Saving Aurora

Chapter 18

Aurora

"Don’t worry, Princess. There’s no f*****g way I’m leaving here

without you.” His voice is firm and resolute. All I can do is nod

my head in understanding. I’m finally able to expel the breath I

hadn’t known I was holding. “Now get dressed.”

I look around to find my discarded bra, skirt, corset, and torn thong, a lost

cause, folded neatly on the table. I pick up the skirt only to have it torn from my

hand. The man hands me his discarded boxers and dress shirt. “Put these on.”

“Thank you.”

Thinking about the man going commando underneath his tailored dress

pants, I can’t help but grin as I step into his boxers.

“Don’t worry, Trevor will have proper clothing for you when we get to the

hotel.”

I nod my head, wondering who the hell Trevor is and how he would know to

have clothing for me. Nervously, I begin to wonder again who this man is and if

he was involved in my kidnapping.

Taking his shirt, I do up all the buttons, roll up the sleeves, and tuck the tails

into the boxers, rolling the waistband to make them stay on. I pull out the shirt

slightly, and I try to make myself look somewhat put together. At least I don’t

feel too naked. I grab my strappy sandaled heels that are on the floor by the

table, and sitting on the chair, quickly put them on. My wet hair is a hopeless

mess. I quickly towel dry it and attempt to comb it with my fingers, before twisting it into a long ponytail.

I look over to see the man dressed, wearing his t-shirt under his suit jacket.

His blood-red tie dangles out from the breast pocket. He is tearing the room

apart looking for who knows what. Turning over lamps, looking underneath

tables, and standing on chairs to look in air vents.

“How are we going to leave?” I wonder out loud; how he will possibly take

me with him.

“Through the f*****g front door. Now come.” I quickly move toward him,

unsure of how I should feel. Should I be excited to be escaping this nightmare

I’d somehow found myself in? Or was I entering into another?

When I’m within touching distance, he grabs hold of my arm and wrenches

the door open with his other hand. The footman is still standing there. The man

pushes past him, pulling me along, and I’m awkwardly forced to follow his long

strides.

“You can’t take her,” the footman sputters from behind, chasing after us.

“Yes, I can,” the man states resolutely, not even bothering to stop and address

the little man directly.

We are soon making our way down the grand staircase and into the lobby.

There we are met by the overseer and are forced to stop.

“Sir, I am sorry, but you cannot take her. I get you more experienced girl,

you like better. On the house.” The overseer tries to placate the man, and I take a

deep breath, fearful of what his response will be.

“No,” he states, and I relax as he pulls me closer to his side.

“Sir, I have very important client coming. I keep her here for him as special

favor. I only let you have her because he wanted her used before he arrived.”

As the overseer unwittingly answers the question that has been circling my

mind all night, I feel much more confident leaving with this man finally knowing

for sure that he was no way involved in my kidnapping.

“My other clients do not want to f**k girls like her, they get them free at

home. He come soon for her, so now you must go,” the overseer continues.

“Who is your client?” The man growls out his question.

The lobby is beginning to fill with other men, girls, and the hired muscle of the house. The ones who laughed as they beat me. I shudder at the sight of them

and inch my way closer toward the man.

“What’s going on?” the man’s pudgy friend asks loudly in French, stepping

forward as he disentangles himself from one of the women.

“She is not here by choice. So I’m taking her home,” my man responds in the

same language, and the other scowls angrily, nodding his head slightly in

understanding.

“Who?” he demands loudly of the overseer, returning to English.

“Sir, I can’t tell you,” the overseer replies haughtily.

I gasp in fright as the overseer reaches behind his back and takes out a gun

from the waistband of his pants and points it at the man, saying, “Step away

from girl and leave. Driver take you to hotel, you not welcome back.”

“No,” the man says lazily, taking one large step forward and disarming the

overseer by executing a move straight out of a Jason Bourne film, where

suddenly he’s now holding the gun. I’m not even sure if Matt Damon could have

performed such a perfect move. The rest of the room collectively gasps, while I

exhale the breath I’ve been holding.

Suddenly the house’s muscle all pull out their weapons. It’s now my turn to

gasp in fright as they point them at us. I stand there stupidly, wanting to do

something but completely at a loss as to what.

The man moves his hand to the back of my neck and whispers in my ear,

“Trust me.” No sooner than his words have registered, I feel the gun pressed

against my temple.

“Oh God, please don’t,” I cry out in shock, and my knees begin to weaken. I

shake with fright.

“Who is your client?” the man asks the overseer coolly, his grip tightening

on the back of my neck almost painfully, but all I can feel is the cold metal of the

gun against my skin.

“Sir, I can’t tell you,” the overseer repeats, growing impatient.

“The girl won’t be any use to him dead, will she?” the man taunts,

unrelenting in his faceoff with the room, which has begun to fill with nervous

whispers.

Standing there with false bravado, the overseer answers him saying, “Mayer.

James Mayer.”

I gasp in horror at recognition of the name. Suddenly my vision becomes

blurry with the shock. I almost miss seeing the man taking a step forward and

backhanding the overseer with the butt of the gun, knocking him unconscious to

the ground.

“We’re leaving,” he states firmly to the room at large.

I am barely aware of the shouting both in English and Mandarin that follow

the man’s pronouncement. Several of the women rush forward toward the

overseer, and the man’s pudgy French-speaking friend steps around from behind

us and hisses loudly, “Go,” before he turns back toward the crowd and enters the

confusion.

The man grabs my arm, and no one makes a move to stop us as we back our

way out of the already open door. To freedom?

I stumble on my heels as we quickly make our way down the cracking

cement driveway, under the locked gate, and into the bustling street beyond. The

man pauses momentarily to look right and then left before deciding we should

head to the left. With his hand still firmly around my arm, he pulls me quickly

down the block. I go blindly, in a daze and unaware of my surroundings. I barely

register the clang as the man tosses the gun into a trash bin as we pass. We are

several blocks away when we hear shouting behind us. I don’t have to look to

know that the muscle from the house has finally decided to pursue us—most

likely after the overseer regained consciousness. They are followers and aren’t

the type that thinks for themselves. They do what they are told to do, nothing

more.

“f**k,” I hear him mutter as we quicken our pace. If it weren’t for the man’s

hold of my arm, practically dragging me along, I would’ve fallen over

attempting to run in these useless pair of shoes.

Although the streets are fairly crowded, we don’t exactly blend into the

population. The man is a head taller than most, and they’ll quickly be able to

pick us out in a crowd.

“You should’ve kept the gun,” I argue as we hear them quickly approaching

on foot.

“I’d rather not get arrested on a weapons charge,” he mutters angrily. “I have

no desire to see the inside of a Hong Kong prison.”

“It’d be better than going back there,” I reply as he steers us toward the edge

of the sidewalk, and I realize there’s a bus pulling up just ahead.

Turning my head slightly, I also see a black car quickly weaving through

traffic and coming toward us.

“Get on.” He pushes me in front of him up the stairs and into the already

crowded bus. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me further inside, no doubt

attempting to hide us in the crush of commuters.

Once the bus has begun moving through the busy streets, the man turns my

body to face his. There are anxious whispers all around us as he fists the back of

my hair and tilts my head back and asks angrily, “Why would your stepfather

have you kidnapped and brought to a Hong Kong brothel?”

I gasp, my eyes wide at the knowledge that he knows exactly who I am. That

he’s known the entire time we were together! “You know who I am?”

“Yes, now answer the question, Lily,” he shakes my head with unnecessary

roughness.

“How the f**k should I know? I didn’t f*****g ask to be kidnapped,” I snap

back angrily as I smack his chest with my fists. “Did you know I was there?”

“No,” he snaps. “If I had, I would have f*****g come and gotten you sooner.

Trust me, I’ll be having words with Peter about that. Now answer the fucking

question.”

“Peter knew?” I squeak out as the feelings of betrayal wrap around my chest

in a tight band. Peter is, was, my favorite cousin and the closest thing I have to a

sibling.

Tears are now freely running down my face. I barely register the stinging

smack to my ass through the tightening of my chest. My heart seizes as feelings

of betrayal and helplessness begin to set in. The question why keeps circling

around in my thoughts. The word getting louder and louder in my head as the

seconds slowly tick by.

I can’t fathom an explanation as to why James would do such a thing. The man had been my father’s best friend and business partner, who’d seemed to fall

in love with my mother over the years of helping her cope with my father’s

sudden death. He’s always supported me in my choice of advertising as a career

over business, despite my mother’s hope I’d eventually fill my father’s shoes at

MacKay International. James had also been the one to encourage me to spend

the semester abroad.

I shiver with disgust as what the overseer implied begins to register, what

James had planned to do with me. He’s always been so kind and never gives me

any unwanted or creepy attention. Unlike some of my parent’s other business

acquaintances, his eyes never roam my body, and he doesn’t take an opportunity

to touch me.

I’m bumped and jostled on the crowded bus as it sways zigzag through the

city. Up until now, I’ve never had a panic attack in my life. But my chest

continues to tighten as reality finally settles in. Before I know it, I’m shaking and

gasping for breath.

“Breathe,” the man’s gentle voice says in my ear. One hand moves along my

back in a soothing, steady rhythm, and the other gently forces me to rest my

head against his hard chest. My arms automatically wrap themselves around

him, anchoring myself to the present. I can hear the faint rush of traffic and the

whispers of the other commuters surrounding us.

“Take a deep breath in, Princess,” his voice directs me calmly. “Now let it

out slowly. That’s a good girl. Now another, take a deep breath in, and slowly

exhale.”

The man soon has me breathing easier again, and the tightness in my chest

recedes slightly.

“Why?” My voice cracks as I attempt in vain to hold back the tears.

“I don’t know, Princess. But don’t worry, I won’t let that f*****g bastard get

anywhere near you. I promise, Lily, Mayer will pay for what he’s done,” the man

states emphatically, wrapping me up tighter in his arms and resting his cheek on

the top of my head.

I feel safe. A mirthless laugh escapes me at the very idea of being safe with

this man, of trusting his word that he’d protect me. “Who are you?” I demand, pushing back against his chest to look up at him,

having come to the startling realization that I don’t even know this man’s name,

a man who’s seen, touched, and tasted my entire body. A man who I willingly

had s*x with—who I enjoy being with.

I can feel the stares of the other commuters who are enjoying their morning

entertainment. The man turns his head and scowls at them, and I watch as his

thick eyebrows form an ominous dark line. They quickly look away.

Turning back, he looks at me with his warm golden eyes and his mouth turns

up in an amused smile before he answers, “Dexter Malone.”

“Dexter Malone,” I parrot back, instantly recognizing the name of Peter’s best

friend, Dex. A man I have heard spoken of over the years, but don’t remember

ever meeting in person. “As in Malone Distributing?”

“Yes.” And for the first time, I see a genuine smile brightening his face,

making him even more handsome.

The bus lurches and I fall into Dexs chest. He wraps his arms around me

tightly once again. “Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”