Page 154 of If Our Hearts Collide

Holy fuck.

“Daphne?” I call out, but her name gets stuck in my throat. My mouth feels raw and dry, as air gets sucked in violently.

Hair sticks to her forehead that is covered in a layer of sweat, and her lipstick-painted lips are slightly parted, as she pants. Her facial features are distorted as she appears to endure the pain being doled out to her.

She is beautiful but broken.

Mascara tears streak her cheeks as her head flops to the side, giving us onlookers a better view of her features. She whimpers and writhes on the bench, trying to get away from the one causing her pain.

Her eyes pale as some half-naked man stands before her, as his back remains turned toward the crowd of spectators with their dicks hanging out like red flags—enjoying the sight of her misery.

Sick fucks.

Every single one of them.

Daphne shakes her head no, but the man just raises his hand and smacks it against her ass, so hard that it makes me quiver along with her.

A wail escapes her lips, causing her to flop forward. Her chains rattle along the bench’s underneath side. When her face falls to the padded cushion and a look of defeat hits her blank eyes, I lose it.

That’s it, dammit!

The energy running through me is vibrating, to the point that I’m trembling. Here I stand before a stranger I’m so spitting mad at, that I’m seconds away from doing something I’ll regret.

SMACK.

“Get your hands off of her!” I bellow.

Without even thinking, I hop over the half wall, glad that there isn’t any glass here to separate the audience from the scene like in the other spaces. Daphne flies up to her knees on the padded table, her hands still secured at the top, keeping her from moving her upper body.

Glassy eyes reach mine, and then pure horror washes the color out of her face.

Her abuser halts his movements and growls blindly at who I can only assume is me. “It’s against?—”

“Stop, you brute!” I bark anyway.

“Oh, no,” Daphne says with an exhale. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Without thinking, I pull back my right fist and smack it into the space between the shoulder blades of her abuser. But I don’t stop there. I pound and pound.

Like a whip, the man turns his attention behind him, letting out an animalistic growl. Pivoting away from his victim—poor Daphne—who must be traumatized, he moves away from my flying fists. His gaze comes to rest on me, his eyes growing as they fuse to mine. The spark of recognition ignites, causing my heart to fail, just as my breath catches in my throat.

Static fills my ears, and then the only thing I hear is my erratic breathing.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Everything I expected from tonight free-falls to the floor, casting light on the fact that I know nothing about this man. The man who I just witnessed in a compromising moment. The man who is now ending his scene and taking long strides toward me. The man who I no longer trust.

No.

I must be hallucinating.

My feet push me back.

And back.

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