Slap! Slap! Slap!
What the hell was taking him so long?
I imagined him wearing that ridiculous black robe, sprawled in a chair with his legs spread wide with some faceless brunette kneeling between his open legs. His eyes were screwed up tight, his lips pursed in a grimace and his crotch was hidden from view due to the bobbleheads ministrations. She was a person I had made up in my mind, conjured out of thin air. Nameless. Faceless. Not real. And I hated her.
Holy crap! I needed to get a grip before I lost my mind.
I glanced over my shoulder hurriedly, just to make sure there wasn’t really anyone behind me, ready to murder me. There wasn’t. The driveway, tiny yard and as far as I could see, remained empty and void of human beings.
I let out a relieved breath and turned back towards the door when I heard it opening.
About time.
He needed a doorbell.
Dash stood in the doorway, frowning down at me.
Slutty bastard.
At least he had more clothes on than his little black robe, sort of. Black, drawstring pajama pants. Bare feet. Naked chest on display. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. And his nipples were pierced. Like Quinton’s. Black barbells decorated each nipple, and I was staring.
Damn it.
I cleared my throat and blurted, “There’s someone out here, spying on me. Maybe it’s one of your girlfriends.”
I winced. I had sounded like a jealous crazy person.
He didn’t seem to care.
He grabbed my free hand with one of his and pulled me into the house. His eyes scanned the driveway right before he slammed the door shut.
“What are you talking about?” He hissed at me.
Okay, maybe he did care that I sounded like a crazy jealous person. Or, maybe it was the small fact I had showed up at his house out of the blue and hadn’t bothered to call first and let him know so he could get rid of his date. Wouldn’t want your little high school soon-to-be life partner (or whatever) to show up and cramp your style so you couldn’t get your rocks off.
Again, slutty bastard.
He shook my arm roughly.
“Ariel,” he hissed my name. “Talk to me.”
I sighed and told him the truth. Not the part about me imagining him getting frisky with some faceless bimbo. I kept that part to myself. I didn’t think it wise to share that with him. Not at this point in time. Probably not ever.
“Julian,” he yelled making me jump.
“You are going to stay in here where it’s safe,” he told me in a much quieter, gentler voice. “Julian will stay inside with you while Damien and I go outside and take a look around. If there’s someone out there we will find them. It’s probably just a hunter, though. The assholes are constantly trespassing on my land.”
I loved that he didn’t think I was a crazy person and he was going out to investigate on my behalf. He didn’t have a security panel by his door like at Mr. Cole’s house that let me know there was a security system. I kind of hated the one at Mr. Cole’s house. It beeped at me all the time and made me rush around to do things for it. Punch in the code, activate, deactivate. Beep. Beep. Beep. The thing was bossy and annoying, but it did do one thing very well, which is what it was supposed to do. When it was activated, and all the doors and windows were locked, I felt extremely safe being there. Dash going outside to check things out for me would go a long way towards making me feel safe staying here. Quinton had told me there was a bedroom here for me, I hoped it wasn’t on the main floor.
Feet thundered on the stairs, more than one set. Julian and Damien coming down the stairs. I hoped they didn’t have a girl with them.
Dash turned towards the sound of approaching footsteps, exposing his bare back to me.
I gasped in shock at what I saw on his back. My eyes filled with tears as they raked over his skin. Scars. So many scars. Thin, white lines crisscrossed all over the entirety of his back. The scars looked old, the skin raised where it overlapped others, it looked to be several layers deep.
My heart made a valent attempt to crawl up my throat so it could come out of my mouth in the form of a sob. Something I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate hearing.
It looked like he’d been whipped. For years. And years.