moaning and convulsing while this man was doing the nicest thing anyone had done for me in I couldn't remember how long. Coming would be slightly better than crying though right? I thought, and he must have seen me smile or start to laugh.
“Ticklish?” he asked.
“No, better than ticklish,” I said without thinking, and blushed.
He didn't say anything, just kept tending to me.
“What's that?” I blurted out. A red tattoo appeared on the inside of his forearm, a red swirl, and next to it was smooth, translucent skin, as if another tattoo was there and it was cut off or burned off.
He pulled his shirt cuff down to cover it, “Nothing. And you should not ask any more questions.” He said, and flipped me over, like I weighed nothing at all. It was hard enough to fight off my body's convulsions when I could concentrate on the ceiling, now I was face down, and his hands went to work again all over my naked backside. I wasn't sure if I could fight off the waves like this. I had to focus on something else, something outside myself, or else I would embarrass myself again.
It was my job to ask questions, to find things out. “Can you tell me what goes on in your club? I know what shouldn't go on, but what exactly are you there for?” Whatever all this was, it was interesting. I was hurt and scared tonight, but it was exciting, if I had been informed, who knows, maybe I would have tried it, not with Oren and Dante, but Dorian? Maybe.
He didn't say anything, just swirled his hands around my back.
I started again, just to break the silence of the room and the screaming inside my body. “You said earlier it was your fault I was hurt, you should have stopped it earlier. I'll forgive you if you tell me about it. Tell me the rules.”
“One rule is you do not demand things of me. And there is no exploitation, you don't offer forgiveness for something I already apologized for. No emotional blackmail.” When he said it, his hands became rougher, not as gentle and his voice had no trace of gentleness.
“I didn't mean anything by it.”
“Trust and honesty is required. I felt there was no consent, no trust and no honesty in what you were a part of tonight. So I put a stop to it. You could have found out more tonight, but you also thanked me for putting a stop to it, right? I don't ask anything more from you for that.”
“But you could.” The words just came out of me. I couldn't see his face, but he didn't answer, just kept working his hands over me. “I'll be quiet. I promise. Master.”