Page 46 of Contention

This place is absolutely debauched, a voyeur’s dream, and if Kara felt strong enough, she’d claw them all to fucking shreds. Whatever happened to getting it on in private?

But, she’s not strong right now, she’s tired and weary. Instead, she feels like a little girl again, with no choice, and no options. She came here in vain; Calais had already decided on not crushing her job under his shoe.

The night is long. So, to Calais, Kara lies, a slight goad. “What do you fucking think? It’s cold in here.”

He’s gone through another gin, his glass empty again. His teeth press against her ear as he sneers unkindly, “Poor girl.”

Despite the disdain in his tone, meant to shame and humiliate her, he gathers her up and pulls her legs over one of his own, his arm around her tight. Warm and caged, a captive with no hope for escape.

She can almost pretend that she’s elsewhere, with someone far more safe.

The limo continues cutting through the night, music turning to deep, dark bass and beats. Kara hazily closes her eyes when she hears the crackle of a wrapper in the vehicle, the sounds of women giggling. Kara doesn’t want to see, so she buries her face in Calais’s shoulder. He makes no comment, likely watching whatever is occurring in the limo with a smirk on his stone-cut face.

His chest rumbles against her when he talks to his friends, a strange comfort to feel against her cheek and body. She’s fading fast, because she no longer has to take care of herself; that’s his job…

…Regardless of everything else, her father always takes care of her, even after the cruelty and the rage, he can flip the switch, because she’s always been his favorite (when he chooses) and she loves when he rewards her with any scrap of affection.

The short fuse of anger they both share takes the back seat, sometimes. When they are both exhausted of it.

Like the time he taught her how to dance, first her feet on his, then her feet following his across the room. She would have followed him anywhere, if he would just say he loved her.

But, he never did.

Suddenly, Kara jerks awake, surprised that she’d been dozing off. She sits up sharply, heart racing, but finds herself looking into familiar eyes. Kara’s stomach twists as she stares up at him, staring into those pupils that are staring straight down into her withered, sad soul. For a moment, she’s overwhelmed, feels terrified, like he can read her mind now that’s she’s off-guard. See what she’s made of. All her insecurities, all the nightmares of her past.

Anger burns faintly in her breast. She doesn’t like letting him see her weak. Did she crash and just…trust him to take care of her?Oh, shitting hell, Kara, you dull broad.How tired can you be?

Blearily, she looks around the limo, blinking away the darkness, trying to keep her emotions under control. She tries to push him away, uselessly. “Are w-we alone?”

Did…did she lose time? Shit. What happened? Did she miss something?

He shifts and she finds that she’s seated in his lap now, cradled against him like a small girl.

Charlie always held her like that when they watched tv. When she was younger, nicer. Not when she was fifteen and just as angry as he was.

The man holding her now settles back into the cushion, lounging lazily. He smells lovely. That rum and spice cologne that gives her nightmares and fantasies all rolled in one. “Just us,” he says lowly. “Dropped the others off already. You must have faded for a few minutes there when you were hiding from all the fun and games. You missed some pret-ty memorable things…”

Oh, thank God, she really didn’t want to see anything more than she already had. She’s seen enough dick and tit in this forsaken limo.

He gives her a self-depreciating smirk. “You’ve been with me the whole time. No one came near you.” Then, he tilts his head and pauses before saying. “Well, Dieter tried to take you with him when he left, but I declined to allow it. You’ll thank me for that, someday.”

Kara isn’t sure she understands, but she yawns widely, stretching like a cat in his lap. Too late, she realizes that it’s likely not an appropriate thing to do in the lap of one’s dire enemy. “What time is it?”

“About three in the morning.”

“Oh hell,” Kara mutters, eyelids still feeling heavy. She’s underwater, or in quicksand. It’s so hard to focus on anything. Sleepy. “You party hard for a bunch of old men.”

“Stop calling me old,” he says, giving her a slight bounce on his lap to jolt her. “I’m not even forty yet, little girl.”

“Watch yourself,” Kara growls weakly. She presses as an afterthought. “Old man.”

He snorts, amused and irritated in a mix.

He’s whispering in her ear now, low and breathy. “What?” Kara drawls sleepily, pushing at him, because he’s smothering her and she wants to curl up in her bed and sleep. “Whatdo youwant?”

“I said,” he repeats a little louder. “I’ll go home with you, if that’s what you’rereallyafter.”

Oh. If Kara were more alert, she would be blushing in embarrassment. She’s too tired to wantanything. Aside from sleep, of course.

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