Perfectly Scripted (27 page)

The faint smell of tobacco drifted over me when he spoke. “If I remember correctly, my lucky charm, you liked it a little rough,” he growled.

Heat radiated off his body, and the muscles in his thighs contracted against mine. His fingers lifted to my breast, where he twisted my already peaked nipple. The damp, thin layer of material covering the essential parts of my body was all that separated me from this monster.

Sickness swirled inside me. Panic squeezed heavily against my chest, making it almost impossible for me to breathe. Suddenly, I felt weak, crippled under Derek’s evil spell.

Please, God, don’t let him steal my strength and everything I have worked so hard to repair these past years
. Then I heard Maggie’s voice, and her words hit me hard.
“Holliday, fight. The rape took away your control. You must fight to get it back.”

He cupped my chin in his hand, jerking my face to meet his. My eyes matched his biting gaze. His strong fingers dug into my skin. His other hand trailed across my stomach, dangerously close to the waistline of my bikini bottoms.

“Derek, you’re hurting me.
Again
,” I managed to say.

His temper flared, and with force, he released his hold on me. My head snapped to the side as if he’d hit me.

“Look at me, Holli,” he growled.

When I didn’t comply with his demand, he shook me. I stumbled on the slippery surface, but strong hands kept me from falling.
He caught me
. That revealed a small fraction of compassion that loomed beneath his icy exterior.

Derek had once cared for me. I’d been his girl.
His trophy
. With a taste for the expensive and unique, Derek was a collector of beautiful things. At parties, he’d put me on display like a rare thing of beauty. He probably would have placed me in a gilded cage as a showpiece in the center of the room for all to admire but never dare touch. Everyone in Los Angeles had known that Holli Grace belonged to the King of Side Effects Media.

Then a story from one of my group meetings sprang to mind. A woman had told us that she had been able to talk her attacker out of beating her by appealing to his emotions. They’d had a personal relationship, like Derek and I had once shared. By skill or with enough luck, maybe I would make it out of there unharmed.

Speaking softly, I looked him straight in the eyes. “Once upon a time, you told me I was the most precious thing in your life. I was
your
lucky charm.” I lifted my hands, wrapping my fingers around his forearms.

Derek backed away, crossing his arms, and his expression softened. “Once you were, but that, sweetheart, was a long time ago. You hold no value to me anymore.”

Oh God.
Chills spiked at my spine. This was fucking crazy.
I don’t think I can do this.
This man had viciously raped and beaten me, and there I was, trying to have a civil conversation with him.
I am a stupid girl. This would never work
. If I stayed, he’d possibly break me mentally, destroy me physically, and the aftermath would be too much to bear.

“Well, if that is true, then just go on about your business and leave me be.” Anger brewed inside me.

He snorted, inching closer to me. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re sick,” I spat. “Why don’t you just go crawl back into the dark hole you crawled out of?”

Ignoring my question, Derek asked one of his own. “So, New York City is where you’ve been hiding, Holli? I see you’ve changed your hair color, but everything else remained the same. I knew we’d meet again one day.”

He trailed a finger over my collarbone. My skin crawled, and my strength was beginning to deteriorate. Surely he would find the cracks in my slightly damaged façade and slowly chip away at them, crushing me into smaller weak fragments. Finally, he’d reduce me to only dust and wipe away any part left of my mind, my body, and my soul. But I dug deep, finding that part of me that burned with utter determination. I would not go down without a fight.

“I hoped we’d never meet again.” I swallowed hard. “Don’t you have a seat waiting for you on the bus to Hell?”

He laughed. “You always were a delight, Holli Grace. Your sense of humor is wickedly delicious.”

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. With caution, I slinked past Derek to gather my things, surprised that he’d let me. I was even more surprised at my own strength. My body wasn’t fighting me. In every nightmare scenario I’d ever envisioned where Derek had found me only to come back and finish the job he’d started, I’d always fallen apart and allowed the fear take over. Today, however, was a breakthrough.

I am not skipping for joy or anything. I want and
need
to get the fuck out of here.

“Leaving so soon? That’s a shame. I hoped we could finish our soak together and catch up. You know, for old times’ sake.” He followed closely behind me as I darted towards the stairs.

Clutching my keycard firmly in my hand, I proceeded to the exit.

“Nice to see you again. I’m sure we’ll being seeing each other very soon.”

Was he fucking serious? I hoped I never saw his face again.

As I slid the card across the keypad, my heart rate sped up. His shadow fell over me as I scanned my card over and over with shaky hands, needing to hear the sound of the door unlocking. Finally, the door buzzed, my hand turned the handle, and I was so close to the other side.

Derek grabbed the door, firmly holding it in place. Then he lowered his mouth to my ear. “Have a lovely evening, Miss Prescott,” he whispered darkly.

My last name curled off Derek’s tongue and sent chills around my entire body. I didn’t look at him or make any attempt to let him know it had registered with me. But, inside my body, nothing but alarms went off.

I pushed the door with all of my strength and wedged my body between the door and its frame. Everything was a haze after that. I slouched in the chair, stare at the wall and replayed the words he spoke in my head.

Derek Saunders knows my last name. How the fuck did that happen?

He knows my last name. He found me.

Ronan

“Right this way, Mr. Connolly.”

My legs carried me in a run down the long corridor, but I didn’t know where I was going. The fact that I had no idea of where she was had me going out of my mind with worry. The only thing I did know at that moment was that Holliday was “out of sorts” according to the hotel manager.

Faster.
Get to her faster.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins. My heart hammered against my rib cage.

“Is she hurt, Marco?” I called over my shoulder.

“She does not appear to be, sir,” he answered behind me.

We came to a passage where we could keep going straight or turn left. Before I could ask, Marco instructed me to go left towards the hotel salon. Then Holliday’s long legs came into view. Her body was slouched in a chair. I slowed my pace. Her robe revealed that she was still wearing her swimsuit. She didn’t turn to look at me when I approached though. Hotel security stood on either side of her.

One of the security guards sauntered towards me. “A hotel maid found her sitting like this about twenty minutes ago, Mr. Connolly, and she hasn’t moved since. However, we don’t know exactly how long she has been here.”

“Thank you. I’m grateful for your being here with her.”

I knelt in front of her. Still, she didn’t look at me. That’s when I heard her mumbling broken words—

“
He
…
How
…
My name
…”

“Holliday, can you hear me?” I asked, rubbing the back of her leg.

After a few moments, she looked at me blankly and said, “He…he was here.”

“Who was here?”

“Derek Saunders.”

Fuck!
At the sound of his name, anger roared inside me.

Did he touch her? I’ll kill him.

“Where did you see him?”

“In the spa…the whirlpool…He knew it was me. He saw my…He saw the scar.” She pushed to her feet, stumbling slightly when she tried to walk.

I caught her by the elbow and urged her to sit back down.

Saunders is here?

In The York?

I had so many questions, but my first priority was Holliday’s well-being. I wondered if she’d endured a panic attack. I was certain she was in some kind of shock.

What did Saunders do to her?

Was it simply seeing him that brought her to this state?

Fuck! All of her therapy and recovery—would this incident set her back?

“Did he hurt you? Are you hurt?”

She looked up at me, her eyes glossy. “He pushed me around. My head hurts,” she whispered and hung her head as if she were ashamed. “Ronan…he knew it was me…He found me.”

My heart crumbled under a hammer of worry. “Marco, I need to get her back up to the penthouse and call a doctor.” I shoved a hand through my hair. “What do you suggest?”

“Certainly, sir. There is a service elevator down this hallway. We can take it straight to your penthouse.”

I scooped Holliday into my arms, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. Marco and one of the security guards led the way. The other guard followed five paces behind. We stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed. I stared at my not-so-clear reflection in the metal, wondering if I’d somehow fucked up. Blake should have been on duty this weekend.
No, no, fuck.
I should have been with her and made sure she was safe.

“My bag…and my keys are still in my locker at the gym…I…I need to get them.” Holliday was dazed and rambling.

I kissed her forehead, whispering in her ear, “Shh. It’s okay. I will get them for you. Don’t worry.”

How could I have been so careless?

Why was Saunders here?

Was he specifically looking for Holliday?

If Saunders had laid a fucking hand on her, I would move Heaven and Earth to find the motherfucker and kill him myself. I wanted him to feel the pain he’d caused Holliday. I wanted him to suffer forever.

I remembered it as if it was yesterday…

When I was a young boy, about nine years old, we had a new student arrive at school. Her name was Binne. It was October, pretty chilly weather. She walked into the classroom wearing only a beige jumper with a black skirt—no coat. Her dark-red hair was tied back in a braided ponytail. The only color her fair complexion radiated was rosy pink on her cheeks from the cold. She stood with a smile on her face the entire time our teacher introduced her to the class.

After she’d hung her backpack up, she walked over to the only seat available—the desk beside me in the back of the classroom. When Binne took her seat, her small fingers ran over the top of the wooden desk, tracing each line and groove. She carefully studied the carvings of names and designs that had been made by previous students who’d sat at that same desk. Her smile grew wide when she opened the lid of her desk. I suspected she was over the moon about her new school supplies—a crayon box, assorted pencils, erasers, and a writing tablet.