Page 27 of Shattered Fate

We weren't treated like we owned it, and we paid before we left. I can only tell Tate the truth. “I don't think so.”

“Do you know anything about the photographer we're seeing tonight?”

“No. Zane made our plans. I'm sorry. I must seem dull.”

“Not dull. Quiet. Reflective. It's nice. Still waters run deep and all that, right?”

I look into his face to see if he's mocking me, but he's thoughtful himself, holding my hand and walking down the sidewalk demanding nothing but my company.

Tate cups his hand under my elbow to give me support up the stairs and opens the gallery’s gleaming glass door. An attendant hangs our jackets in a closet, trading them for tickets, and Tate pockets ours.

Zane and Stella have already started to mingle, and he catches my eye across the dim room and nods, acknowledging I’m here and safe.

I drank coffee at dinner, and out of solidarity for my situation, Tate turns down champagne and orders two lime sparkling waters from the bar.

“Thank you,” I murmur, lifting the fizzy drink to my lips.

“You're welcome.” He brushes a piece of hair out of my eyes. I don’t like his fingers so close to my face and I try not to flinch. “You're very beautiful, Zarah. I hope after tonight, you’ll let me see you again.”

He’s given me no reason to be scared of him, and I force myself to say, “I'd like that.”

Tentatively, he places his arm around my shoulders, his fingertips grazing my skin, and we walk from picture to picture. They’re sexual, some graphic, bordering on violent. Tate’s touch turns into something nasty, perspiration beads over my skin, and ugly things wiggle inside my belly. One photo is of a man pushing a woman against a window, a city spread out behind her. Her legs are wrapped around his narrow waist, and her dress is twisted up around her hips. The man wears his jeanslow, no shirt, and the city’s light shimmers off his skin. He’s gripping her ass, the veins in his forearms popping. I know they’re having sex.

She's enjoying what he's doing to her, but when I look at them, I feel arms trapping me. A cock pressed against my sex. I'm not excited, I'm not willing, and I know he'll hurt me. He wants to.

I start shaking, my drink splashing out of the squat glass. I’m suffocating, and I try to keep my cool. Tate’s mesmerized by the couple and doesn't notice my distress.

Desperately, I turn away, and my eyes meet Gage’s. He's with the barista from the café. He said they weren't a together, but they look cozy. Tall and gorgeous, wearing a skimpy cocktail dress, she’s hanging on him.

Use your words.

“Excuse me, I need to freshen up.”

“Sure. Are you feeling all right?” Tate rescues my drink. I hope he doesn't notice the spill on the floor.

“Yes. I just need a moment.”

I don't wait for him to reply, and I hurry through the crowd. They’re laughing and talking and blushing. The last picture I pass is of a different couple, the man’s fingers tangled in his lover’s hair, and he's sinking his teeth into her shoulder. The woman's face is a contorted expression of pleasure and pain, and a tear drips off her cheek, the photographer catching it as it falls.

I stumble into a dark hallway, but I don’t know where it leads. It doesn’t matter. I drop onto a bench and struggle to breathe.

A hand pushes my head down, and it feels too much like one of my jobs forcing his cock into my mouth.

The memory twists, jagged in my mind, and I gag.

“Breathe or you’re going to hyperventilate.”

I choke.

“Breatheor you’re going topass out.”

Gage. His voice is rough, full of concern. I relax and do what he says. The pressure turns into a caress, and he rests his hand on the nape of my neck.

I will my stomach to settle down. I almost lost my dinner.

Humiliation crashes through me and I can’t stop it. This will always be my life. Who I am. Racy pictures will trigger anxiety attacks. I’ll always panic whenever I think about sex. I’ll never be able to let a man love me.

Tears of shame drip from my eyes. Gage’s thumb rubs along the side of my neck and the light back-and-forth motion soothes me. My breathing returns to normal, and I lift my head and wipe my face with the back of my hand.

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