Page 17 of To Have and to Hold

“Let me help you first,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I know what you need. I’ve called us a car. There’s an underground club here open twenty-four hours. Let’s go.”

I hesitated a moment, but, however much I hated it, he understood me. We’d spent more time together than I was allowed to admit. And the sweat, the bodies, the alcohol… maybe it would help. The wedding hadn’t exactly been the place to let off steam, and I’d left the second Rafe dragged my sister away, so it wasn’t too late. I glanced at my watch, 3am. “Fine.”

Connorwasn’tlyingwhenhe said it was an underground club. It was busy with bodies, that sweat and grit I was after coming in bounds, stinking up the low-ceilinged place until the air was thick. We’d slipped in with a nod to the bouncer, and grabbed lukewarm beers from the bar, turning to face the room, find some trouble. This bar was far from the control of the church, too dank, filthy and trashy, too inclusive for them to bother with it. Connor told me most bars and nicer establishments in this town, and the one near their main compound where Rafe lived, were controlled by the church in some capacity.

But this place, it was filled with vagrants and dirt like me.

It was chaos, no order. Just loud music, dancing, fighting, fucking, laughing. Connor was right. This is what I craved. Even when he disappeared fast, finding some pretty young thing to occupy his time, I felt better. Part of his scheming involvedspending time in this town, near this compound, wheedling his way in with as many locals as he could.

And he knew I needed to be alone here, find my own outlet to recalibrate after spending so much time with the family, so much time lying and pretending to be just as invested in their shit show. Little did he realize there was more to it now. A bigger fuck up.

It wasn’t contentment rushing through me as I watched the crowd surge and pull, more that the energy here matched my churning insides, the pace of my messed up brain. An easy spot to start a fight.

And it didn’t take much. A stray shove into the back of the beefiest wanker in the place, and I was in the middle of a chaotic bar fight. Aggression taken outside, the man flat out on the floor while I nursed a new bruise on my cheek.

Perfect.

As I pounded him with my fists, I pushed all my hatred out, all my anger. I’d fucked her, done something so ridiculous and impulsive, and messed with my head forever. Hers too, I’d guess. It was disgusting, I was disgusting. She was… she was not disgusting. She’d been desperate, and in the moment she asked that of me, that’s all I’d thought of. Had I taken advantage of my vulnerable sister? Had I ruined whatever good sibling bond was between us by not being the bigger person? My knuckles broke, blood spurting, and I kept hitting.

I remembered the day I had to leave the UK for the first time, abandon her to the coffin dodging fuckheads we call our parents. She’d been distraught then, hopeless too in the way she’d looked at me as I slipped into the cab and drove off. But I hadn’t fought. Not then, not now. I hadn’t protected her as I should. I knew she was going to be treated like absolute shit by everyone in that family home. It was abundantly clear to me, but like a fucking melt, I left anyway.

That guilt shadowed me through every action since. Through agreeing to help Connor. It followed, heavy on my soul, and fucked me up.

I sent Connor a quick text to tell him I was leaving, abandoning the daft cunt on the alley floor to his injuries, and strolled off, trailing along by the edge of the lake. We weren’t near much out here, and I couldn’t drive with all the booze coursing through me, so a long walk it was. Fuck getting in a car with Connor the piss-head where he would no doubt yap my ear off . Walking was safer. Quieter. Walking was a breather for my addled brain.

Violet. I had to help Violet. And I had to do it with nothing sexual. She meant more to me than that. Fuck, she probably didn’t even think of that moment the way I was battling not to. I’d given her what she wanted, and that was good enough.

She didn’t want another inappropriate man pawing over her. Older, grizzlier, angrier man. I sank down onto a grassy slope, facing the lake, and let it all wash over me. The grief. The anger at myself. The realization that it was up to me to get her out of there.

If only I hadn’t taken no for an answer when I’d asked her earlier. Out over my shoulder or hidden in a fucking suitcase, and wheeled to her freedom.

Violet would be free, or on my own head be it.

Chapter 10

Violet

Athousandcuts.Thatwas my punishment. Described to me in great detail as Gabe and others wiped my body with a scented cloth and directed me onto my back.

I'd had less than a minute of peace, less than a minute to believe Rafe might leave me to end this before it had even truly begun. Then he was back, Gabe and the two other men trailing in after him. Gabe looked sick, his face gray and ashen as he gave me a once over and moved closer with the cloth.

I was still naked, bare before these men and covered in Rafe’s marks. My own, only one on my wrist, but it felt like a shining beacon of my weakness, marred my skin too. To not even be able to last a night? Useless. Pathetic. Poor investment.

“Gabe,” Rafe said, and without another word, the others stepped away, leaving Gabe at the side of the bed, crouching, holding out his hand in clear expectation. After a beat, he dropped his eyes to my wrist, and I handed it to him, the bloodstill dripping, little droplets splashing onto my stomach, onto the bed, as I held it aloft.

He took it so carefully, his touch gentle and warm and so opposite to his boss, to the roughness of the men who'd helped him wipe me with something – it felt oily now, smelled strong of essential oils I didn't recognize.

“It’s not as deep as she could have gone,” Gabe said to Rafe, not looking away from my wound. He ran a fingertip along the side of it, still frowning. “It would have… if she’d stayed in the bath, then maybe. But no, I don’t think this would have killed her.”

“Will it kill her if we don’t stitch it up right now?” Rafe asked, his tone flat.

Gabe’s brow furrowed further. “No, but she’ll be unconscious soon.”

“Ah,” Rafe replied as one of his other men shut the door behind him, and the other walked to Gabe, dropping a heavy bag at his side. “Best stitch her closed then. I’d rather her not unconscious for her punishment.”

I whimpered, I let out a damned little whimper, and I hated myself for it. What had I done to deserve this? Somehow, someway, I thought Gabe might think the same. His jaw was tight as he dug around in the bag and pulled out what looked to be a suture kit.

"All that precious virgin blood…" one of the men watching muttered, and Rafe tutted.

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