Chapter 57 In His Arms Again
I couldn't breathe. The man's grip around my body was like a vise, his alcohol-drenched breath hot against my face as I struggled. The parking lot stretched before me, dark and seemingly endless, my screams for help dissolving into the night air like vapor.
"Nobody's gonna mess with business happening outside Elevation," the tattooed man sneered, his face inches from mine. His eyes traveled down my body. "Only people with money and status come here anyway."
A few yards away, two men glanced in our direction but quickly looked away. A girl started walking toward us until her friend pulled her back.
Then I saw him.
Ethan was standing on Elevation's second-floor balcony, his tall figure unmistakable even in the dim lighting. His eyes were locked on us—on me—with an intensity that made my blood run cold. For one desperate moment, I almost called his name.
But something inside me rebelled. I thought about all the times I'd tiptoed around him, measuring every word, worried that one wrong comment would unleash his temper. All the nights I'd lain awake wondering if I even existed outside of his desires.
I won't bow to him again. Not now. Not ever.
"Let. Me. Go." I punctuated each word, summoning every ounce of strength I had left.
The man laughed, his hand sliding lower to my waist. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. Let me show you a good—"
I didn't think. I just acted. I sank my teeth into his forearm as hard as I could.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" He howled, loosening his grip enough for me to pull back. Blood beaded where my teeth had broken skin.
But I didn't stop. If this was how I died, then so be it. I had nothing left to lose, nothing I couldn't bear to part with. I bit down harder, tasting copper, determined to take a piece of him with me.
"You fucking bitch!" He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back until I had to release. "You'll pay for that—"
"Take your hands off her. Now." Jackson's voice cut through the night as he rushed forward, delivering a swift kick that sent the man stumbling.
The man's grip loosened, and I fell to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me. My dress was torn, buttons scattered across the pavement, exposing my black bra. Tears streamed silently down my face as I huddled there, covering myself with one arm, feeling like a porcelain doll someone had thrown against a wall.
"Who the fuck—" The man steadied himself, then froze when he recognized Jackson. "Mr. Hayes. I didn't—"
"Problem?" Alexander appeared behind Jackson, his usual easy demeanor replaced with cold calculation.
The man's eyes darted between them. "This your girl? I swear I didn't know—"
"Not mine," Alexander said, his voice eerily calm. "She belongs to Ethan Bennett."
The color drained from the man's face. "Bennett? As in—"
Mike backed away, hands raised. "It was a misunderstanding. Please, tell Mr. Bennett—"
"Tell me what?"
Ethan's voice silenced everything. He moved with terrifying grace, crossing the parking lot in long, measured strides. His face betrayed nothing, but the air around him seemed to crackle with barely contained violence.
I remained frozen on the ground, suddenly aware of how exposed I was—physically and emotionally. I tried to stand but couldn't find the strength.
"Nothing, Mr. Bennett," Mike stammered. "Just a misunderstanding. I'll go—"
"You'll go nowhere until I decide what to do with you," Ethan said, his voice lethal quiet. He didn't even look at him, his eyes fixed entirely on me. "Alexander, make sure he doesn't leave. I'll deal with him later."
Alexander nodded, signaling to two security men who immediately flanked the man.
Ethan shrugged off his jacket and knelt beside me, draping it over my shoulders with surprising gentleness that contrasted sharply with the cold fury radiating from him.
I flinched at his touch, a small involuntary movement that didn't go unnoticed. My body trembled uncontrollably, tears flowing freely now. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, desperately trying to silence the sobs building in my throat.
Without warning, Ethan lifted me into his arms. He cradled me against his chest, my face tucked away from prying eyes as he carried me back into Elevation.
I didn't struggle. Couldn't. My body felt disconnected from my mind as we moved through the club, past curious onlookers, up stairs and down hallways until we reached a private room.
Ethan set me gently on a leather couch, his movements careful as though I might shatter. He brushed hair from my face, his fingertips ghosting over my tear-stained cheeks.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low.
I couldn't answer. The concern in his eyes was unbearable—worse than anger, worse than coldness. It reminded me of everything I'd been trying to escape.
"Olivia." He knelt before me, taking my hands in his. "Tell me if you're hurt."
"I'm fine," I finally managed, my voice cracking. "Just let me go, Ethan. Please."
His jaw tightened. He reached forward, brushing his thumb across my damaged lip before leaning in to press a kiss there. The kiss was both gentle and possessive, a contradiction that summed up everything between us.
When he pulled back, something in his expression had changed. "I'm in pain," he said quietly, placing his hand over his heart. "Olivia, it hurts here."
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
"Please," I closed my eyes. "Just let me go."
His fingers tightened around mine, then moved to cup my neck, a touch both comforting and controlling. "You're frightened of me," he stated rather than asked.
"Yes." The truth escaped before I could stop it. "Every day with you, I walked on eggshells. I was terrified of saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing."
He pulled me against him, one hand stroking my back while the other cradled my head. "Don't be scared," he murmured into my ear. "I'm here now. You're safe."
I remained stiff in his embrace. "You don't understand. It's not just him I'm afraid of. It's you too."
Ethan froze, then slowly released me enough to look into my face. "Me?"
"This isn't normal," I said, voice strengthening despite my tears. "What we had—you wanting to control everything about me, me always afraid—that's not what relationships should be. You only want me for my body, and after half a year, I'm sure the novelty has worn off. Please, just let me go."
He drew a deep breath, pulling me back against him with surprising gentleness. He kissed my temple, my tears, the corner of my mouth.
"Baby, I won't be angry anymore," he promised, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "No more frightening you. Just don't leave me, okay?"