Chapter Eighteen

Blake

 

 

I paced over worn carpet, dumped myself on the crackly old couch, then paced, replaying the whole conversation over and over, torturing myself. Was I overreacting? Was I being too prudish or jealous or trying to own her? Why did it hurt so damn much?

How dare she even ask that of me?

I’d known it was on her list right from the beginning. Shouldn’t I have expected it? Or was I always too fixated on the ‘sex with a woman’ part to think of it reaching this point? What did that make me?

My eyes ached and I grabbed my hair with both hands, making fists against my scalp.

I should have given up trying to make this anything more than just about her sex list. I should have given up on her long ago.

But I just couldn’t let go.

And deep under all my anger, fear sloshed around, slimy and rotten. Fear for Georgina.

My pride stung, still feeling the slap of Georgina’s rejection. I wasn’t going to go after her. I refused.

“No!” I yelled it at the front door, as though it was trying to convince me to go.

Georgina would have to look after herself. She’d made it clear she didn’t want or need me. Just like Seyvia did.

I had given up on Seyvia, and that decision had haunted me every day since.

Shit.

I threw on a jacket and boots, grabbed my keys and helmet, and headed out into the night.

Speeding along the quiet night-time roads, cold air reached its fingers through the gaps in my jacket, chilling the bare skin beneath. My teeth chattered—anxiety shook my core. I headed first for the bar where we’d picked up Mary, but I couldn’t spot Jiminy in any of the streets nearby. I tried another local club, then headed for the one where we’d first met. That was where I saw her little green hatchback, bright against the other black-and-white cars in the lot. I jumped off my bike and headed in. The bouncer looked disapprovingly at my track pants and motorcycle jacket combo, but my expression was all I had to wear for him to let me in.

Pushing through the crowd, I got more than one filthy look as I checked through the strobe-lit corners and smoke-filled dance floor. She wasn’t there.

She’s already gone home with someone.

I didn’t want to believe that. I had to keep looking.

Back outside, the flashing red sign over the old saloon-style building across the road caught my eye. Maybe she’d gone there instead.

She’s with someone else right now. Two someone elses.

Denial sent me into the country and western bar. I kept telling myself I still had a chance to find her. I’d keep looking all night.

I didn’t have to. As soon as I stepped in far enough to hear the line dancers stomping the floor, I saw her. I saw her disappearing out a back door with two men.

My charge toward her was caught by the bouncer. He had followed me in through the entrance where I’d walked right by him. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Dude, dress code.”

“I’m just here to get my girl. I won’t be long.”

“Mate, that’s what every bloke is here for, and it can take a lot longer than you’d hope. Especially dressed like that. Out.”

I threw his hand off my shoulder, and he reached for something at his hip. It could have been pepper spray or a taser or a gun for all I knew. Fucking Americans.

I put my hands up in a peace gesture. “I’m leaving.”

She wasn’t here anymore anyway. I had to be able to get around the back some other way. I jogged out the entrance and around the building, a trashy side alley leading up to a strip of equally trashy rental rooms. I couldn’t see Georgina or the men anywhere.

But I could hear her.

She screamed.

I raced to where the sound came from and put my boot through the door. The decayed wood burst open.

The scene before me made white-hot rage fill my head, burning from my eyes like molten steel.

Georgina lay on the ground as those two men, those beasts, clutched and tore at her as violently as walking dead hungered for flesh.

My charge into the room drew their attention, but I only saw Georgina’s eyes look up and meet mine. They were red with confusion and fear, slick with tears.

One man came at me. My fist flew into his nose with vicious glee.

I knelt down beside Georgina. “I’ve got you.” I scooped her up, holding her close to me and wanting to take her from this place and erase the knowledge that this had ever happened, to go back in time to the beach and the sun and the happiness that felt so long ago.

Georgina gasped, “Watch out!”

I turned just in time to see a full beer can being swung at my head like a club. I dodged back, but it clipped my eyebrow, breaking the skin.

Georgina pushed herself out of my arms and onto her feet. She put herself between me and the man attacking us just as he swung again.

The blow hit the side of her head.

She crumpled. I reached for her, catching her as she fell.

No, NO.

The man had frozen above us, can in hand, as though shocked by the result of his actions.

I tried to rouse Georgina. She was completely passed out. But she was alive.

At least she wouldn’t have to see this.

I had barely any control of my body, or my emotions, but I could name the emotion I was feeling. Murderous.

I left Georgina on the floor, straightened myself back to full height, and glared at the remaining man from under eyebrows dripping in blood.

He scrambled back. I stalked across the room after him. My hands clenched into fists and released, then clenched again, as though champing at the bit.

“Who even are you, man? We were just having fun.”

I had no response but a feral growl.

“I … I’ll call the cops.” His eyes were wild.

Georgina groaned from behind me, drawing my attention, my heart, straight back to her.

It gave my target a chance to dash, and he ran for the other room.

I let him go.

On my way back to Georgina I spotted her purse on the floor near the couch and grabbed it, then lifted her too, cradling her into my arms, tucking her head under my chin.

I was glad the parking lot was empty as I carried her like that—apparently lifeless as blood dripped from my own forehead down my face—back to her car.

I rested her carefully down onto the passenger seat, checking over her scalp with my fingers. The blow hadn’t broken the skin, but a lump had formed where she’d been hit. I took the driver’s seat and squeezed the wheel like I was trying to wring blood from a stone.

Maybe calling the cops was the right idea. Those guys shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this.

But I knew how women in a position like Georgina’s were treated. I couldn’t put her in that situation. It would have to be her decision. And she still wasn’t conscious. I had to get her to a hospital.

I started the car, and she startled awake.

“He hit you,” was the first thing she said, staring at me with wide eyes.

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t say anything, my voice lost in confusion and anger and relief.

She reached gingerly for the wound on the side of my head. I took her hand before she could touch it. “I’m fine. Head wounds bleed a lot—that’s all. It’s not that bad.”

Her face scrunched in on itself. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you want me to call the police for you?”

She seemed confused for a moment, guilt in her features clearly confusing my meaning. Her words were tired and slurred. “No. It was my fault. I just want to go home.”

“It wasn’t …” My hands squeezed the wheel tighter. The car sat idling, still and directionless. “I was taking you to the hospital.”

“No, no hospital. I can’t be in hospital again.” She looked as scared as she had when she lay on the filthy floor beneath two men. “I’m fine. Really. Barely a headache.”

She was lying. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

“I can’t—”

“No, you’re coming home with me. And if you start hurling, it’s straight to the ER.” My mates back home and I had had a rough enough childhood to know the symptoms of concussion.

Her mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything. She lay against the car door, her head pressed to the cool glass of the window.

We said nothing else on the drive back home. But she was here, with me, and safe now.

I wondered though, with Georgina, if anything would ever be safe. Or if this was life—a constant series of challenges and hardships. How could I ever protect her from it, or protect myself, my heart, from whatever lay ahead?

I didn’t have any answers. I couldn’t see the future, except for one sure thing.

I wanted Georgina to be in that future, for as long as possible, no matter what.