CHAPTER444
What the hell is Camilla into?
He forces another kiss on me, loosening my throat enough that I gasp, still unable to do anything but claw at his hands and try to pull back. I taste the blood I caused on his mouth, gagging at its vileness. Crushing cruel hard lips lock against mine, pushing hard to open me up to him. My body is weak, resolve deteriorating with the lack of oxygen and I know that I’m fucked. I’ve been on the receiving end of an overpowering male, intent on sticking his dick inside you. I know how useless a girl can be when faced with brute strength, regardless of where we are. I resign myself to the fact that I can’t fight, no one’s going to save me, but I know if I lock myself inside my head then I can endure it like I did so many times before. I won’t let this destroy me; I never let any of it destroy me.
I’m ripped out of his grip by warm hands around my waist, yanking me back and depositing me on my feet, hard, in the blink of an eye. Gasping and choking. Suddenly able to inhale air. The rush of it makes me dizzy and I crouch and crumble to my knees, clutching my throat pathetically, as I expand my lungs and come back to reality. The sheer force of relief that I can breathe and get lightheaded with the sudden intake of oxygen. Everything’s spinning, but I’m aware I’m not being held anymore. I have no idea who the hell just grabbed me and dumped me like this to languish on the floor amid pounding feet.
I look up as the blood drains from my body, a cold wash of terror as I realize exactly who. That formidable hard body, his speed, and skill unmatched by normal men, pounding his fist into the creep’s face in sheer rage. Arrick looks insane, he’s bypassed all his typical calm and cool responses and is instead, beating the guy into oblivion. In a fury of punches and movements that would befit a ring fight, he seems lost in his own head, unable to stop. Beating down a reign of pain on his victim. Nothing like he has ever done to any sleazy asshole in a club for me before.
Fear grips me, sense hits me harder, and I realize he might actually kill him. Concern for him overtaking me, I jump to my feet, closing the few feet that have opened between us amid the grinding crowd and start hauling him by the back of his shirt, yelling his name. Begging him to stop. He’s like a demon possessed, pounding the guy into the ground with swift trained blows, precisely placed, like a well-oiled machine on autopilot.
Arrick is deaf to me, oblivious to my pulling at his shoulders and arms as he hits him repeatedly. The guy tries to fight back, obviously someone who can, yet still no match and is already on the floor. Arrick’s too fast, too well trained, and too enraged to be controlled. The other man has no chance.
He’s on the ground cowering as Arrick rains an assault of blows and kicks at his head instead of body, and surrounding dancers are starting to turn with the commotion which at first had been concealed. I dart around in panic, thinking of what this will do to his career, his reputation. It will be in every paper and magazine if I don’t stop it. This could ruin his life.
Throwing all my faith into how much I mean to him, I let him go, run around the side of the two of them and push in between as soon as he reels back to take another punch. I close my eyes tight and brace myself for the impact of at least one hit, because of how quickly I have managed to get between the two bodies. Freezing when I do so, inhaling sharply as I prepare for a smack, but nothing happens.
I open one eye, and then the other slowly, relieved to see him staring at me, fist poised in mid-air and breathing so hard that he’s panting. His eyes are on mine, a look of confusion and rage mingled together, and I literally cross myself and make a little ‘thank you’ sign to the gods above, even though I’m not religious. That could have been goddamn nasty.
I reach out, grabbing his wrist and pull it down to me, cradling his bunched fist in my two hands and pull him with me, tugging him in the direction of the door. Too many onlookers are fussing over the semi-dead man on the floor, and I can already see he’s out cold. I have no idea which hit put him there, maybe he was only semi-alert from the first blow, but all I can think is ‘You deserve it, you scumbag’.
Treating Arrick like a child victim, I lead him away, walking backwards hurriedly. Banging into people, keeping my eyes on his and urging him to come with me. Managing to get far enough away from the man he left mangled on the floor, and no one seems to be looking our way. In all the confusion and drunkenness of people here, I doubt anyone really knows what went down as it all happened so fast. I manage to turn and haul ass, pulling him as he speeds up to follow me out of the dancing area and to the quieter outer lobby. Turning back on him just as he snaps out of that fight rage he goes into. Arrick back from planet cuckoo, where his head goes during battle.
“Sophs?” His face softens, his jaw slackens, pupils dilate and then he’s all over me. Hands around my face and throat, pulling me so we’re nose to nose and breathing against me like he has lost all control. That broad chest heaving with the effort. “Tell me you’re okay; tell me he didn’t hurt you.” He seems overwhelmed, emotion going crazy as he keeps pulling my face to his, too close for this to be innocent. His forehead against mine, his hands in my hair and around my throat gently, checking me for wounds, checking that I’m breathing. He’s uncontrolled, losing all normal Arry restraint and still wired.
It’s a fight to try and rein him in, cool is hands on me and the way he keeps bringing my mouth close to his to share air, his nose pressed into my face as though he needs my face against his to calm down. His hands burying themselves in the underside of my hair over my ears, crouching slightly so I’m in between his thighs. Pelvis to pelvis, so he’s at my height as he assures himself that I’m not damaged. It’s intimate, even with his frantic behavior.
If I wasn’t still stuck in the bristling mode of ‘don’t touch me’ from what just happened I would be enjoying this a little too much, but I ‘m just being suffocated. Stuck in defensive mode and not wanting anyone to touch me, even him.
I try to control him, bring him some calm. He just keeps bringing me back again and again, hands roaming all over me, his mouth so close he almost grazes my lips more than once. He’s in emotional turmoil, senses overwhelmed, keeping me with him and pulled to his body, no matter what I do. He’s intent on bringing our faces together, so he can hold me. His eyes ravaging me with obsessive need to keep checking for injury.
Something inside me keeps telling me to untangle him, like a sixth sense, that he shouldn’t be touching me like this even if I wasn’t feeling this way. When I catch a glimpse of Natasha from the corner of my eye coming towards us, I push him away hard. Putting a little distance between us and trying to signal with facial gestures to calm the fuck down. Nothing in his behavior is innocent and there’s no way to explain it away.
“I’m okay … I’m fine.” I snap coldly, pushing his hands back again as he tries to pull me back. I grab his wrist instead and tug him to the side to alert him to her approaching figure. Facial messages are not doing anything to reel in his hands-on behavior. Arrick’s too focused on me, missing the signal and reaches out again to try and haul my body back to his. It’s like he’s stuck in overprotective mode of checking for damage, only focused on touching me and reassuring himself that I really am unharmed. It’s like he’s oblivious to her presence at all.
“Natasha.” I grind harshly, slapping down his hand, like scolding a child, turning to meet her with a serious look on my face and breathing heavily. I’m still recovering from my own collapsing lungs and need him to snap back to reality.
She’s wary, not sure what she’s walking into as we’re both acting cagey as shit, and I know this must look dodgy as hell. The odd expression on her face has me feeling guilty, even though I’ve done nothing wrong this time. I’ve no idea how much she saw, and I feel awkward, ashamed, which annoys me, while Arrick is being unpredictable.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Natasha’s sixth sense is firing on all cylinders, looking from him to me and back again. Arrick completely disregards her presence and pulls me back into his arms, nose to nose with a hand on each side of my face and looks me dead in the eye. Some sense of focus has returned, yet he still seems scarily distant and not quite here.
“I want to fucking kill him.” He utters, still lost in his own head, showing just how drunk he is. Far worse than when I was upstairs with them, and it dawns on me that this is half the problem. He’s a lot less controlled when he’s drunk, and it explains how weird he’s being, the lack of inhibitions in front of his ‘maybe once again’ girlfriend. I push him off gently, eyeing him with a more speculative assessment and see it far more noticeably, that he’s absolutely smashed, and turn to her pleadingly. So much for not getting drunk tonight.
“Some guy tried it on. Forcefully.” I blurt out, praying she’s not as drunk as him and someone else, besides me, has a little sense here. “Arrick hit him, a lot. He’s out cold, pretty fucked up. Arrick needs to get upstairs and out of sight until it calms down.” I command at her, nerves hitting me, voice and hands shaking wildly, and try to push him towards her. My brain in overload about how this could come back to bite him in the ass, his career, his future, his reputation. Natasha blinks herself into sense and widens big brown eyes in alarm, there’s a definite look of suspicion, but she blinks it away.
“You don’t fight in bars!” She blanches at him oddly, accusation, confusion, and a weird expression of disbelief before she stares at him. Like she’s seeing a new side to him, despite the fact he’s a pro fighter. A lip wobble suggests she’s hurt about this, and I want to shake her dense little head about how important this is. I instead snap.
“Natasha! Take him upstairs, I can find my own way home. Now, Natasha! He needs to be up there with friends who can back up that he was not down here when this went down. If there’s any comeback from this it will fuck up his fight career.” I push him away again, his hands are back on me, this time on my upper arms and he’s making me crazy, behaving like this in front of her. It’s like my normal calm and controlled protector is so locked in his own head that he’s not even here and his hands keep roaming to my body. I guess this is the drunk Arrick I missed when he was partying his youth away, and it’s more than a little infuriating."
