Page 9 of Breaking Storm

His mouth is by my ear, and he whispers, “One time. I promise.”

I smack and shove, except his strength is too much. My screams crack against the walls.

He flips me onto my stomach, leans his body over mine, my coat still on and clothed, while I attempt to kick him.

In a serrated voice, he says, “Don’t fight. It will only make it worse.”

Joey’s hand glides over my butt, caresses my inner thighs, shoves my underwear to the side, and wiggles between my wet folds. I’m having trouble breathing between the bawling and the assault. My pulse throbs in unison with my punches on the mattress. I twist my hips to the side. Joey’s feet widen my stance to prevent them from moving. The bed absorbs my tears and screams. I hear his zipper, and my body stills.My head fills with static—an endless hissing noise. Joey runs the head of his erection up and down my slit. In one thrust, he shoves inside. The swiftness and pain have me sucking in air. My sobs cease once he penetrates me. It hurts as he fills my insides, body wound tight, and my hands fist the sheet. I bury my face in the bed, and remain quiet as he pulls out slowly, crashes in fast, and continues the pace.

The static conceals his words, and I squeeze my eyes closed, thinking about my imaginary white house and its burst of colors. Away from all this violence and violation. In my head, I repeat fifty times, “This will pass,” and then I give myself a pep talk. “This ordeal won’t define you. You’re better than them. You’ll be able to recover whatever Joey’s breaking.” And I know he’s fracturing pieces of my heart, dignity, and sanity.

Chapter 4

OUR WEDDING DAY IS TORTURE. All the men gather at James’ house, toasting to the day, talking of the powerful alliance while bile slithers up my throat. It takes a couple of shots of whiskey to wash it down. I’m sweating like a rainforest, and the only one to calm my nerves is Sean. We huddle in the corner, watching the spectacle in front of us. Several guys make bets on tomorrow’s street fight—one I’m not involved in. James and William puff their cigars, moving the ice in their glasses in a circular motion. I would enjoy knocking the smug looks off their faces. They’re not sacrificing their future. James has bulldozed his way through life, unapologetic for the emotional and physical corpses left in his wake.

Sean leans against the wall and asks, “Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

I down my glass of water. “Not much of a choice. I’ll be cut off fromher,and that’s not an option.”

“And later? After the ceremony and reception?”

My eyes scan the room, and then I examine Sean in search of any signs of disapproval. A tick in his eye or a tightening of his jaw. And just when I’m about to turn away, I see it. His brows knit together as if the idea is too painful to vocalize. Of course, it’s painful to contemplate the act and the role I’ll play. Blackmail has a way of drawing out the darkness in us. Driving the madness we never would devise on our own. But James has me in a chokehold, and it’s been this way my whole life. Every hideous thing I’ve done, I did under the direction of James to protect me and her.

With a sideways glance, I say, “I can’t think about it now. It is what it is.”

The crowd disperses as they get into their cars and head to church.

William comes over, claps me on the shoulder, and says, “Well, let’s get this done.” He nudges James and continues, “If my daughter gives you any grief, you have my permission to take drastic measures to put her in her place.” Their demented laughter snaps at the air, causing Sean and I to flinch. He stops laughing, eyes me, and takes a sip of his drink. “Teagan has always been trouble. Mouthy. Nothing a little physical punishment can’t fix.”

James pipes in and says, “Knock her up. Like I told you, an heir will solidify this venture. That should make her obedient. You’ll have leverage against her.” As I’m thinking about his own leverage against me, he pokes a finger into my chest and adds, “Use your dick to occupy her mouth.”

The twisted twosome walk off in amusement. Sean and I watch them disappear, stunned by their words and behavior. I should be used to it by now. James has always been a warped man. No, he’s not even a man. A man wouldn’t use his son for gain. I’ve been at the receiving end of physical and mental abuse since I can remember.

Sean signals toward the door, and we make our way to the church. If this wedding is hard for me, I can’t imagine what Teagan is going through. A strong-willed woman ordered to marry a man she barely knows. A world she’s fought so hard against. Since childhood, she’s made it known this isn’t the life for her, yet here she is, embroiled in this charade.

The music begins, and Teagan enters the church. Her face is blank. William hands her over, and the discomfort between us is evident by the way our bodies collect tension and distance. Incense brings on another bout of nausea. Sweat trickles down my neck. The priest sounds like a drone, buzzing about us, people he’s never met. All I expect is for this to be over.

He breaks into my thoughts as he pronounces us man and wife, stating I may kiss the bride. This entire farce and what’s coming reels through my head, and all I can do is graze the side of Teagan’s mouth. A mouth I so want to explore… but I dismiss any more good thoughts. A full-on kiss will only intensify my internal struggle for my humanity, which I need to disconnect from later.

We make it to the car, and the only thing I can offer is a compliment. But it’s Teagan who is perfectly beautiful. A vision I’ve dreamed of and wanted for years. Now she’s at my side, subdued, and worry etched into her features, aging her before my eyes. Following these thoughts causes a jolt of anger. She’s not the only one suffering. This isn’t something I signed up for either. To marry a woman at twenty-two, who will constantly fight me and give attitude.

Neither of us are a part of the celebration. My mind disengages, going through the motions on autopilot, and I recognize the same distant stare in her. I find Teagan outside. Before she notices me, I take her in for the first time today. She’s wearing a strapless dress, one that flares out from the waist. Pearls outline the top and bottom of it. For the most part, it’s a simple dress, but Teagan wears it like a queen. I shake my head at the thought. My eyes close and I breathe out of my nose. I can’t get close or find compassion. That’s not what tonight is about. It’s about her relinquishing her crown later. Submitting and beg for me to fuck her hard. Splattering myself inside of her. I shift my erection. Yeah, I focus on these thoughts instead of the fear and sadness she wears.

We make small talk and she mentions about not being ready to have sex. Tough shit! Ready or not, I’m going to pound her pussy deep. This triggers my beast and I cordon off emotion, disregarding her words. They’ll destroy us both, and I refuse to let her get to me. If I give into her wants or needs, then someone else I love will suffer the consequences. That’s not happening, so Teagan will become collateral damage.

At the hotel, I smell her fear, which prompts more shots of whiskey and the willful want of my dick. She can keep her coat and clothes on. They won’t get in the way. All I need is to fuck her. Come all over and in her pretty pussy, because Teagan doesn’t own ugly.

Her eyes scan the suite, and she makes a break for the bedroom. I catch her before she’s able to lock the door. My eyes close, powering down parts of me, focusing on the mission. When I open them, she’s on her back, pleading and crying. I flip her onto her stomach. My hand slides over her skin, ass, fingers shove her underwear to the side and sink into her wetness. Blood pounds in my ears. Her arousal coats my fingers, the smell making me light-headed. I can’t wait. I lube my dick along her slit and thrust into her fast. A shudder ripples through me. Whispers escape, but I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m lost to sensory overload. Out slow, in fast. Her pussy is like a suction cup. Squished juices increase the ease and the smell of everything. Teagan has me diving in hard. She’s silent, but my beast plunges in and embraces the wet warmth. My chest rumbles, body paralyzed when I release my euphoric state. I can feel every drop of come painting her inner walls, which has me grunting into the remains of my orgasm.

When I’m done, I stand, tuck myself back into my pants, and even out my breathing. In a daze, Teagan pushes herself off the bed, hugs a pillow to her chest, walks into the bathroom, and locks the door. It’s the last I see of her.

I wake sprawled out on the bed, still wearing part of my suit. Teagan isn’t here, and the bathroom door is closed. My bladder needs relief, so I knock on the door, but she doesn’t open it.

Through the door, I say, “I gotta pee.”

There’s movement on the other side and then a click. Teagan opens the door and slips past me. When I come back out, I tell her we’ll be going home soon. Her chin lifts to ward off the violation. To prove she isn’t shattered to pieces. I don’t console her or apologize. The gesture is mute after what had happened. Its heaviness is a wall between us. One I built through destruction, and she built from a battered soul. I admire her durability to withstand the aftermath of the assault, flaunting and dismissive even when the pain has lodged itself in her chest. Quick swallows, a fluttering of lashes, an avoidance to make eye contact are telltale signs of her agony.

I drive us home. Silence pricks at my skin. There’s nothing for me to say. It’s done, and we’ll never get over what occurred last night.

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