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As carefully as I can manage, I slip my foot into the ridiculous shoe and barely hold in the yelp that claws at my throat. Is Elias sure it’s not broken? Because this is what I imagine having a broken bone feels like. I’ve never had one because my mother didn’t believe in her daughter playing sports or having fun with my friends. All she ever cared about was marrying me off to a high-class family so she can stay relevant. Eventually my father will have to retire, and she'll hold onto her social standing by having her hooks in my husband and me.
The moment I stand I fall straight back down with a cry. Holy hell that hurts. Maybe the carpets are the safer choice…
Before I can think better of it, I slip both stilettos from my feet and pick them up in one hand. When I stand it still hurts like hell, but not to the point I can’t take a step forward. Progress I suppose. I take a quick look around for another door, hoping I won’t have to go out the same way Wyatt and Elias did, but there’s only the one exit.
For some reason, the thought of them knowing I snuck out without saying goodbye strikes a cord in my chest. Emotion isn’t something I was raised to feel. In fact, it was openly discouraged in my household. But there’s something new, something unfamiliar that has been filling my chest since the moment my hero caught me.
I limp across the room, hissing out a breath every time I place any pressure on my sore ankle. How undignified would it be to crawl out of here? God. If my mother even knew that thought crossed my mind, she would have a fit.
I lean my ear against the door, listening for any voices, but the bass from the music down the hall prevents me from hearing anything. Nerves crawl up my throat, leaving heat in their path. What if they catch me? They don’t strike me as the kind of men who would allow me to just up and leave after causing a commotion in their club.
Once I let out one final nervous breath, I pull the door open slightly and immediately slam it shut when I catch sight of the men who have lit a fire in my body standing beside the door. I’d really hoped they would have gone further away to have a discussion about me, but with how my night has gone, perhaps I should have expected this to be the outcome. Of course not even this could go in my favor.
I barely make it two steps before the door swings open, and both men fill the doorway. Their eyes are mirror images of the other, thunder filling both pairs. “What the fuck are you doing standing on your ankle?” Elias snaps, immediately closing the gap between us, and I flinch out of instinct. Usually when someone comes toward me with anger in their eyes, their intentions are to harm me, but the moment confusion followed by a new type of anger crosses his eyes, I realize he would never harm me. Not in the way my mother and Jason have in the past at least.
I know enough about BDSM to know there are elements of pain within the practice, and I’m sure a man like Elias enjoys inflicting his fair share of blissful agony.
“Sorry, pretty girl, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says softly, bringing his hands up in front of his chest in a sign of surrender. “You need to stay off your ankle to avoid doing any further damage.”
“I need to leave,” I whisper.
“No you don’t, angel. You can stay here for as long as you need.” Wyatt approaches me as if he’s approaching a frightened deer, at risk of taking off any second.
“No, I can’t. You don’t understand,” my voice wavers, and I curse the emotions bubbling in my chest. I’m not used to them, so I’m not sure how to make them go away.
Elias glances at his best friend who gives him a small nod. “Sit down, pretty girl,” he demands, but this time, the command in his voice doesn't elicit fear. It brings something else entirely to the surface. He doesn’t wait for my response before sweeping me into his arms and depositing me on the plush leather couch.
“We can’t allow you to go back to him, angel. Not after what we saw tonight.” Wyatt kneels down beside the couch and takes one of my hands in his while Elias takes the other. It’s strange drawing comfort from a man, let alone two of them.
“It’s fine.” I force a smile to my face, although I’m certain it looks as insincere as it feels. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. He was just angry.”
Wyatt closes his eyes and blows out a strained breath but keeps his hand soft in mine. “Angel, I’m sure you know that’s the excuse every woman uses when their significant other harms them.”
“He doesn’t hurt me,” I argue. “Not really.” I don’t know why I’m bothering to defend a man I have no attachment to, but the words escape from between my lips before I can swallow them down.
“You’re not going back there. Not tonight at least,” Elias says, squeezing my hand as if he’s preparing for me to make a run for it. “He’ll be angry tonight, and I don’t trust him to not lay a hand on you.”
“You’re going to come home with us tonight, angel. You’re going to come home with us, and we’re going to show you a world you’ve never dreamed of. One so full of pleasure that you will forget these fucked up notions that you have to marry a man who hurts you, and in the morning, if you still want to go back to him, we’ll…” He pauses to swallow. “We’ll drive you back to him, and you’ll never hear from us again.” There’s something in the way he says the words that makes me think he doesn’t mean them, or that somehow he’ll find a loophole around it, but for some reason I don’t care. All I care about is opening Pandora’s box and exploring all the things I’ve been missing because Jason is a two-pump chump.
I drag in an unsteady breath and squeeze each of their hands, pulling strength from them to utter a word I never thought would fall from my lips in a situation like this one.
“Okay.”
CHAPTERELEVEN
ELIAS
Ithought she would put up more of a fight than this. In fact, I expected to have a clawing kitten on our hands. But when she agrees to spend the night with us, the breath I’ve been holding since the moment I locked eyes on her releases.
She’s coming home with us.
She’s not going back to that asshole tonight. And that’s a start. It’s more than we had when we walked out of the room, and maybe, just maybe, we can show her how much better her life could be if she was with us. We would worship her, show her all the things she’s been missing out on in this life, and we wouldneverlay a hand on her in anger. While she hasn’t said as much, I get the distinct impression that tonight’s little show wasn’t the first time he’s hurt her, and if I have a say in the matter, it will be the last time he ever gets the chance.
Wyatt and I look at one another before jumping into action before she can change her mind. He gathers her up in his arms, handing me her heels and bag before heading back toward the door. I quickly turn off the lights and trail after them down the hallway toward the back door the staff use. If her initial reaction to the club was anything to go by, walking her back the way we came would only set her off again.
By the time we reach Wyatt’s Land Rover, excitement bleeds into my veins at the prospect of having Leighton in our space. We’ve never had a woman in our home, only ever playing in hotels or at the club, and that’s always worked for us. But when an image of Leighton spread out on my bed, in my room, fills my mind, I can’t think of a single thing I want more.
Wyatt opens the back door and carefully positions her in the seat before wrapping the seat belt around her and securing it.
