Chapter 14

She rolls her eyes and puts her phone on silent.

It was a little over four in the afternoon when she left the house, annoyed, enraged, and frustrated.

And it was close to midnight now, and no one from her in-laws' side of the family had tried to contact her.

She received a call from her Uncle asking if she was okay, but she only replied that she was not in the mood to talk about it and hung up.

Her mother's assistant had left a couple of texts after that, asking her about the situation and how everyone in the family was worried. She had rolled her eyes and thought to herself, “Shouldn't have married me then, but it's not like they care.”.

And now, when she was here intending to get her ass drunk, her brother-in-law, was calling her.

She was not in the mood to talk to him, especially after how he had been treating her for the last two weeks.

Taking the bottle to her mouth, she gulps another mouthful of the booze.

She contemplates switching it with tequila, as it doesn't look like it's doing its job properly.

So she stands up, staggering a bit, but does and walks to the bar counter.

There's only a little extra sway to her hips, thanks to the alcohol. She's about to reach the counter when she feels a hand touching her ass.

More specifically, a hand groping her ass.

She turns around in a swish and looks at the man in front of her, who has a nasty smirk on his face.

He is big. Big as not tall and muscular, big as in average height and pot-bellied, and just lots of fat.

The man probably thinks he looks like a charmer wearing a leather jacket and ripped jeans in this hot environment.

Amara raises her eyebrows and asks, “How dare you touch me, you asshole?!” She's already high on anger as it is; this man is just adding gas to her flame.

He dares to laugh, and it only edges Amara.

“Don't act like you didn't want it. Alone in a flimsy club at this hour of the night in that tight little top, drinking booze, you probably wanted to get some rich man for the night, didn't ya,” he slurs his words and then takes a good look at her figure, his gaze stopping at her substantially exposed cleavage, and he licks his lips before pulling his gaze back to her face.

“Don't worry, little girl. I'll pay you good money as well. Tell me, how much do you want? 500 bucks, 700, 1000, or 2000? I doubt you are worth more than that; tell me,” he says, and he starts getting closer to her, which makes her back away.

Only now has her somewhat sober brain registered the depth of the situation. She looks around to see if anyone is looking her way and if she could ask for help from someone, but all she sees are people lost in their own world. No one is paying any attention to her.

As he inches closer to her, dread washes over her body, and her breathing increases.

She shouldn't have come to this club. She knew it wasn't a nice call, but when she went to the one she usually referred to, the people there started eyeing her.

It was an elite club, and everyone from the same circle frequented that club; of course, they knew about the latest gossip she was a part of, which instantly made her the center of attention there.

One woman was even brave enough to ask her if she knew about her husband's affair.

And that made her leave the club before another rumor started.

Something along the lines, *“Heartbroken and upset, wife takes refuge in alcohol to ease her sorrows and mend her broken heart after her husband leaves his newly married wife and flies away with girlfriend”*

Nah, she would die before giving that man that satisfaction.

But now she was trapped in another thing, quite dangerously, if you ask her. She realizes this as he inches in closer, and she backs away until suddenly there's nothing but a wall behind her.

He traps her, placing his hands on the wall behind her.

She tries to push him away, but he holds both her hands in one tight grip, his face inching closer to her face.

Amara closes her eyes, screaming and trying to break free from him. Tears leave from under her closed eyelids when she registers his heavy alcohol and cigarette-infused breath fanning her cheek.

She desperately cries for help, but no one seems to hear her cries. Or most probably, they just ignore her.

For a fleeting second, a thought crosses her mind that she's not going to get out of it, especially when she hears the guy's lewd chuckle in her ears until it stops.

It almost happens in slow motion, one second she is trapped by the man, and the other second she feels his touch get away from her body.

She opens her eyes just in time to see the lewd man in the air as he flies across and falls a few feet away.

With wide eyes, she covers her mouth and looks at Jason, his leg coming down to the ground after the kick.

He is standing there with a noticeable clench in his jaw. His palms were held in fists and his arms were flexing, looking like they were about to rip the fabric of his white shirt. His veins are on display, and his chest is exposed from the top of his shirt, unbuttoned, heaving with anger as he takes deep breaths.

She almost cries in relief when she spots him.

Before she can approach him, he is already moving forward towards the man on the ground. He pulls him up by the collar and delivers a punch to his jaw, then another and another, until the man's nose is broken and bloody.

He pleads with Jason to leave him, but as if he is seeing red, he only stops when a man in a black shirt and trousers pulls him back, yelling at him to stop.

From his casual and personal tone, she guesses they are friends.

When Jason moves away from the man, she covers her mouth when she spots the man's bloody, bruised, and beaten face.

Jason slowly turns around, and she meets his gaze. It's filled with nothing but rage, and for a moment, she's scared of him.

He seems to notice her fear because his expression softens down a notch. Just a notch. And without a word, he's moving out of the club.

It doesn't even take her a second more to follow after him.

He was walking with large strides, and she almost had difficulty keeping up with him in her heels. So she stops and steps out of her heels before picking them up and chasing after him.

“Jason!” She yells after him once, twice, and three times, but he doesn't stop, nor does he slow down.

His car is parked on a dimly lit street. He stops by it, and with his hands on his waist, he starts taking deep breaths.

She stops behind him, catching her breath. She wants to call out to him, but his stature speaks danger, and she doesn't want to be on the receiving end of it.

Amara sighs, and she decides to take a step away. She concludes that she'll talk to him later, once he's cooled down, and then thank him for tonight.

But she barely takes a step away when she is pulled with force and her back is slammed on the passenger side door of his car.

She closes her eyes and grunts at the impact. When she opens them, she sees Jason's head bent in front of her face, his eyes dark and angry, staring at her.

He is holding her by the waist, a grip too tight for her liking.

She doesn't dare say a word, though, because if looks could say something, Jason's tells her that he will eat her alive if she so much as moves an inch here or there.

And it's not the usual hunger she expects from him. It's dark and domineering, angry and out of control.

She tries to gulp air into her lungs because the tension between them is just too strong for her to breathe.

A minute passes, then another, and another. She isn't counting, but that's what she hopes because it feels like hours have passed.

She finally opens her mouth and says, “I'm sorry.” It comes out weak and pathetic.

He only growls in return. The voice vibrates in his chest; she can feel it from where their chests are touching.

She doesn't even know what she's apologizing for. Thanking is what she should be doing, but something in her heart tells her she should apologize.

She sighs and dares to take her shaky hands up to hold his cheeks, “I'm sorry, please just—”

And she isn't even finished with her sentence when she feels his lips on hers.

But it's nothing like all those times they've kissed.

He kisses her rough and hard. There's no gentleness there, he tips her head back for a better angle, and then he shoves his tongue in her mouth.

She moans at the contact; she isn't even going to put up a fight because she knows he's not going to go easy like always. And she is right.

He is sucking on her tongue with bruising force. Teeth biting and nipping her lips to surrender as she goes limp in his arms.

His hands are squeezing her waist, pulling her into him as he uses his mouth to punish her.

Punishment. Yes, that's what this is.

He is not kissing her; he is punishing her, but she doesn't care.

If he'd like to have her right there and now in the open against his car while the darkness surrounds them, she'll let him.

She'll let this man consume her whole. Consent or not