Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (30 page)

I feel him slide in behind me, his arm curling around me, pulling me close, his chest softer than I remember. I surrender to the dream, curling into him, humming my delight. His hands move over my hips, pulling me closer. His fingers are a little too strong, digging deeply into my flesh. I writhe in my sleep, rolling against him. He whispers, hot against my ear, “
You missed me
.” Pressing his hips into me, grinding against me, he is rough. I smell juniper, and the sweet, metallic twang of gin. My eyes fly open and I try to roll away, but he crushes me to his chest. He is drunk, and his hands are all over me.

Chapter 24 

“Get off of me!” I struggle against his vice grip, trying to get away, but he just pulls me in tighter. I kick and flail until I can land a blow hard enough to make him release me. I kick him, hard, in the shin over and over with my heel until his hands soften just enough. Biting into his arm, he shrieks and shoves me off the bed. I fall to the ground in a heap, tangled in sheets and pillows. He crawls to the end of the bed as I struggle to my feet. Grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulls me to him, trapping me between the bed and his body, hovering above me, wavering slightly. 

“Who did you think I was, you slut?” He pulls my hair tighter, forcing me to be nose to nose, the stench of Tanqueray and Swisher Sweets assaulting my senses. He crushes his dry lips to mine, scratching and burning my mouth. He is sloppy and angry. He bites my lip, drawing blood, and then licks it away. He pulls my head back, anger raging in his droopy, drunken eyes.              

“You had some fucking stranger come here and throw me out of my own house? You bitch!” He throws me to the ground, and falls back on the bed. I hit the floor hard, and struggle to get up and get away from him as quickly as possible. What the hell is he talking about? He sits on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, mumbling to himself about keys and red-headed bastards. I back away, trying not to draw his attention. He shakes his head violently and focuses all of his rage on me. It flares in his eyes like a wildfire, out of control, unpredictable. He stands and stalks towards me, emitting toxic fumes and anger with every drunken step. I leap to my feet and turn to run, but he winds his stubby fingers tightly around my arm and yanks me back. It feels like he is trying to rip it off, he pulls with so much force. 

“Are you fucking someone new? Is that who you had toss me out? I knew you were a whore. That’s why I moved out in the first place.” He slurs and spits into my face as he talks.              

“You didn’t move out! I kicked you out, you cheating son of a bitch! Twice, and I will gladly kick you out again. Now let go of me!” I try to pull my arm, but he squeezes it so hard and twists until I am backed up against him. My wrist is going to break if he doesn’t let go. He tries to kiss my neck and my stomach lurches into my throat, it makes me sick. I swing around and slap him with my other hand. My palm burns and a loud crack
echoes through the hall, he releases me to quell the sting. I break towards the door. I need to get outside. I have to get outside. Panic wells up inside of me, threatening to choke me, slowly robbing me of precious breath. My legs have turned to rubber, I feel like I am moving in slow motion. Every step takes an eternity, my feet heavy like stone. I reach the door and throw it open, running at a dead sprint into the courtyard. I turn back to see if he has followed me out. He is ten steps behind me when I run headlong into something hard as a rock, and fall back on my ass. I look up into the cool, impassive face of Charlie. Holy Hell, Thank God! He offers me a hand, pulling me to my feet just as Collin catches up to me. Charlie swings me behind his back, taking a defensive stance against Collin. 

“Are we going to do this again?” Charlie taunts Collin.
Again? They know each other.  Flash of Charlie in Rhys’ office that first day. The keys, the red-headed bastard.

“
Sophie?”
I hear him call my name before I see him get out of the car. Shining like a dark knight in a navy suit, he rushes to me as he sees Collin swing at Charlie.

“Is this the guy?” Collin pushes against Charlie, trying to stare down Rhys. “A fucking Town Car? What does a slut have to do to land a wallet like you?” Collin spits bile-filled insults, but I squeeze a Rhys’ hand, silently begging him not to engage. “He looks like a pussy licker. How did you like the taste of my cock?” Rhys’ eyes go
black, cold and dead. He looks through Collin, rage marring his carefully crafted façade. “You know what man, she is all yours.” Collin throws his hands up, swaying back a step.   

Anger seeps from every pore and Rhys snaps, he drops my hand, shoves Charlie out of the way and drives his fist straight into Collin’s face, crushing across his left cheek. He falls back for a split second before landing another blow square in his gut. Charlie falls back and watches, shielding me from the melee. Why doesn’t he stop this? Collin doubles over and Rhys drives his fists into him repeatedly, rapid fire, rage rolling off of him in violent waves, his fist pounding broken flesh, over and over. The dull sound of cracking ribs and angry growls fill the air. A slight whimper escapes from the bundle of clothing and flailing limbs that is Collin before Rhys winds up for one last blow. His eyes are vacant, his fist is bloody, and he is singular in purpose, unreachable. Fury mingles with the blood that oozes from his broken knuckles and he sinks Collin to the ground with a crushing blow to the side of his head. 

He turns and grabs my hand dragging me towards the waiting car, Charlie following two steps behind us. I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip, his fingers digging into my flesh, pulling at my heart. 

“Rhys, please. You are hurting me.” I try to stop, to drag him back, but he lifts me from my feet so easily, and hands me over to Charlie, a perfunctory exchange between two bullies.
             

“Get her into the car,” he commands, flexing his bloody hand, examining the damage. He is icy cold and deliberate as he slips from his jacket, rolls up his sleeves and removes his watch, slipping it into the pocket of his designer slacks.

“Rhys, please don’t!”

Charlie casually strolls to the car with me trapped against his chest, his arms wrapped around my waist, my feet dangling like a child. “Charlie, put me down!” I command, pushing against his stone chest. His family mask is firmly in place, and I am no match for his brute strength. But I cannot let Rhys hurt Collin. I cannot let him risk anything for me. I kick and flail, trying to free myself from the vice grip of Charlie’s arms, landing a kick square to his shin. He flinches before swinging my legs up over his arms, cradling me like a helpless baby.

“None of that,” he admonishes in the Slate family tongue. He opens the car door and gently tosses me onto the seat, before shutting me in. I hear the clicking of the door locks and the privacy shield goes up, robbing me of my only view of the scene outside. Blood pulses in my head, shock creeping over me. I am worried about Rhys. I am worried for Collin. Rhys is a fighter. That much is clear. What is he doing here? How did all of this happen? My head swims through the sludge of recent events and I am overcome. Alone in the dark, trapped in the back of Rhys’ rented Town Car, I cry. Warm tears softly spill over the edge, leaving tracks down my cheek, while I silently weep. It is purifying and soothing, so I surrender to the deluge. I don’t wipe away the tears or try and hide. I let them fall, gathering at my chin slowly raining salt and sadness upon my bruised and battered knees. I look down to see blood mingling with tears. I wipe the tears to reveal a large gash across my knee, from where Collin threw me to the ground, asshole.  

Rhys slides into the back seat and I have no idea how much time has passed. My eyes are dry, but my cheeks are wet. Rivers of tears have stained them with a pale
flush, my eyes are glossed over and heavy. And he looks amazing, here, in front of me now. Angry devils dance behind his eyes, they are dark and filled with anger. His body is rigid, having regained his focus and control. Blood covered knuckles flex in his lap, and he closes his eyes. I watch him for a long minute, the hard planes of his face, and the soft curve of his lips. Lips that are set in such a hard line, his jaw is tense and pulsing. I can’t find my tongue, so I just watch and wait. I don’t know how Collin got in my apartment. I don’t know how I got out. I have no idea how Rhys got here, but I am so grateful that he is here. Everything is a tangled mess. The silence is deafening, sending a shiver rattling down my spine. I can’t stave off the tremor that follows and the movement catches his attention and he turns his dark eyes on me. I sink back into the seat, putting more distance between us, unsure of his current state. 

He slowly slides off the seat and onto his knees. Kneeling before me, his face is hidden by the darkness, but the glint across his eyes tells me I am safe. 

“Are you hurt?” His voice is raw. I just nod in response, afraid of my own voice. His hands flow over my face, down my neck, across my collar and down both arms. He checks with his fingers for signs of hurt or struggle. I am thankful that there are no marks to be seen other than my knee. I fear his reaction. The fury that he fights is stifling. It is all around us, stealing the air. His hands travel down over my hips and stop, resting heavily on my thighs. 

“That fucker!” he growls, moving between my legs. Brushing his thumb gently over the slowly bleeding gash, he murmurs incoherent thoughts to himself, laced with profanities and vitriol. His eyes are filled with such intensity, such
concern, you could light a thousand torches with the slowly dying fire dancing in his shadows. He is struggling, livid and wired, and my blood fuels him. He leans close, gently blowing on my knee, small drops of blood still rising to the surface. He places his full lips to my broken flesh and flicks the blood away with his tongue. I watch in shock as his mouth closes over my knee and he kisses my flesh, lapping away all traces of blood. All traces of struggle. When he looks up at me, his eyes are full of something else entirely. Lust, anger, reverence and concern all merge into a steamy gaze that cuts me to the quick. Lurching from his knees, he takes my face in his hands, cupping me gently. He kisses me, parting my lips anxiously with his tongue, the metallic ring of my blood echoes from his tongue, filling my mouth, assaulting my senses. And then I melt into him. We are merged in every way, his mouth with mine, his hands on my flesh, my hands in his hair. We are becoming tangled, just as we once were, as we should be. As I want to be. As we need to be.

“What are you doing here?” The slightest crack in my voice betrays me.

“Are you not happy to see me?” he asks. All I can muster is half a smile. “You took something that belongs to me. I came to reclaim it. But I find, even in your state, it looks better on you.” I blush from embarrassment at being caught. “So, you are a kleptomaniac? I would have never guessed.”

“No!” I splutter, “I just wanted something to remember you.”

“Was I at risk of being forgotten?” Rhys is many things, most of which, I can admit are still a mystery to me, but forgettable? No, there is nothing forgettable about Rhys. 

“No, I just didn’t count on you not forgetting me the instant I left you.”

“Humph. Well, I didn’t count on any of this, on you.” He shakes his head, trapped in a thought he refuses to share. “I just wanted to see you again.” 

“I am so sorry.” I am overcome with regret. Unearned this time, but still sorry none the less.

“About what?” he pleads.

“Everything.”
The flood gates burst and I begin to ramble. “I’m sorry for taking your shirt. I am sorry that Collin was here. I am sorry about your hand.”

Rhys stops me with a finger to my lips.
“Stop. Surely you have nothing to be sorry for. I am flattered and rather humbled that you would take my shirt. It’s cute. I like the thought of you in my shirt. I like the look of it. I am glad that I got to break my hand on that asshole’s face.” Pausing, he ponders the thought and flexes his hand. “You will never know how good that felt. What was he doing here anyway?” Oh, I could imagine, and have on several occasions. The thought of the sweet crack of my palm across his face calls a devious little grin to my lips. My palm itches for that slap. 

“I don’t know, I swear.” I struggle to come up with an explanation. And it dawns on me, the windows, he must have climbed in. They were wide open. How could I not have heard him? The thought scares me and I turn back to Rhys’ waiting face, panic creeping up my throat. “I think he climbed in the window,” I whisper, barely able to say it aloud. 

“Well, you can’t stay here tonight. You really shouldn’t stay here at all,” he declares before backing down as my eyes rage. “We can talk about that later,” he relents, taking the seat next to me, pulling me into his side. “Tonight you will stay with me.” I look up into his warm green eyes and have no dispute. I want to stay with him, to wipe the night away. I know he can do that for me, make me forget. 

“I just need a few things.”

“Charlie will go back in for you.” He is no mood to negotiate. “What do you need?”

“Um, a pair of jeans, panties and a bra, socks and sneakers, my purse and phone.”
              “Charlie, did you hear that?” I realize that Charlie had been sitting in the driver’s seat this whole time. Oh, my god, he will be going through my drawers? I look back at Rhys, stunned and panicked at the idea of Charlie going through my delicates. 

“Don’t
worry, he won’t go through your things.” As if he could read my mind, he rapidly put it as ease, pulling me into his lap as Charlie exits the car.