Page 30 of Hard Limits

“It’s okay, babe.”

It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. I tried to kick him, but my shoes were gone and he just laughed a creepy laugh that made me shudder.

Then he groaned.

And disappeared.

Wait.

Where did he go?

A sickening thud was followed by the crack of glass as somebody slammed him against the car, again, again, again, each crunch punctuated with angry words.

“She said no.”

Crunch.

Another groan.

“And she meant it.”

Crunch.

“She’s mine.”

Crunch.

Someone began whimpering. Was that sound coming from my throat? Or the stranger’s?

“Nobody touches her but me, do you understand?”

Crunch.

More whimpering, and the rustle of clothing.

“I have your driver’s licence, and by morning, I’ll know everything about you.”

Crunch.

“If you try this shit with any other lady, I’ll find you, and I’ll break every fucking bone in your body. Have I made myself clear?”

“Y-y-yes.”

The whimpering turned to full-on sobbing, and the man’s limp form slithered to the ground beside me, blood trickling from his broken nose. He’d need to get that reset. Maybe he’d even need surgery, and then there was a risk of septal haematoma or a deviated— I leaned forward and puked again, this time onto distinctive black laceless Oxfords. And through my alcohol-induced stupor and hazy memories of medical school, one thing became startlingly clear.

I knew those shoes.

I’d ordered those shoes online a week ago, size eleven point five, express delivery.

Fuck.

I looked up and met Mr. Vale’s furious gaze.

And then I passed out.

CHAPTER 11

THE ASSISTANT

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