Chapter 25
Elise's POV
"Who the hell sent you here?" My voice cracked, unable to suppress the tremor. "Tell me!"
The tall man stopped smiling.
The amusement on his face dissolved bit by bit, leaving only an unsettling calm that made my skin crawl.
"We're here," he said, "because someone wanted to see exactly how much you matter to Liam."
My blood ran cold.
"What?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached out and grabbed my wrist.
His grip was iron-strong. I tried to pull away but couldn't break free.
He yanked me toward him, looking down at me with gray eyes that held no warmth whatsoever.
"Now," he said, "can we have a proper conversation?"
My wrist throbbed where his fingers dug into it.
The tattoo gun clattered to the floor.
At the same moment, the iron door was kicked completely open from outside.
The last man stood in the doorway holding a crowbar, panting as he shouted, "Boss, it's open!"
The tall man didn't turn around.
He just stared at me, his mouth curving upward again.
This time, there was nothing hidden in that smile.
Pure, unmasked, the smile of a predator looking at prey.
"Four brothers," he said, "think that's enough fun for tonight?"
Before he finished speaking, he lunged at me.
I stepped back, my lower back hitting the workbench.
His hands clamped onto my shoulders with crushing force, as if he meant to break me.
"Don't touch me—"
My words were cut off by a rough hand covering my mouth.
Someone grabbed me from behind.
Another hand.
Then a third, a fourth—
Four hands pressed down on me simultaneously, pinning me against the workbench.
Tattoo tools clattered to the floor.
My arms were pulled up from both sides and pinned above my head.
The tall man looked down at me from above, his gray eyes filled with naked desire and cruel curiosity.
"Look at her," he said to the other three, his voice carrying a twisted excitement. "She's scared."
They laughed.
The laughter mixed with the smell of alcohol and something more pungent.
A hand slid inside my collar, roughly tearing open my shirt buttons.
The sound of fabric ripping was loud.
Cold air hit my skin, followed immediately by a scalding palm pressing against it—
"Don't touch—!"
I tried to scream, but someone stuffed my mouth with a cloth.
Not a cloth.
Something with a sharp, acrid smell.
My nostrils were instantly flooded with the odor, my head beginning to swim.
Alcohol.
And something else.
I didn't know what they were using on me.
But I knew that in a few more minutes, I would lose consciousness.
Someone was pulling at my skirt.
Someone was touching my leg.
Someone was whispering obscene words in my ear.
Those words poured into my ears like sewage—
"Cry out..."
"Beg us..."
"Weren't you so tough before? Why aren't you acting tough now?"
Tears spilled from my eyes uncontrollably.
Not from fear.
From rage.
Extreme, incinerating rage.
I bit down on my lip, squeezed my eyes shut, my nails digging into my palms.
I couldn't cry.
Couldn't cry in front of them.
Couldn't let them think I was just some pathetic crybaby.
But I couldn't control it.
My body was shaking.
Every nerve was screaming.
Just as that hand was about to slide under my skirt—
BANG!
The iron door was kicked open from outside with a single blow.
The massive impact made the entire wall tremble.
A figure stood backlit in the doorway, silhouette towering like a wall.
The man on top of me froze for an instant.
Everyone turned to look at the door.
The newcomer stepped inside, leather shoes clicking crisply against the marble floor.
One step at a time.
Unhurried, deliberate.
Each footfall like a beat against someone's heart.
I squinted through my tears—
Liam.
It was him.
He wore a dark suit, no tie, collar open, his hair slightly disheveled.
But the expression on his face was one I'd never seen before.
Cold.
Cold to the point of being almost unrecognizable.
He walked up behind the tall man without a word.
And drove his fist into the back of his skull.
The man grunted and collapsed forward, falling on top of me.
The weight knocked the breath out of me.
But I didn't care.
Because Liam was here.
Liam had come to save me.
I pushed myself halfway up, wanting to speak, to call out to him, to say something—
But Liam didn't look at me.
He bent down, grabbed the man who'd fallen to the floor, and hit him again and again until blood covered his face.
The other three men froze in terror.
"Get out."
Just one word.
Not loud.
But those men flinched violently, looking at each other, then at him—
Then they scrambled to their feet and fled through the iron door.
The studio fell silent again.
Only heavy breathing and my own racing heartbeat remained.
I sat on the workbench, my clothes torn half open, my skirt wrinkled into a ball, hair scattered across my face, still clutching the cloth they'd used to gag me—
I pulled it away and looked at it.
It was my underwear.
Soaked with unknown fluids, reeking with that acrid smell.
My stomach churned again.
I dry-heaved once and threw the rag to the floor.
"Liam—"
I lifted my head, my voice so hoarse it was barely audible.
He stood beside the workbench, adjusting his cufflinks. I noticed his hands were covered in blood—whose, I didn't know. But he himself seemed completely indifferent.
From beginning to end, he hadn't looked at me once.
"Liam... thank you for coming..."
"Close this shop."
He said.
I froze.
"What did you say?"
Liam turned around, finally facing me directly.
His expression remained cold.
Even colder than it had been outside.
"I said, close this shop."
"What?"
Liam's voice was low. "This kind of place isn't suitable for you to keep running."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"Because you can't protect yourself." He finished fastening his cufflink, and from his tone I could still clearly sense that he was furious. "You saw what happened tonight. If I'd been a few minutes later, you know what would have happened."
"This was their fault, not mine—"
"But you didn't have the ability to stop them."
My head buzzed.
"I didn't have the ability?"
"Elise," Liam cut me off, his voice suddenly rising an octave, "you're one woman with a toy tattoo gun confronting four men? You think that counts as capability?"
"Then what was I supposed to do? Just let them—"
"Then don't put yourself in that situation in the first place!" He shouted.
The studio went quiet for two seconds.
Then Liam took a deep breath, as if trying to suppress something.
He walked over to me and crouched down, bringing his eyes level with mine.
Allowing me to see clearly the storm of fury brewing in those blue eyes.
"Elise, listen to me."
His voice dropped lower.
"I can't always get here in time. Tonight was because I happened to be free, happened to check your location. But what about next time? What if I'm on a business trip? What if I'm abroad? What if the person I care about isn't you?"
He paused.
"I can't let you keep taking these risks."
His hand reached out and took mine.
That hand was large, the palm calloused, the temperature hotter than usual.
"Close this shop."
"Go work at any company under the Sterling family, or a gallery, or just stay home. I can take care of you. You can paint if you want to paint, do whatever you want. As long as you're safe."
I pulled my hand from his.
I looked at him.
I knew that maybe everything he was saying was right.
But I couldn't lose this shop. He didn't know what this place meant to me.