C2, PT. 4 (Patreon)

Mo and Johan had clearly been watching their byplay and were on their feet, ready to interfere if it went further. She shoved past them and ignored the men occupying the other seats.

“Roth,” she heard Johan say in a placid tone.

“Let’s take a breath,” Mo bit out, obviously deciding to take a different tack.

A service galley and bathroom separated the front lounge from the back lounge, which was double the size and also filled with too many spectators. She jerked the bathroom door open, intending to lock herself in, but hard fingers closed around her upper arm and jerked her backward. She let out a sharp, involuntary cry of pain that she bit back far too late.

Roth’s hold on her upper arm moved to her shoulder. He slammed the bathroom door and backed her against it before he gripped the front of her jacket and tore it apart, not bothering with the zipper, which went flying. And then he was ripping the black long sleeve she wore beneath it as easily as if it were tissue paper. A gust of cold air across her suddenly bare chest and shoulder brought her out of her stupor.

“Are you fucking crazy?” She shoved him and used both hands to clasp the halves of her jacket together to cover her exposed bra.

Roth’s eyes cut to their audience. Apparently, he’d forgotten they weren’t alone. She took a step toward the front of the jet to get to her overnight bag, but Roth blocked her way and the next thing she knew, she was over his shoulder. She let out an outraged shriek and pounded his back.

As Roth strode down the aisle, she saw that everyone was on his feet. Aside from Mo and Johan, there were about ten others, a combination of her extended security detail and Roth’s. Why Roth felt the need to bring so many bodyguards, she had no idea.

“Do something!” she shouted.

Heads swiveled. They were looking for direction since their employer had gone off the rails. She craned her neck to see who they were looking at.

“Mo, Johan! Help!”

When Johan took a step after her, some of the men began to shift with him, but they all stilled when Mo grabbed Johan’s arm. Johan looked from Mo’s hard, blank mask to her draped over Roth’s back. The last thing she saw before Roth slammed the door behind them was Mo shaking his head and the men once more taking their seats.

That was another sucker punch to the gut. She’d begun to think of her bodyguards as friends and confidants, but their first loyalty would always be to Roth. No one would save her from him, despite his volatile behavior.

When Roth set her on her feet, she tried to get away, but he wouldn’t be denied. He tugged her right arm out of her jacket and tore the rest of the fabric holding her sleeve in place. She averted her face as his fingers brushed over her upper arm. She knew Tucker Baldwin had marked her. He wanted to hurt her and would have done a lot more if they hadn’t had an audience. In the grand scheme of things, it ranked low on her list of trauma for the evening, despite the physical evidence that had been left behind.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said, and it didn’t. The dull ache had gone unnoticed because her emotional pain was so acute.

“Tucker’s a dead man.”

The complete flatness of Roth’s voice made her head turn. She looked at his face, which was as blank as his tone. She followed his gaze to her arm, which was smudged with black and purple bruises. She could actually see the smudge where Tucker’s thumb had dug in. When she tried to draw away, Roth’s hold tightened.

“I bruise easily.” She wasn’t sure why she was trying to downplay that horrible confrontation in the ballroom. She’d never had a man look at her like Tucker had—like he’d love nothing more than to slit her throat.

When Roth’s gaze lifted to hers, her heart skipped.

“You said no one touched you.”

She opened her mouth, but he talked over her.

“You said no one hurt you. You lied to me.”

Bitterness welled. “He just saved you the trouble of doing it yourself.”

Like he had in the penthouse, his hands dropped away immediately. This time, he even stepped back, as if she’d threatened him in some way. She’d never seen him look unnerved before. She wasn’t certain with his dark complexion, but it looked like he’d paled slightly.

“I’ve never hit you,” he said quietly.

“So far, no, but we both know you have a fondness for choking and threatening to punish me.” She looked at the unsightly splotches on her arm. “These look worse than they feel. They’ll fade. The way you hurt me is far more permanent and will echo in my mind long after we’re done.”

She turned her back on him as she slipped her arm back into her jacket and went to zip it before she remembered it was ruined. She wrapped her arms around herself and finally took in the room. There was a bed positioned against the windows, an attached private bathroom, and a flat screen TV, which showed a twinkling Christmas tree, flickering candles, and snow falling in the background.

On their last trip home from London, she and Roth had two spicy interludes in the bathroom. He’d been all over her and had bought this jet, so their future travels could be spent in here rather than making out in front of his staff. She drew in a shaky breath laced with pain. Everything had changed since then. He’d gone to Los Angeles without her. He hadn’t bothered to tell her or ask her to accompany him. He switched from doting, obsessed husband back into the cold, detached businessman. It always came back to business…

 “That’s why you begged me to stay in London,” she said, staring at the idyllic, cozy scene on the TV she wished she could climb into. She wished she were anywhere but here with him. “You needed me for the Trentham Ball. All that crap about princesses and dragons and me being the most precious thing in your hoard…” Her chest was so tight, she couldn’t breathe for a moment. When it passed, she finished, “You said you wanted a year to live out your dream. I should have known it had nothing to do with me. It was about expanding your empire.”

She could see it all so clearly now. He’d done everything in his power to stop her from walking out of his London penthouse a month ago, and it wasn’t because he wanted to start fresh or really make a go of their relationship. It was a ruse to get her to stay so weeks later, she could attend the Trentham Ball at his side. His entrance into high society wouldn’t have been complete without her. And once he was sure of her, he stopped playing the besotted husband and switched up on her. She kept falling for his lies hook, line, and sinker.

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Sins. Please do not share or distribute.

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