Chapter 4

Damon

I heard a woman scream, and for a moment I thought I was back in Afghanistan. Snapping out of that nightmare, I followed the shrieks and saw three men in a dark alley dragging a woman to a door.

“Hey,” I yelled as I ran towards them.

Wearing nothing but a corset, the woman thrashed about in the heavyset man’s arms, crying out.

I charged in, knocking out a guy in a suit and elbowing another at the same time. A technique I’d learnt in the army when faced with multiple assailants.

“Put her down,” I yelled.

The heavy set guy in black released the girl from his grip, but then brandished a gun.

“Run,” I yelled, but she stood as though blinded by light.

The gun fired, missing me, just as I kicked it out of his hand. I then slammed into him laying him flat.

The man in the suit came back with another heavy, and before I knew it, three men were on top of me.

The girl screamed as he tried to drag her off. As I took one down, a pair of stocky men pounced on me.

Blow after blow, I eventually fought them off.

One of the thugs scrambled off the ground and came towards us clutching a gun. I grabbed the girl by the waist. She was drugged and her legs had gone all floppy. I had to carry her.

With her panting breath in my face, I ran as fast as I could while pursued by the gun-wielding bully.

Here I was back home and still running from the enemy. The city proving as dangerous as some hidden village in Afghanistan.

The girl’s long dark hair whipped my face as she wiggled in my arms trying to get down. Her bag dragged along the ground.

“Just hold on, will you.” For someone drugged, she was a tiger.

I ran into the back of a restaurant and slipped into a kitchen, where a chef and his assistant looked up at us and went for their phones.

“It’s a long story. I just saved her from some nasty pricks.”

I put her down and, despite her being light, her doped state made her heavy. Drugged to the eyeballs, she wobbled on her unsupportive legs and was about to crash to the floor when I gently helped her to a sitting position on the floor against the wall.

I took out ten fifty-pound notes from my wallet and popped them on the counter. “Here, for your trouble. Just let us wait here for a few minutes.”

Staring wide-eyed at the cash, the pair nodded in unison.

I would have called the cops, but I didn’t know this girl’s story.

I helped her onto a chair, having to hold her up, because she would have gone down like a sack of potatoes. Her arms were bruised, and she had dark streaks down her cheeks where her makeup had run. She closed her eyes and rubbed her head.

“She looks like she’s had a big night,” the chef said with a raised eyebrow.

I threw him a dirty look. “Get on with your work.”

I removed my jacket and wrapped it around her. Her bag fell off her shoulder, and I noticed an envelope with cash in it. As I zipped the bag, I wondered if someone had paid for her services, and she was doing a runner. With that corset revealing a good part of her voluptuous figure, you didn’t need to be a genius to guess her line of work.

I wasn’t there to judge. I was there to help her get away. I’d done that.

So why was I still standing there trying to figure out what to do next?

Helping her up, I said, “We should be safe to leave now.”

Her legs were made of lead as I helped her up and noticed for the first time her torn stockings and bare feet.

“You don’t have any shoes?”

Shaking her head, she crossed her arms over her chest, which drew my attention to a ballooning cleavage that usually would have made my pulse race.

But this wasn’t the time for arousal. My dick had other ideas, and despite that regrettable primal response, sex was the last thing on my mind.

I removed my jacket. “Here, let me put this over you.”

The pair, although busy working, kept watching on. I couldn’t quite blame them. Me with a black eye and this beautiful, drugged girl looking like I’d picked her up off the street.

“Here.” I placed my hand around her waist, and we left the kitchen. After taking a few tentative steps into the dark alley and hiding behind a skip that smelt of rotting fish, I established that we’d lost the thug.

With my arm around her waist, holding her up, I stopped walking. “Where do you live?”

“Nowhere,” she slurred.

I turned to face her, while still holding onto her. “What drugs are you on?”

“I don’t know.”

I frowned. “You took something without knowing what it was?”

She closed her eyes, as though trying to remember something. Her face was in such a desperate need of a clean, I held onto to her with one hand, and reaching into my pocket, I grabbed a handkerchief.

“Don’t touch me.” She pushed me away and stumbled onto her bottom. She sat on the ground, looking up at me, fear in her teary, hooded eyes.

I bent down to help her up. “I wasn’t about to hurt you. I wanted to wipe your face. It’s a fucking mess.”

She blinked repeatedly, as though doing so to clear something from her eyes. “I thought you were one of them.”

“One of whom?” I asked.

“It’s a long story.” She sighed, slumping again so I had to hold her up. “I just want to sleep.”

Unsure of what to do with her as she leaned against me, I couldn’t just leave her there alone. Not in that state. “Okay. I’ll book you a hotel.”

“Can I stay at yours?” she slurred. “On the couch.”

My head jerked back. “A minute ago, you were worried I would hit on you, and now you want to crash with me?”

“I don’t know who to trust. And I’m…” Her head fell on my shoulder, and she closed her eyes.

Resigned to role of protector for the night, I carried her to my car. Her body limp like a rag doll.

We had to walk along the main drag, and people made snide comments, while others pointed and laughed. By this stage, I didn’t give a fuck what people thought.

When we pulled up at my house, she was sound asleep.

As she lay in the back seat, it was as though I was looking at Sleeping Beauty. Her long, raven hair covering her elfin features and her lips apart.

Hugging my jacket, she was finally peaceful.

I hated to wake her, but I couldn’t leave her in the car either.

I opened the car door and, taking her into my arms, lifted her.

She breathed into my ear. “Where am I? What’s happening?”

“I’m just taking you up the front stairs to the door. Can you walk?” I asked.

Placing her down, I held her up by the waist and bent down so that she could wrap her arm around my shoulder.

We moved up the stairs to the red door, which was the entrance to my family’s Edwardian home.

My father stayed there mostly, but knowing I needed the space, he’d vacated it for my return, which I appreciated. I wasn’t quite ready to hang out with the family.

That would happen tomorrow.

For now, I had this drugged sex worker to deal with.

I helped her into the living room onto the couch where she flopped down.

“Your name?” I asked.

“Vivianna.” She rubbed her face and brushed back her hair.

I glanced at my watch. It was midnight.

“Can I offer you some water? Coffee?”

She nodded. “That would be nice.”

When I returned, she was sound asleep, so I grabbed a blanket and laid it over her.

I went into the room where my sister normally stayed and, going through the cupboards found leggings, a pullover, socks, and trainers. It felt weird rummaging through her underwear, mostly made up of lacy bras and thongs. I settled for some cotton panties and a tank top. This girl was way too busty to fit in my sister’s bras.

I had a shower and studied my dark bruises and scratches on my face, arms, and shoulders.

Receiving blows was one thing I’d had trained into me. What they hadn’t trained into us, however, was how to deal with the aftermath of gore, death, and big strong men dropping to the floor crying like babies.

The army shrinks had left me feeling worse, so I did what I’d done all my life: man up, face life with a blank façade, and never show emotion. That was what being a strong man was all about. Going by my persistent nightmares, my subconscious wasn’t around when having that advice drummed into me.

I woke at seven, and although my body ached, I sprung out of bed, wondering whether I’d dreamt up Vivianna.

Entering the living room, I saw a corset, silky panties, and torn fishnets on the ground but no girl.

I went into the bathroom and on the mirror, she’d written “Thanks!” in lipstick.

Disappointed to see her gone, I wanted to know Vivianna’s story. Why she was there with those dangerous men, and why I’d nearly died for her.