Page 84 of Never Date A Player
“Excuse me?” Drake’s voice is tight, frigid.
“That’s my buddy’s girlfriend you have there. He wouldn’t want you touching her. If he saw what I just witnessed, you wouldn’t be breathing right now. I suggest you let her go.”
Drake thrusts me behind him like a dog fighting for a juicy steak. “You’re fired. Get out.”
“Sure.” The worker tosses the keys on the ground, his meaty hands flexing at his sides in a threatening manner. He’s a couple of inches taller than Drake and twice as wide. “Taking the girl with me, though.”
Drake’s breath hisses out low and angry. He releases me and storms out the door.
I’m shaking, my hand supporting my injured arm.
“Take a minute,” the Sallee worker says. “You can stay or go home, but I’m not leaving your side till you’re clear of the casino.” He pulls out his phone and types as if texting.
I slump to the floor and try to control the shaking. My head hurts. I can’t concentrate and the room is spinning. I lie down and close my eyes.
I sense the guy squat beside me. “You need a doctor?” He touches the inside of my wrist, then his hands fumble beneath my knees as if he’s going to lift me.
I sit up abruptly, which doesn’t help the spinning. “I can walk. Can you take me to my house?” I cough, my throat scratchy and sore. I’ll go to the hospital, because I’m not letting Drake get away with this and I want proof of his violence, but I need my best friend with me.
The Sallee worker follows me past a new waitress in the lounge. She’s pretty and fresh for her shift. The bartender looks away, but the waitress gapes.
I change in the basement while the Sallee worker waits for me outside the employee entrance. In my street clothes, no one pays attention to the girl with messy hair and mascara smudges who’s crossing the casino floor to the exit.
Inside the parking garage, the worker points to a beat-up gray truck an aisle down. “My truck’s over there.” I don’t even know his name, but he wouldn’t let Drake hurt me and he works for Lewis. He thinks I’m Lewis’s girlfriend.
We enter his truck and he turns the key. We pull out of the parking garage and the farther we get from the casino, the more my body’s shakes. Throat clogged, nose burning with unshed tears, I hold back the emotion threatening to erupt. I just want to get home.
My phone buzzes from inside my purse on my lap. I pull it out and glance at the screen. Three missed calls and a text message.
Lewis: Joe told me what happened. I’m on my way.
The voice messages are also from Lewis, the first a panicked-sounding call in which Lewis says he’s on his way to the casino and talks about contacting the police. The second message he must have left while driving over. In it he says he spoke to Joe and that he is meeting us at my house. The third message is of the frantic where are you variety.
Lewis sounds upset and worried, and I can’t bring myself to care. I am numb.
When we pull up to my house, Lewis is talking to Cali at the front door. Cali sees us first and runs to the truck, Lewis a step behind her.
“Oh my God, Gen.” She opens the door and pulls me to her. I cry out. “You’re hurt?” She looks at my face, then down, as I instinctively turn away to protect my arm. “Shit,” she says. “It’s swollen and blue…and your throat. That fucker!”
My arm is horribly tender but I can move it, so I don’t think it’s broken.
Lewis rounds Cali and supports my waist, taking my weight. “I’m okay,” I rasp. He flinches, his eyes intense. My voice is rough from screaming and the pressure of Drake’s hand at my throat.
Lewis is always trying to carry my weight—the physical, the emotional. Is this why he kept his struggles with Mira and her gambling to himself? He won’t share his own burdens?
Lewis thanks Joe and helps me to the chalet. “Cali, can you grab a cold pack or a bag of ice? Frozen vegetables if you don’t have either?”
I sit on the couch and he tucks a pillow behind my head. He kneels beside me and turns over my arm, eyeing the bruise. He lifts my shirt as if to check me over, and I jerk it down. “I need to see where you’re hurt,” he says. His eyes widen, mouth pinching. “He didn’t—did he…?”
“No, my arm is the worst of it.” I lean back and close my eyes. Tears stream down my cheeks, no sound erupting from my battered throat.
Drake didn’t rape me, but he was going to.
Lewis presses his face into my neck, his breaths tense and choppy. He’s cupping my head, eyes blinking rapidly against my skin. “I wish I’d been there for you.” He looks up, something in his expression unhinged. “Promise me you won’t return.”
I believe the look in his eyes, the one that says he cares so much he’d do anything to make this better, but it’s not enough. I need more from him than a protector. “Don’t worry about me. You have other obligations. I’ll be fine.”
“Gen—” He runs stiff fingers through his hair and leans forward, his hands compressing the cushions on either side of my body. The gesture should intimidate, but the look in his eyes—caring and intent—negates the effect. It’s as if he wants me to see inside his soul. “I’m here right now.”
