Dirty Diana by January James

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Jeez, this place is a long way out,” Carlos moaned as he propped a bicycle by the doorway.

“You can have an office nearer to a station if you’re prepared to pay for it out of your own profits,” I said, with raised eyebrows.

“I know, I know, I get it. I’m just knackered from the bike ride.”

“Unfit,” I smirked.

“Yeah, that too,” he huffed, walking away.

“Where are you off to?” Sheridan said, running up behind me. “We need to leave for the awards in thirty minutes. It’s going to take us about an hour just to get over the bridge at this time of day.”

“I’ll meet you there,” I said. “I just need to go home first.”

“Di…” Sheridan warned. “He’s still out there. The police haven’t caught him yet. Should you be going back on your own? Let me find Jude.”

She turned and I grabbed her arm.

“No,” I hissed. “I’ve got him a gift, a surprise, but I’ve left it at home. I really wanted to give it to him tonight at the awards.”

Sheridan eyed me, cautiously. “Can’t you send someone else? Can’t Marla go?”

“No,” I shook my head. “I can’t remember exactly where I’ve hidden it; I’ll need to rummage around. I can’t ask Marla to do that.”

“Will you at least take a cab? I really don’t want you walking around the streets with crazy on the loose.”

“Already called one,” I said, tapping my nose. “Tell Jude I had a short notice meeting in town. I’ll see you all there.”

I left Sheridan shaking her head as I bounded out of the door to the cab waiting by the sidewalk. It wasn’t a lie. Tonight would mark one year since I first met Jude. It had been exactly three hundred and sixty-five days since I’d caught him staring at me across the table at the Decadence Club. So much had happened in that time and we were both changed people as a result, but still together and stronger than ever.

I hadn’t gone all out on a gift, but I’d arranged something I thought was meaningful. His prized Mont Blanc pen—the one I signed the NDA with and later found in his office at Empirical, I’d had it engraved with his name and new job title: Chief Music Maker, Rebel Records. I hoped to God he wouldn’t kill me for permanently tattooing his three thousand dollar pen. I’d also got something else; something I couldn’t exactly reveal in the middle of an awards ceremony—he would have to wait until we got home and I could change into it.

I smiled to myself as I climbed out of the cab and unlocked the front door. I knew Jenny would have left for the day, but I could smell the bagels she’d bought fresh from the bakery, ready for our team breakfast tomorrow. I closed the door and took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for my room. I figured I would have hidden the pen in there, knowing Jude didn’t step foot inside it and discouraged me from doing so these days, too. He wanted me in his room, entirely.

I opened the top drawer of the dressing table and found it. Opening the box, I turned the pen over in my fingers watching it reflect the light from the window. It was July again, the month we met, the night we met. I remembered feeling the urge to wipe this very same pen clean of the sweat marks my fingertips had left on it. I’d been so nervous.

I tried to recall my state of mind. I was stressed out beyond belief, feeling completely helpless, useless, worthless. I was lost and didn’t know where to turn. Receiving the card from Sienna really did save me. The club itself was irrelevant. I hardly got into the spirit of it; I didn’t take advantage of all the complimentary encounters I was offered, but it changed my life all the same. Meeting Jude changed my life.

My heart flipped over, recalling the butterflies that coursed around my stomach when he appeared in the room for our first encounter. My first visit was a blur—the intensity of his stare, the sensuality of the woman’s hands and the hideous mediocrity of the sex during my first encounter. The second couldn’t have been more different. It was fulfilling, lust-ridden and intimate. And the grief I felt afterwards, believing it would never happen again, was all-consuming.

I clutched the pen to my chest, letting the memory of that pain sear through me. Then I held it out to study the words I’d had engraved. A whole year; I couldn’t believe it. So much had happened in that time. I’d freed myself from so much—from debilitating beliefs about myself, that had been ignited and nurtured by Aaron Battersea, to the clutches of a group of men who wanted to manipulate music until it meant nothing at all to anyone. I’d done it all on my own terms, with the love of my life by my side. I squeezed my eyes closed and breathed in his scent—it was everywhere. It was his house after all.

I realized something was wrong before I opened my eyes. The scent I was used to had been polluted somehow, with a smell that took me back almost a decade. My eyelids shot open and focused on the pen I was still holding in front of my face. This time, it wasn’t a heartfelt, engraved message staring back at me, it was the reflection of a man. A man who didn’t live here, who didn’t belong here. It was the reflection of a man who wanted me dead.

I spun around to face him, my blood cold as ice, my head light and threatening to crumble.

“Aaron…” I said, my voice cracking with fear.

“Daddy,” he corrected, one side of his lip curling upwards.

“How did you get in here?”

He took a step into the room and I backed up against the dressing table.

“It’s not a very good housekeeper who fails to lock the back of the house, is it?” He smirked.

“Why didn’t you just knock, for God’s sake?” I tried. Perhaps if I just treated him like a normal person who’d given me no reason to be afraid of him, he’d behave like one.

“Diana,” he began, his face clouded in shock. “You haven’t replied to any of my letters. Why would you answer the door?”

Fuck.

“What do you need to see me about? What’s so important that you’d come all the way to New York?”

He strode up to me quickly, sending my heartrate into a wild panic, and pinched my cheeks between his thin, bony fingers. I almost vomited at the feel of his breath on my face.

“Darling, I’ve been so worried about you. Ever since the wedding… I knew how it would hurt you. And it did, didn’t it? You disappeared and wouldn’t have anything to do with me. And all because I married your mother. I should never have done that. It was you I wanted all along. I should have just come clean, instead of torturing us both.”

He lunged forward and spread his lips around my tightly closed mouth like a giant fish against the side of its tank. I gripped the edge of the dressing table; it was the only thing anchoring me to reality and I needed to stay in it. He sucked his lips back, making a loud smacking sound as he pulled away.

“You haven’t forgiven me,” he whispered, drawing a finger down over my lips, a badly clipped nail catching the skin. I flinched ever so slightly. “I know I have to make it up to you. And I promise, now that I’ve found you, it’s all that matters to me.”

He uncurled the fingers of my nearest hand from around the surface of the dressing table.

“Sit with me,” he whispered, his voice piercing my skin like a dagger. He pulled me to the bed and sat me down against him, clasping my hand in his. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

My brain scrambled for some idea as to how I could talk to him, get him to see some kind of sense. He was crazy, but I was sure there must be a way to communicate with him on his level. If only I could keep him at bay or distract him so I could run from the house.

“I don’t think I could ever forgive you for what you did,” I said, quietly, watching his eyes for some sort of reaction.

His eyes filled with genuine concern. He was deluded. “What do you mean, darling?”

“For marrying my mother,” I said, meaning every word, but not in the way I wanted him to think.

“Instead of marrying you,” he said.

I forced myself to nod.

“That’s why I’m here, Diana. I know that, and I’m here to win you back.” He stroked a hand down my cheek bringing his scent perilously close to my nostrils. I swallowed back a sliver of bile.

“I’m afraid that…”

“You’re afraid, what?” He asked, turning my face to look directly into his.

“I’m afraid that if you’re capable of marrying my mother if you really wanted to be with me, that you are capable of hurting me again.” It was my protection. I wanted to force him into a position he would have to defend. He would want to prove he wouldn’t hurt me.

“Oh my God, Diana,” he plunged his head into his hands and mumbled through his palms. “I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? You really think it’s my intention to hurt you?”

“Yes, I do. Your letters… you made it clear you wanted me dead. What else am I supposed to think?”

“I needed to get your attention,” he whined. “You’d ignored everything else.”

I was shocked when the first sob erupted into his hands, then stunned when he began balling his eyes out—big heaving sobs that looked alien coming from a grown man. I tentatively put an arm across his shoulders, for no other reason than I was a human being and couldn’t bear to see anyone upset, even if they’d written a letter to me describing in great detail how they wanted to rip off my skin, fuck the corpse and send it back to my mother in a casket.

As his body rocked beneath my arm, I remembered the platinum pen I was still holding between the fingers of my other hand. It glistened from the early evening light shining through the window. It was the only potential weapon I had at my disposal. I tightened my grip around its barrel, around the words I’d had engraved on it only days earlier. I couldn’t do anything yet; he wasn’t in enough of a compromised position. I needed to lull him into a false sense of security, put him at relative ease, make him think he’d half won the battle, whatever it was he was fighting for.

I forced myself to wrap my arms around his neck.

“Shhh,” I forced out into his ear. “It’s ok. I want it to work. I want you to make it up to me. I want us to have that chance.”

His hiccupping sobs subsided and he looped an arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. When he looked up, his eyes were glazed, as though he’d taken a Class A drug.

“Do you really mean that?” He said, his voice cracking with genuine feeling.

I nodded.

“What about…” he looked around the room, a sneer of disgust forming across his lips. “What about Jude Peyton-Harris?”

My heart throbbed at the sound of his name. It was pointless even hoping Sheridan had told him where I was really going. I wanted more than ever for him to burst through door and yank this poisonous rodent off me, but I knew it wouldn’t happen. They would all be in a cab now, chatting and laughing their way to the awards in Times Square, expecting to meet with me as planned in the main hall.

“I can leave him,” I said, almost choking on the words. “He doesn’t mean anything to me. He was a placeholder for you,” I lied, marveling at my ability to act like my life depended on it.

“Is that really true?” He looked at me sideways, as though he didn’t trust what I was saying.

My chest tightened. I needed him to believe me. If he thought for a second I was toying with him, my life could well be over. “Aaron,” I said, softly. “I don’t want to disrespect him; he hasn’t done anything wrong. And it’s his heart that’s going to be broken when he finds out I’ve chosen you. I can’t speak too ill of him in his own home.”

He blinked at me. “You’ve chosen me?”

I forced a smile onto my face. “Of course, Aaron. It’s always been you.”

His own smile dropped suddenly. “Then show me.”

I twitched. “What? What do you mean?”

His whole body twisted to face me and I was forced to lean backwards so as not to consume his breath.

“I know you don’t want to disrespect him, but I need to know how you feel before we walk out of here. I need to know you’re not lying.”

“Why would I lie?” I gasped, panicking.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged his shoulders dramatically, like a fifteen year-old defying his parents. “Maybe because you know I broke in here? You might be scared?”

“Aaron,” I rushed out. “I’m not scared of you. Don’t give me reason to be. Please…”

He seemed to stare at me for an eternity, trying to work out what was really going on in my mind. I couldn’t allow any room for ambiguity. I forced myself forward, opened my lips and kissed him. When his shocked mouth didn’t respond, I pulled back.

“Aaron, please,” I begged. “It’s been too long, Don’t deny me now. I need you.”

A tear rolled out of his eye and he lunged forward, grabbing the back of my head and crashing his teeth against my lips. He drove his tongue inside my mouth, depriving me of oxygen, and pushed me backwards onto the bed. His weight on top of me was terrifying. I felt the pen in my hand and clutched it tightly, my only connection to any possible way out. His legs kicked mine apart and I heard my dress rip. When he lowered, I felt his cock pressing into my waist and almost wretched again. He was threatening me, bullying me, torturing me, and he was hard.

He pressed one hand into my jaw, his sharp fingers almost cutting off my blood supply, then I heard the buttons pop on his jeans. My heart banged against my ribcage and a I felt cold all over. I couldn’t move my legs, he’d planted himself firmly between them.

“Aaron,” I choked. “I’m not ready for…”

“It’s been too long, you said. Let me make it up to you. I need to know how you really feel, how wet you are for me.”

I was as dry as a bone. His fingers crawled towards my entrance and I knew that the minute he discovered how ready I wasn’t, it would be game over. He’d know I was lying and I had no idea what his next move would be. I felt his skinny cock nudging at me and I swallowed back the vomit.

“Aaron, please… Not yet, it’s too soon.”

“Show me,” he groaned, his fingers prodding at my entrance.

I couldn’t risk it; I couldn’t let him go any further. The sickly sweetness of his aftershave was sending tendrils of fear through every limb, and he was frighteningly close to pushing himself inside me, against my wishes.

I gripped the pen and drew my hand back as far into the bed as it would go. Just as the head of his cock pushed at the edge of me, I brought my hand around and down towards him, driving the nib of the pen into his neck. His head snapped backwards and he stared at me, as though he didn’t know what had just happened. I yanked the pen out of his neck, watching the blood trickle out of the hole it had left. I had no idea where I’d hit or how deep or how much damage I’d caused. All I knew was, he was still on top of me, his brain quickly working out what I’d done.

In a beat, my entire body coiled then opened out, pushing him backwards on to the bed. I managed to wriggle out from under him, the pen drawing lines of red along the comforter. I tried to put my legs on the floor but they were jelly so I rolled as far along the floor as I could to get away from him. In slow motion, he sat up, glaring at me in shock.

“What did you do, Di?” He said, in genuine bewilderment.

I pushed myself back towards the door like a crab, not daring to look away. He still had the advantage, even in his state of shock. He still had the strength to get to his feet, take two long strides and hover over me in a heartbeat. I, on the other hand, was crumpled on the floor, my shaking limbs disabling me from getting out of the room.

He brought a hand up to his neck and it was immediately coated in blood. He looked from his dark red hand to me, back at his hand, then back to me, as though he was trying to process what I’d just done.

“I thought you wanted this,” he whispered. “Did you just lie to me?”

I didn’t answer, there was no point. I was a dead woman either way. Instead I tried to scramble further back towards the door, stupidly knocking it closed.

“Did you just… lie?” He repeated.

I shook my head, painfully aware I’d trapped myself in there with him.

“You bitch,” he spat and in a breath he leaped up off the bed and put his hand around my neck. He wasn’t a large man; in fact, he wasn’t much taller than me and he was skinny as fuck, but he still managed to drag me halfway across the room by my throat. He rammed my head down to the floor hard, and my vision spun. I felt the pen being torn out of my hand and an excruciating pain appear in my thigh as he drove it into my flesh. I couldn’t even cry out, the pain was so searing. I heard more ripping of satin and felt cool air against my skin, then I realized he’d torn my dress away from my body, exposing only my underwear. My sight returned and I saw him glaring down at me, salivating like a wild animal.

“Aaron…” I breathed out, “Please, don’t…”

I didn’t know what I was asking. I really didn’t know what he was capable of. Was he going to rape me? Kill me? In that moment, the stark thought hit me that it was going to be one of the two. Either he was going to ram his dry, rigid bone into me, ripping me from the inside out, or he was going to stab me to death with the pen I’d just had engraved for my soulmate. Suddenly, something took over me. As he lowered his hands to my arms to pin me down I kicked my good leg off the ground, bringing my knee up to his head, knocking him onto his back. I rolled over and clambered to my knees, my bleeding leg dragging behind. The pen had rolled away but I could just reach it if I got past him. He was grabbing his head with his hand. He might not even see me…

I threw my upper body across him, reaching for the pen, but he brought his hands down and held me fast across his middle.

“Stop, Diana,” he growled. “Stop fighting what is meant to be.”

He shoved me face-first down onto the carpet beside him and in a second had straddled me. His hands pinned my shoulders and arms to the floor and he pulled back to angle himself for the ultimate thrust.

“Please, don’t!” I cried out in alarm. Fear swirled in my blood stream, pumping through my temples, blocking out all sound. I was helpless; I couldn’t move. The only thing I could do now was let him have his way and hope it would sate him enough to keep me alive. Brick by brick, I shut myself down. My eyes, my ears, the smells, the sensations against my skin, the taste of nausea in my mouth. I numbed it all. If I didn’t experience it, perhaps it never happened.

I gritted my teeth and waited for it to be over.