4
910 Words
Michael
The merger meeting ran three hours over schedule, bleeding my patience dry. I stepped out of the boardroom and yanked my tie loose to breathe properly. No matter what I do, I cannot breathe these days. Every time I inhale, I feel a burning sensation spreading from my nostrils all the way tomy lungs and then my bloodstream.
"Sir," Tom said, matching my stride. "Miss Hailey just sent a message. She is waiting for you at The Sapphire to review tomorrow's PR strategy."
I stopped dead, my jaw locking. The Sapphire. It was directly down the street from The Onyx Lounge. Just hearing the word 'bar' dragged my mind straight back to Jessica. I shoved the thought aside.
Twenty minutes later, I pushed through the doors of The Sapphire and scanned the room for Hailey.
Instead, my eyes locked onto a woman in a plain sweater and jeans.
My blood turned to ice.
It was Jessica. She was slumped against the counter, her head rolling loosely on her shoulders. Her face was flushed a deep and unnatural red. But that wasn't what made my heart stop.
A man in a cheap gray suit had his arm snaked forcefully around her waist, trying to drag her off the stool. Jessica was swatting at him weakly while moving very unnaturally.
Rage exploded in my chest.
"Mike, there you are."
Hailey suddenly stood beside me, reaching for my arm.
"Not now, Hailey," I said, my voice dead flat. She was like an annoying fly, but I tolerated her because she was close to my mother (foster mother).
Her eyes tracked my gaze across the room, landing on Jessica. She exploded as if she had any right. "You aren't seriously thinking of going over there, right?"
"Mrs. Smith clearly needs help," Tom said from behind me.
"Then you go get her!" Hailey snapped at him.
"She is still legally my wife," I told Hailey, refusing to look away from my wife. "I won't have her making a public spectacle of my name."
It was a pathetic excuse. The truth was, seeing that creep put his hands on her was making me want to kill something.
"Mike—" Hailey started.
I didn't let her finish as I crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the back of the man's collar, and ripped him away from my wife. At the same time, I slammed the bastard face-first into the nearest pillar. The crack of his nose was music to my ear.
"Touch her again," I snarled, tightening my hand around his throat and cutting off his air, "and you will leave this club in a body bag. Do you understand me?"
The man choked, his eyes wide with terror as blood poured down his nose all the way to his chin and below. He nodded frantically. I dropped him to the floor like trash.
Dirty insect. How dare he touch my wife? Michael Smith’s wife?
I spun around just as Jessica’s knees buckled and caught her before she hit the hardwood while scooping her limp body up into my arms.
She weighed nothing. Clearly, lost so much weight. Pale, fragile, and vulnerable–that was the new Jessica Miller.
"Michael?" she breathed, her eyelids fluttering. Her skin was radiating an unnatural heat. Oh, Jess, how much did you drink? She was good at holding alcohol. Unless she had been burying her sorrows in alcohol.
"I've got you," I muttered, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs.
She wriggled in my arms, scratching weakly at her own collarbone.
"Hot," she whimpered, arching her back. "It's so hot... ah..."
Her skin was turning a patchy red, and she was writhing in discomfort.
Fuck. My wife wasn't just drunk. She was drugged.
I carried her straight out the back exit, ignoring the stares and horrified whispers as I kicked the door of the Maybach open and laid her across the leather seats.
"The nearest hotel. Now," I roared at my driver.
*****
By the time we got her into the penthouse suite across the street, the drug was taking full control. I laid her down on the king's bed. She was tossing her head back and forth on the pillows, sweating and panting. I dialled my private doctor.
A broken whimper left her lips.
Her fingers tangled in my tie, yanking me right back down onto the edge of the mattress.
"Don't leave," she pleaded. Her eyes were unfocused, wide and dark with hunger. She gripped the lapels of my suit, pulling me down until her lips brushed against my jaw. "Please, Michael... it hurts. Make it stop."
"Jessica, stop," I groaned. I caught her wrists, trying to hold her still against the sheets. "You're drugged. You don't know what you're doing."
"I want you," she sobbed, arching her back against my chest. She twisted her hands free with surprising strength, tangled her fingers in my hair, and pulled my mouth down to hers.
She tasted like alcohol, salt, and my ruin.
The hatred I had carefully crafted, the revenge I had sworn to execute—it all instantly evaporated at her touch. She was a Miller. She was the enemy. But she was also my wife. And God help me, the love of my life.
The fragile line between hate and love blurred as I kissed her back with a desperate hunger.
I’ve f****d it up. I will need more lies to cover up this mess.
- Writer
