TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (63 page)

There’s no reason why we can’t be friendly about this. It’s not like you haven’t done this before, not

like last time.” He runs his thumb across the lace of my bra and slips it inside, applying pressure to a

hardening nipple.

I close my eyes, pretending this isn’t happening. It’s not real. In my head I hum along to the last

song I heard, The
Right Thing To Do.
But the pain he inflicts, squeezing my nipple between his finger

and thumb brings me back to the present with a jolt.

“Stay with me princess. It’s no fun if you’re not here.” I try to speak. “Do you have something to

say?”

“Do you get off on hurting helpless women? Can’t you get it up any other way?” I see flames

sparking in his eyes. What have I ignited?

He releases his hand from my throat, takes a step back and slaps me across the face. My head

judders to the side and my left cheek stings from the force of a single, heavy-handed blow. I’m left

with the metallic taste of blood in my mouth but at least I’ve bought myself some time.

“Less of the fucking attitude. Don’t make me hurt you. It’s taken me a long time, a lot of effort and

a shit load of cash to find you and I
will
get what I deserve. See this.” He tears open his shirt to reveal

four recently engraved letters across his heart, scabbed over and framed by unsightly skin that’s red

and inflamed. It’s a grotesque image. “See? You’re mine. Now, get on your fucking knees.”

I stand my ground and meet his eyes with equal ferocity.

Ayden save us …

“I won’t tell you again.”

I remain standing.

In a flash, he throws a punch and I fall to my knees coughing and spluttering. The impact of his fist

against my stomach is indescribably painful. I may never walk upright again.

Whilst I’m doubled up, he crosses the room and opens his rucksack. I lift my head a fraction and,

when I see the blade, I die a little inside.

He strides over to me. “Now see what you made me do. I did warn you but you wouldn’t listen. Just

had to smart mouth me, didn’t you?” He tips up my head, witnessing the scars of his brutality. My

face is bruised and my eyes are swollen from holding back tears. But I’m alive.

“I think it’s about time I taught you a lesson. Stand up.” One handed, he pulls me upright by my

arm. In his other hand, there rests the deadly weapon. I have to make him lose the knife. A man I can

fight, but a blade? I have no defence against that.

I begin to laugh; it’s a sardonic roar that eats away at his ego like paint stripper. It’s contrived, but

it works.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

I stop momentarily to construct a sentence that will inflict a psychological blow. “You. Here you

are, all six foot whatever, and you need a knife to control a little thing like me. It’s laughable.”

My insinuation touches a nerve. “I don’t need a fucking knife, not for what I’m going to do to you

Princess.” He brushes his cheek against mine to find my ear and I catch the scent of an intoxicated

man uncultivated and over-heated.

“But afterwards, who knows? We may indulge in a little knife play at my place. I’ve got it all ready

for you. You’ll be very comfortable there. Now you keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll fill it with

my cock and come so hard, you’ll choke on it.”

I hold my tongue.

“Now we’ve sorted out the ground rules, we can get started.” He throws the knife across the floor to

his right, spins me around and plasters my face against the white board. With his free hand, he’s

lifting my skirt. I become aware of his erection slammed against by lower back. Dear God!

“How does your rich boyfriend like it? I bet he likes to bend you over and stick it to you, doesn’t

he? Can’t say I blame him. You’ve got a sweet little arse Frances.”

“The name’s Beth,” I mumble between crushed lips.

“No, it isn’t. You’ll always be Frances to me. Get used to it.”

His free hand is squeezing my bottom and eager fingers are sliding beneath me. I try to wriggle free

but it’s impossible.

“Very nice,” he purrs. ”Even through your panties I can feel you’re wet for me.”

My stomach churns. “I’m not wet for you, you crazy bastard,” I growl. “I’m wet for my husband

and when he gets here he’ll fucking kill you.”

He stops fondling and smothers my neck with wetness from his mouth and his tongue. I could

vomit.

“I’ll be done with you by the time he gets here and he won’t want you then, will he? You’ll be

damaged goods.” He takes a handful of hair from the scruff of my neck and marches me to the nearest

desk. In a single lunge he places me over it and grabs both my hands behind my back; my slender

wrists fit easily into his one-handed grasp.

“I won’t lie, this may sting a little but there’s nothing I can do about that, I’m afraid.”

He’s distracted, fumbling around for the top of my panties. I sense an opportunity. With every

ounce of strength I have, I throw myself off the desk and onto the floor. My head hits the carpet with a

thud and I’m temporarily stunned. The grip he has on my wrists slackens as I fall and I wriggle free. I

crawl backwards away from him but he’s incensed. Like a raging bull he tosses desks left and right to

get to me. I fear for my life.

Tears erupt from my eyes and spill over onto my cheeks like lemonade from a bottle; my body

hurts, my face aches …

Ayden, please save us …

As if I’m no more than a rag doll, he picks me off the floor single handed. This time he has no

desire to communicate with words, his actions speak for themselves; he’s driven by an insatiable urge

to fuck me. Now!

“Please, don’t do this … I haven’t done anything to you … you don’t have to do this … please …” I

am quietened by the force of his hand against my cheek. It lands with a crack and sends my head

careering to the side. I have nothing left. Nothing to fight with. No strength. No hope.

Like a toy with the stuffing removed I fold over the nearest desk, my face pressed into the veneer;

his splayed hand is flat against my back and his free hand is tearing off my panties …

I am beyond rescuing …

As my world folds in on itself, all I am left with is a black hole of nothingness; an empty well into

which I’m about to fall. Everything that was good is a faded memory. There’s only one word in my

head and I sob and scream it for all I’m worth. “Ay-den!”

The door flies open. I can just lift my head high enough to see Ayden standing there. He’s

perspiring and breathing heavily, nailed to the spot by this act of sexual cruelty.

Lester is by his side. He steps forward. “I know this guy.”

Ayden holds him back with an outstretched arm. “No. I’ll deal with this. Call for an ambulance and

the police. Go!”

For a split second our eyes meet. I see the love he has for me there; it’s like an ocean, wide and

deep. There’s compassion for my suffering but, in a flash that softness is gone. In its place is a steely

resolve to hurt someone, to hurt this crazy bastard who was seconds away from brutally raping me.

“Take your fucking hands off my wife,” he snarls in a voice I barely recognise.

I feel the pressure ease slightly off my shoulder blades. “Oh, look who just walked in … if it isn’t

Prince fucking Charming. You’re just in time to join the party. I’ll go first and you can have what’s

left.”

Ayden takes a step closer. “This is between you and me now. Let her go.”

“Let her go? I’m just getting started. She’s up for anything, this one. I should know, I broke her in

for you Stone.” I hear the words but they can’t hurt me. They can’t hurt Ayden. We have no secrets.

He releases me and I slide onto the floor without substance, merely flesh and bone. The breath has

been sucked from my body and it’s all I can do to shuffle away to the side.

Ayden edges closer and adopts a boxing stance. I remember now:
plant your feet on the ground, put

your weight behind your punches …

Underneath me I feel the knife and grasp it. Thinking quickly, I throw it to Ayden. He offers me a

grateful smile and shakes his head before turning his attention to my attacker. “I won’t be needing the

knife,” he says, so self-assured I believe him. The olive green shades are fading from his eyes. In their

place are sinister black hues. He has the look of a man possessed.

He turns to me. “Go! I’ve got this.”

I want it to be true but, even after all I’ve been through, I can’t bear to leave him in such a perilous

position. I shuffle towards the door, signalling my allegiance but make no attempt to leave the room.

Not least of all because I can’t stand.

Ayden steps forward fearlessly, strident and purposeful.

“Well, looky here, if it ain’t the great pretender coming to take a pop at Danny boy.” He’s actually

laughing at the prospect of fighting Ayden. This is not a good sign.

“I’ll be taking more than a fucking pop. You crazy bastard!”

His adversary throws a punch but Ayden is psyched; he rocks backwards and the punch finds fresh

air. In retaliation, Ayden swivels his hips and lands a punch in his enemy’s stomach that causes him to

arch his body away for no more than a second. I watch on, willing him to fall, praying he isn’t as

powerful as he looks.

“That the best you’ve got?” He turns to me. “I’ll be with you in a minute princess. Don’t go

anywhere.”

With him distracted, Ayden sinks another punch that lands with a thud on his kidneys. It causes his

body to judder and throws him of balance. He staggers back into a desk and Ayden goes in for the kill.

He leans into him and launches an over-arm punch that catches him on the back of his head. With his

head lowered Ayden raises his knee to smash it into his face. There is the sound of bone on bone and it

makes me wince, wondering who has fared worse out of the collision. But Ayden’s not done. He lifts

up his head by his hair and plants a powerful upper-cut to the jaw.

He’s won.

Staggering and breathless he turns to me but, before he can get a word out, there is movement

behind him.

“You’ve got some balls Stone, trying to take me on with your fucking street fighting.” He stands

tall, gigantic, as if he’s grown a foot in height. He squares up to Ayden and throws a salvo of punches

which he is managing to absorb, blocking shots, ducking to avoid others, matching him in everything

but size. I fear for him.

“Nice moves, for a lightweight.” He’s grinning, merely toying with Ayden. Then, from nowhere he

catches him on his chin with a ferocious upper-cut that propels perspiration into the air, sending him

careering backwards, dazed and unsteady on his feet. He tumbles and lands heavily on his back.

“Ayden!” I call out, falling onto all fours.

My demon turns to me. “You’re wasting your breath. He ain’t going to save you princess.” He

sneers, spitting out blood.

As he approaches me, I’m scrambling backwards. Running out of space, I hit the wall.

“Now it’s your turn.” With a bruised right hand he reaches out to me, fisting my hair, tearing out

strands and lifting me up like a broken doll.

I’m yelling out in pain. “No! Get off me. Let me go!” But, he’s too incensed to concern himself

with my suffering. With what little strength I have, I lunge forward letting fly with a punch to his

groin; it lands with a thumping sound as it hits his balls.

He grunts, but does not loosen his grip. “Now that’s not a nice thing to do, is it?”

As I scramble to my feet, I’m scraping my nails across his hand in my hair and catching sight of

Ayden. He’s coming to his senses, rubbing his chin and watching me being roughly manhandled but,

he is in no fit state to partake – not yet. Playing for time, I prepare to distract my attacker with life

threatening provocation. “I’ll
never
be yours. You’re a fucking animal!” I spit in his face, and, with

wide eyes, witness a transformation from man to monster.

Every fear I have ever had comes down to this very moment. He’s going to kill me. I close my eyes

…

When all is lost … Ayden comes to my rescue, launching himself onto his enraged enemy from

behind with the force of ten men. He has his right arm wrapped around his neck. Twisting, using his

full body weight, he brings him to his knees. He looks feral, gripped by savage thoughts. His chest is

heaving and, from the unwavering look on his face, I know exactly what he intends to do.

His grip is unfailing. As hard as the choking monster tries, he cannot shake Ayden off; he’s

elbowing him in the stomach, pulling at his hair and trying to turn him this way and that. They are

rolling onto the floor and still Ayden will not release his suffocating grip. He is crazed enough to take

his life.

I plead as best I can, “Ayden no!” But my words go unheard in his relentless assault upon this

madman. I try to stand, but collapse into a heap. He cannot hear me. My words are no more than

muffled sounds that dissipate in the highly charged air.

I see, in slow motion, what’s happening. This is my fault. I brought this phantom into our lives and