At least he’s free of her and whatever she didn’t do for him.
We finally arrive on a terrace at the top of the townhouse, complete with swimming pool, hot tub and a bar. “Party central,” I mumble, folding my arms around myself.
A glass rail running the entire perimeter of the terrace pulls my attention, and I walk to look over it at the view. Pretty at this time of night. All twinkling lights and flashing colours in the distance, more light chasing the streets down below.
It’s a fucking fairy-tale in all honesty, just like his castle in the snow is. But cold. It’s all so fucking cold and dead of the man who rode with me the other night. He was laughter and fun, mayhem and anarchy. I smile at the thought, happy with that image of him in my mind. And then the thought of him at his wife’s funeral floats through my mind again.
“How was today?” I ask, quietly.
“Mind numbing.”
I’m partly delighted at the response, but I can’t help feeling the callous nature of it either. This is a man I’m falling for – have already fallen for. “You must have some feelings about it, Malachi.”
“I smiled. Nodded at people. Seemed dour when necessary.” A perfect representation of giving a shit then. “I did the same as I did at my father’s funeral.” I keep looking at the lights, perhaps pretending we’re not talking about this. “Although, this time, I didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t the one who murdered someone.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “You killed your father?”
“Of course not,” he says, still mixing drinks. “He killed himself. Overdose.”
“But you said-“
“The report showed varying drugs in his system, along with too much whiskey. They didn’t even know what some of the drugs were.” I stare at his back, thinking about a certain man who makes drugs. “Imagine that. Unknown drugs on the loose.” He turns to look at me, then starts walking with two drinks in his hands. “Did you try to fight them off?”
Something that looks like a martini gets passed to me, as he leans on the rail.
“What?”
“Did you fight before they raped you?”
I scowl, trying not to think back on that time at all. “Not really. Not like I could get three of them off me.”
The sudden, sharp pain that assaults my wrist sends the Martini flying out of my hand and falling the however many floors to the ground below us. “Jesus,” I pant, skittering backwards to rub my wrist. “What the hell was that for?”
He puts his hand back on the rail, passes me his martini instead. “You don’t need strength to fight people off. You need pressure points, Alice.” He skims his gaze over my body. Smirks about something. “Drink that, quickly, then take your clothes off.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Out here? I don’t think so. Exhibitionism isn’t my thing.”
“Shame.”
“No, just-“
“Drink,” he snaps, sternly. I do, tipping it swiftly. “Ready?”
“For wha-“ I’m hauled suddenly, moved and shunted around. Everything goes by in a haze of movement, no matter how much I try to disagree. The sound of clothes ripping sends my nerves on edge, reminds me of them and not him, and tears well up in my eyes before I know it.
“Who’s here?” he says, yanking more material from my skin. He is. I know that, but I keep trying to fight and claw and get away from him until, eventually, I’m nearly naked and he’s letting me go anyway. “I’m here, Alice.” I shiver, glaring at him, as he paces around me and takes his top off. “We don’t have time for everything, but remember three. Make a fist.” I frown as he gets closer, backing up slightly. He touches a point on his sternum, just under the point where his ribs meet, and grabs my hand. “Here. Hard,” he says, bringing it to his skin. “They’ll buckle under that, bring them down to your height. Then here.” He pulls my hand up to his throat. “With a flat hand. Use the edge of it sharply. And then here if and when and if the head comes down.” He moves my hand, gets the heel of it and pushes it at his nostrils. “Enough force there and you’ll kill someone. Yes?”
“Okay.”
“It’s just three moves.”
“Okay.”
He nods. “Again.”
I do the moves slowly, not to actually cause harm, but to get the feel of it in my limbs. He smiles the whole time, makes me smile with him with each next turn. It’s like a dance after a while. Rhythmic. Like our song he plays. Filled with a slow, steady darkness. And then it’s easy, simple, repeated. The same moves over and over again. And then he lunges for me.
Rib punch.
