The salon door of the kitchen opens into the side of the bar and into the main area of the club. Considering what this place looked like last night, I’m surprised by how tidy it is now. All the chairs are stacked on one side of the room, and about twenty tables of varying shapes and sizes are pushed against the other wall. The floor is spotless. On the end of the bar, there are two half full glasses that look out of place. One of them lipstick stained.
There’s a soft glow from the lamps on the wall, but the main overhead lights are off.
“Clarissa?” I call out again.
Silence.
I’m about to take a step toward the front of the club when I hear a loud crash and a scream.
It’s not from the front of the club or from the kitchen. It’s further than that, maybe upstairs.
The hairs on my back stand on end.
“Clarissa?” I shout, this time. “It’s Matthias. Where are you?” In the distance, someone yells out a desperate, “No!” Fuck.
My entire body ices over and I run to the side of the clubroom where I remember seeing a small locked gate that led up a set of stairs.
Another scream, and then a low rumble of a male voice as I approach the stairs.
Shit.
The gate is open when I get there and I launch myself up the stairs two, and sometimes three, at a time, almost falling all the way back down when my shin knocks up against the highest step.
“No!” the voice screams. It’s definitely her.
God.
At the top of the stairs, I run down the short hallway and into the room at the end.
“Clarissa!” I shout, my heart beating about ten times its normal speed.
They don’t hear me; Patrick just keeps his body crushing Clarissa’s against the broken couch. One of his hands grips her wrist to the side of her body, and the other is raised.
And then, as if in slow motion, his hand slaps across her face. Her whole head snaps to the side.
Sickening.
He raises his hand again, and this time, I move in time.
I run over and reach for Patrick’s shoulders and yank him back. “Get the fuck off her!”
He falls backward, stumbling, crushing Clarissa’s legs into the couch, and grunts trying to fight me off. Gripping his shoulders again, I drag him off the bed, off Clarissa, and onto the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her sit up, touching the side of her face, gasping.
Grabbing his shirt collar, I pull him to his feet and shove him against the wall. “What the fuck do you think were you doing, you fucking bastard?” I shout, the blood screeching through my whole body.
Gritting my teeth, I rush at Patrick, ramming my shoulder into his solar plexus. His lungs empty of air as he grunts and chokes at the same time, and he falls on the floor again, clutching at his chest.
A red haze clouds my vision and I see nothing in my mind’s eye but blood.
Fiery, furious.
I know I should pull back.
I know myself better than to give into this.
Nothing good can come out of it.
But I can’t.
I can’t pull back.
This shit of a human just raised his hand to a woman. He doesn’t deserve me to hold back. He deserves everything that’s coming to him… and more.
Pulling my elbow back, I hold it for a moment and then release my balled-up fist like a slingshot and launch it at him. My knuckles catch him right on the philtrum, and I push up, feeling the crack of his nose under my fist.
It fuels the beast inside me.
As I drag my fist back, readying it for another punch, his entire face crumples into a bloody pulp, blood spraying from his nose. I grab him by the shoulders and pull him against me, ramming my knee into his stomach.
“You filthy piece of shit. You’re about to find out what it’s like when someone puts a hand on you.
Every single part of your body is about to break,” I hiss, my voice cold, dangerous.
I never make promises I don’t keep.
I let go of his shoulders only to reach for his throat, digging my fingers into the sides of his trachea.
I’m going to strangle the son of a bitch until he’s nothing but a gasping puddle on the floor.
“Matthias.”
Somehow, the soft sound of my name penetrates the red cloud. My hand still gripping his throat, I turn to look at Clarissa.
She’s slid to the end of the couch, her hand holding her torn shirt closed, her hair tangled into a messy nest. A bruise is already forming on her right cheek.
What kind of man would do this to a woman?
I face the fucker, ready to finish him off, but as I lift my hand, she speaks again. “Let him go,
Matthias.”
“Clarissa. No!”
“Just let him go.” She barely has the energy to speak, and she’s wasting it asking for mercy for him?
Patrick takes advantage of my hesitation to straighten up, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor. He takes a step to the side, pushing my hand off him. “You asshole, you heard what my fiancee said. This is between her and me.” His breath is thick with alcohol. Is he still drunk from last night? He takes another step, this time forward toward her, and I shove him back against the wall.
“Stay away from her,” I hiss.
“Can’t do that. I need to give her a little taste of what to expect when she doesn’t listen to me when we’re together.”
I grit my teeth, and before Clarissa can stop me, I spin him around, grab by the hair and slam his face against the wall. The sound of breaking teeth makes me smile.
I yank his head back. “No. Listen to me, and listen carefully, you’re done here. I don’t ever want to see you around here again. She’s not your fiancee anymore.”
“Then whose is she?” he snickers, as if he doesn’t expect me to actually have an answer.
But today is not his day.
I grip the back of his neck and slam him against the wall again.
“Mine.”