Chapter 8

Melissa

I rushed forward, screaming out a curse at Matt and threatening his manhood if he didn't back the hell away from Jack.

Stupid! Stupid! I should have known that one of Donnie's friends would pull out a trick as dirty as bottling Jack, and I should have seen him sneak up behind him. I'd been too focused on the intensity of Jack's stare, at the damp warmth that settled between my thighs as he approached. I felt more alive in that one moment than I had my entire life, which was absolutely insane.

Bat. Fucking. Shit.

He was a stranger, some guy who'd waltzed into my bar and thrown my whole world into disarray with a few words and a charming smile. Why was my body reacting to him like he owned me already? My body didn't even react like that to Donnie!

As Jack walked toward me, the whole world blurred into nothing. My bones rattled with every step. My heart thundered in my chest, so loud that I was sure he could hear it.

Only the crash of the shattering glass brought me back to the present. Panic and horror ripped through me and I jerked forward, ready to try to stop his fall. An arm wrapped around my waist and held me still, and Jack tumbled to the pavement like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

I heard laughter but barely registered it as I struggled against whoever held me, trying to get to Jack as the blood saturated the back of his head. He was a gigantic figure, but laid out on the pavement like that he looked so helpless. In that second, my heart broke and I couldn't even really be sure why.

"Stop fucking struggling!" Andre hissed in my ear. "You're such a fucking bitch sometimes."

"Let go of me!" I elbowed Andre in the sternum and he released me with a breathy wheeze. Before I could reach Jack, however, Donnie grabbed me by the arm and tugged me back.

"Where the hell are you going?" he growled. "I'm right here. Don't you want to make sure I'm okay?"

He jerked on my arm with each word, shaking me. I felt nauseous by the end of it.

"Come on." Donnie nodded toward his friends. "Let's get out of here."

"We should get him help," I said shakily. "He could be really hurt."

"I fuckin' hope so," Derek commented, laughing. When he laughed it really showed the country bumpkin in him, and he sounded like a mix between Goofy and Donald Duck. I hated the sound of his laugh before, and I hated it even more now.

"We can't just leave him!" I objected.

Donnie tugged on my arm and I stumbled a few steps before I started walking alongside him. He and the others ignored me now. We piled into Derek's truck, me tossing a look behind us at Jack's prone form and willing him to get up. I couldn't leave here without knowing he was going to be okay, and Donnie wouldn't let me stay. I did the next best thing I could—I sent a quick text to Naomi and told her that someone needed help in the parking lot. Luckily Donnie didn't see me do it. He was too busy joking with his friends about how that would show that idiot for messing with the D-Man.

I hated Donnie's friends.

Derek dropped us off in front of Donnie's house, engine roaring as he sailed off into the night. Donnie hadn't spoken a word to me the whole ride and I sensed an impending fight. I wasn't sure I was strong enough to deal with it tonight. I certainly hadn't been last night.

When I held back while Donnie walked to the door, he rounded on me and scowled. "Are you fucking coming or what?"

I scurried forward, hating myself for just not being able to tell him to fuck off.

Things had been good between us at one point, so good that I thought he would be the answer to all of my problems. Growing up poor didn't matter if I married Cannon's golden boy. Never finishing high school didn't matter either, because my role would be as a trophy wife and nothing more. It was something I'd expected, something at times I'd even looked forward to. I wanted a family and Donnie seemed like the best way for me to achieve that objective. Now I was beginning to question everything I used to hold as fact and it was overwhelming.

Donnie unlocked the door and stomped inside, kicking off his shoes halfway down the hall. I closed the door behind us and hung in the doorway while I slipped off my beat up sneakers.

I must've taken too long because Donnie stomped back down the hallway and stopped in front of me. I could see that he was exhausted, but there was still a spark of anger in his eyes that I was going to have to face down before either of us would get any sleep.

"I can't believe you went to help him," he muttered. "After everything I've done for you, you ran to the side of a guy who wanted to win you in a fight like some sort of whore. Is that what you are? Just some whore who'll go with whatever man pays the highest price?"

"Donnie..." I reached out to comfort him. He was clearly humiliated and I didn't blame him for being angry at me for what did seem to be a betrayal.

He smacked my hand away. "Don't Donnie me, whore. You loved that tonight, didn't you? You loved watching us fight over you, and you probably would have loved it even more if he'd taken you back to whatever shithole he lives in and fucked you afterward like the little slut you are."

I should have denied it immediately. I shouldn't have even let him finish laying out his accusations, because the second he did I know he saw it in my eyes that he was right.

I couldn't help that I found the fight exciting, the prospect of being taken by the tall, sexy stranger enticing. I fought against it with every ounce of logic and reason that I possessed, but my body couldn't lie like my brain could and Donnie saw right through whatever words I'd been about to use to placate him.

"I can't believe you!" He shoved me back.

I hit the door, the handle jamming painfully against my hip, and cried out in pain.

"I can't believe how fucking easy you are! Are you always on the lookout for a new dick to suck or was there just something about his that called to you? Huh?"

Tears blurred my vision and I stepped forward, trying to speak. "Donnie, no! I would never—"

"You wanted this! You wanted to see me get beat! Does that make you wet, Melissa? You get turned on by the violence, huh?" He was screaming now, spitting with rage. "How do you like this!"

The backhand cracked me across the cheek and I went reeling back. My skull vibrated as it hit the drywall, teeth clacking together.

The tears came first. Before the understanding of what had just happened, before my mind had time to put the pieces together, my eyes stung with tears. I splayed my palms flat against the wall, absorbing the inanimate chill into my bones in the hope of it grounding me somehow, because the fear and sadness resonating in my hollow body was too much to take.

Donnie was still standing in front of me, hands shaking by his sides. I don't know how long we stood there—me with my back against the wall, biting back tears; him with eyes like pinpricks of iron and a rage floating on drunken fury. I brought a hand to my face, cushioning it against my bruised cheek.

Everything that I experienced the first time he hit me came back, now compounded with the maelstrom of emotions from this second time. I was still in shock but needed to ask myself an important question—would there be a third time?

Experience had taught me that isolated incidents are few and far between in this world, and Donnie had taught me that wishing for change leads only to pain. The terror of the moment split me apart, and it was with great effort that I stayed standing on two shaky legs.

"Mel..." Donnie's eyes softened and he took a step toward me.

I flattened myself against the wall. "Don't come any closer."

"Mel, don't be like that. I barely touched you."

I gulped and shook my head. I wasn't sure whether I was shaking it at his words, the situation, or just Donnie himself. Things that had cracked between us the first time I felt pain from his touch had shattered now, and as I stood amongst the pieces I wondered which of them he might use to rip my throat out. I had no idea what he was capable of. I used to think he wasn't even capable of this, and I should have known after the first time that things would only continue to get worse.

"I need a minute," I croaked out, letting my hand drop beside me.

I didn't say anything else; couldn't say anything else. I just waited for him to react.

He looked like he wanted to stop me, and I could picture him caging me in with those strong arms I used to take comfort in, could picture him spitting poison from lips I used to love to kiss and rage from eyes I used to trust. I pictured it all in a split second and another shudder of panic passed through me, but he let me go.

"I'll be in the lounge." Donnie backed up a few steps before turning on his heel and walking away from me.

I took what felt like my first breath in hours, gulping it down like water in the desert. I turned and started heading for the door without thinking. I just needed some cold air on my face, which felt like someone held an open flame to it. I just needed to relax.

"Where are you going?" Donnie called.

I froze mid step even though I had no reason to feel guilty. "I just need some air."

He appeared at the end of the hall, arms folded over his chest. "There's lots of air in the house."

"I just need some air," I repeated, hoping it drove home my point.

Donnie narrowed his eyes at me but eventually nodded. "Don't take too long. I'll worry."

I left, stepping out into balmy evening. The air was dry and warm, and it carried the perfume of acacia and dust. I sat on the front step, running my fingers over my fresh bruise.

How had this happened? How had I gotten here?

The whole point of being with Donnie was that he represented such a strong departure from my childhood. I'd grown up as a nobody, not even knowing who my real parents were or why they'd left me in the hands of a state that had no idea what to do with me. Donnie had grown up the most privileged boy in our town, so when he took an interest in me—nobody, misfit Melissa—I knew it had to mean something. Being with him was supposed to give me a purpose. It was supposed to help me grow new roots to supplant the ones that had been nipped off before my first steps. I wanted to build a life and a family with Donnie, something stable and good, but the idea tasted stale in my mouth and the thought of being with Donnie even staler.

I was tempted to wander off into the night and never return. It would have been the easiest option, at least in the way that I could go without having to say a word of goodbye to anybody—especially Donnie. Unfortunately there was such a thing as ID and material possessions. I didn't have many, but I had enough that I knew I couldn't leave this very second. But was I strong enough to leave at all?

The door creaked open and I closed my eyes. I waited too long. I waited too long and now I was going to get it for making Donnie "worry". My heart raced and palms began to sweat, and I braced myself as his footsteps approached and stopped just beside me.

Donnie took the spot next to me, sprawling out his long legs and staring into the night.

"I didn't mean to hit you," he murmured.

I was silent. I couldn't tell whether I was too afraid to speak or just too upset, but either way Donnie didn't wait for my response.

"You know how I get, baby. I'm just a hothead where you're concerned."

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I froze but he barely seemed to notice. "It's just 'cause I love you so much. You can't blame me for that, can you?"

I could blame him for a helluva lot more than he seemed to think I could. And I did. The only problem was I didn't know how to say any of this, nor did I know if I could. Or if I would survive if I did.

"I just want to go to bed." I extricated myself from his embrace and rose.

Donnie stood as well, and I looked away so I wouldn't have to see what appeared to be genuine compassion in his eyes, but couldn't be. If he had any genuine compassion, things between us would be going very differently.

"Baby, let me make it up to you." He grabbed my arm, as gently as he could, and stroked his fingers down to my elbow. "It'll be all about you. I'll make you feel so good we'll forget this whole thing even happened."

The fact that he thought any of this was forgettable was laughable.

"Not tonight." I offered up a weak smile. A fake smile. "I'm tired."

Donnie let me go to bed without further complaint, which was almost surprising. This was how he got me the last time though. He was so sweet and caring and understanding that he almost did make me forget what he'd done, but that was when I wanted to forget. Now I didn't know what I wanted.

As I lay in bed, the sound of the TV blaring from the living room, my thoughts drifted to my fighter. I hoped he was okay. Guilt gnawed at my insides for leaving him. But what was I supposed to do? I only hoped I would have a chance to make things right.