Page 13 of Carte

One second. he was holding me firmly, barring my escape. The next, he was being dragged by the collar of his blazer by Carter.

With a roar, Carter lifted him off the ground and slammed him against the wall so hard, the door of the forgotten bathroom shook. He had one arm pinned across his torso, the other was around his neck.

“You touch her again, and you’ll lose your hands,” Carter said almost conversationally. His face was hard, only a muscle jumped in his jaw, making the wings of his butterflies flutter.

“I can do anything I want.” The man laughed. “She’s mine. She said so herself in Yours ‘till the end.”

I lost it then. No one could use my words against me. No one had the right to tell me what to do or what to think.

Not anymore.

“It’s just a song,” I screamed.

He struggled against Carter and turned his head. Looking at me, he smiled almost tenderly. “But I know you wrote it for me, Harley. You don’t need to pretend otherwise.”

I shivered. This man was clearly sick.

Just then, the hall became crowded. I was being pushed back, and four men stood in front of me. The sounds of a struggle could be heard.

“Get off me,” the man muttered between pants.

After what felt like forever, but was most likely two minutes, Carter pushed through the bodies and stood before me.

His eyes ran the length of me before they came to mine. “Did he hurt you?”

“What just happened?” I asked, looking around. Nothing made sense.

It was supposed to be an easy night out. A break from the stuffy hotel room, and a release from being constantly watched over by Carter. Now, there were all these people walking up and down the hallway, glancing my way with worry in their eyes. Some even held pity.

Two hands framed my face and turned my head gently. Thumbs stroked gently under my eyes, and I realized it was to wipe the tears away.

“Dynamo.”

I looked up into the hypnotic eyes that pulled me in every time I peered into them. “Dynamo?” I asked after what was clearly a nickname. For me.

“It suits you,” Carter murmured gazing down on me. It was the first time he wasn’t looking at me either pissed or annoyed. The look he was giving me was gentle, probing. His face held understanding. But there was no worry. There was no pity. “Everywhere you go, it’s like an explosion happened, and mayhem ensues," he spoke softly, still gliding his thumbs under my eyes.

His touch was soothing something inside me. Something that hadn’t had attention in a long time. I closed my eyes and dove deeper into the feeling.

“Dynamo,” I repeated, my mouth curving slightly. I liked it. It was the first nickname I’d ever got.

What I liked more was the feeling of Carter naming me with it gave me. Like I was somehow his. Like on some miniscule level, he held a part of me precious.

It was a dangerous feeling. One I knew I had no right to. Still, I didn’t fight it. I let go and leaned fully into it and the safety it gave me.

“She knows who I am.” A voice yanked me back and into the harsh reality of the moment. “Ask her about the red lights. Ask her how she wrote that song for me. If she didn’t know me, she wouldn’t say those words to me.”

I tried to look the way the screaming came, but Carter’s hands tightened on my face, preventing me to look.

“Don’t give him the satisfaction,” he whispered. “All he wants is your attention. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Does this mean it’s all over?” I asked.

His mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

“Carter.” I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled. “Does this mean he’s the fan you’re after?”

Somehow, I wanted it to be over, and at the same time was terrified Carter would leave me.