Page 5 of Torment
“All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t hurt.”
All the reasons itwouldhurt begin to run through my mind, but before those thoughts can consume me, yet another crowd of people sit in front of us. The thoughts dissipate as we get to work taking drink orders and filling glasses.
Michael Myersby Slayloverboy begins to blare over the club speakers, and a chill runs over my skin. My eyes flash to the back corner or the club, and in the darkness I see the dim glow of a cigarette cherry brighten, then dim again.
CHAPTER FIVE
A chill runsthrough my body as I step into the parking garage at the base of Abaddon when my shift finally ends. It’s April and even though it’s starting to warm up during the day, it’s freezing when I get out of work–which sucks when I have to wear a uniform–if you can call it that. Cut off jean shorts and fishnet stockings are fine inside of Rapture, considering the constant running around behind the bar, but at three in the morning it’s a poor outfit choice.
Pressing the auto start button on my key fob, I hear my Audi RS Q8–courtesy of Melissa and Jack Steele–beep then purr to life at the other end of the garage. Gripping my keys tightly, Izip my sweatshirt all the way up and tug the hood over my head before walking at a brisk pace toward my vehicle.
The garage is packed full of cars, but not too many people. I pass a few as they walk toward the entrance, but not many people are coming out. Some of the bartenders and dancers from Rapture like to walk around the casino for a few hours after work to blow off steam. Some of them even go over to the other towers for slots and table games. Not me, I want to get to my little apartment and crawl into my bed.
Rounding the corner at the end of the row, a harsh gust of wind rushes through the garage making my whole body shiver. There isn’t anyone around anymore, and my car is the only one that’s running. It comes into view, parked in the back corner of the second floor of the structure. I pick up the pace, finally coming up to it and fist my hands into my sweatshirt pockets. I hit the unlock button with my left hand, and grip cold steel with my right. As I’m about to open the door, the air becomes thick and the tiny hairs on my arms raise. Eyes bore into the back of my skull and I let out an irritated huff. Whirling around, I flip open the Buck knife and reach my arm out.
The blade glints in the dim lighting of the garage as it presses up against Karson’s throat. He looks down at me, his stormy gray eyes glittering with excitement.
“I love how in tune your body is to mine, doll.” His lips quirk into a sadistic grin as he steps into me. The backs of my exposed thighs meet the frigid metal of my car and the contact makes me jump.
“Back off, Karson,” I grind out, but the crazy fucker steps closer again, his thighs touching mine. He leans down into me, the blade still pressed against his skin. My eyes widen, but I don’t break eye contact.
“Do it,” he growls lowly and I swallow. When I don’t move, he presses himself into the blade a bit more, and I see his skin splitslightly. Small droplets of blood start to trickle down his heavily tattooed throat. I flinch a little as I watch the tiny rivulets make a path to the top of his shirt.
In my moment of shock that this psychopath just cut himself—yes technically I was holding the blade, but I wasn’t going to actually cut him. He grabs a fist full of my hair and wrenches my head backwards, knocking me off balance. I grab at his arms in an attempt to stop myself from falling, and the knife clatters to the ground. He kicks it underneath the car, but doesn’t let go of my hair. His massive body presses into mine, pinning me between him and the vehicle.
My breaths come in heavy as I glare up at him, anger coursing through my veins. There’s no denying that Karson is attractive, but right now I want to claw his fucking face to shreds. He’s six foot four with a muscular, athletic tone. His jaw ticks, but his expression remains neutral, which is unusual for him. His sandy brown colored hair looks darker than it really is under the garage lighting and is styled to perfection–disheveled but not unkempt. Tattoos crawl over every inch of his hands and up to his neck, with a few that peek out from under the hair on the side of his head. I hate this man—but even I have eyes. Layla was right, he’s gorgeous.
“Karson, let go of me.” I hiss in a breath when my scalp starts to tingle from how tightly he grips the strands. He lets go but doesn’t step back, keeping me pressed against the car.
“You can’t be walking out here alone, terror. Do you know how many people have been taken from this parking garage and disappear without a trace? You should have waited for me.”
The answer is yes, I do know how many people have been kidnapped from parking garages at this casino—four since this place opened.
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need or want you following me anymore. Leave me alone!” My voice echoes off the concrete walls.
“That has yet to be seen,” he chuckles. “See I think you like having me around. Because no matter how much you say you want me to go, your body betrays you, doll. The flush in your cheeks–” his finger tips brush my cheeks lightly. “Your breathing becomes faster and deeper. Your thighs tremble a little. Like right now.”
I swallow and try to regain control.
“Fuck you.”
It’s all I can manage to say. Because despite the rage I feel, he’s right about one thing. With how close he is to me, my legs are shaking and my head is starting to spin at the proximity. His scent, leather and tobacco mixed with a hint of sandalwood, wraps around me and has my body reacting in a way it definitely fucking shouldn’t.
He kicks my feet apart and presses his thigh into my core, putting just the right amount of pressure against my throbbing clit and I suppress a groan.
God damn it and god damn him.
“Please-“ I choke out then clear my throat. “Please get off of me, Karson. I want you to go away.”
His eyes search my pleading ones before he wraps his hand around my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but the hold is possessive and I feel my insides catch fire. He presses his thigh into my center once more before stepping back and lowering his hand. Then, he reaches around me and opens my driver’s side door. On shaky legs, I take a few steps forward then drop down into the seat. He gets to his knees and reaches under the car while I try to control my breathing. When he stands, he leans into the car and drops my knife into the cup holder. Then he buckles my seat beltfor me. I say nothing, and look up at him when he’s back outside of the car.
“I’ll follow you home,” he clips, leaving no room for argument, then shuts my door. My eyes follow him as he walks down the aisle and gets into his Camaro. The muscle car rumbles to life, the sound vibrating my windows. I let out a shaky breath, then drop my head to the steering wheel.
If I’m not careful, he’s going to wear me down, and I can’t let that happen. Not again.
CHAPTER SIX
Slammingthe door of the Camaro closed, I quickly flip my visor down to inspect the cut on my neck. The skin is split under my tattoos, but only enough to cause a little bit of blood. It’s already starting to dry up and I lick the pad of my thumb to wipe it off. Smirking to myself, I feel a sense of pride bloom in my chest.
