With that, she disappeared into the crowd, and I felt that feeling again telling me to run.
“The person I see and the person I know her to be don’t mesh in my head,” Amelia whispered as we walked.
“I know,” I replied.
That’s what makes her so goddamn terrifying.
Amelia
This wasn’t all that bad.
In fact, if I forgot my mother was here, I was actually enjoying myself.
For the most part, everyone here was well enough on their own that Noah and I didn’t have to do that much mingling. We said hello to a few people and listened to conversations that we couldn’t really care less about. I did have a few older women try to discreetly talk to me about the movie—they tittered as they confessed that they were sinners, big-time fans, and were over the moon with excitement for the movie. I couldn’t talk about it, but seeing women their age excited to see such a highly sexual movie would have been funny if I wasn’t the one they would be watching get tied up, fucked, and whipped, sometimes all in one scene.
“I’m not going to make it another moment longer,” Noah whispered, finishing off his second glass of wine.
“Me either. Let me go to the restroom, and then let’s make our great escape.”
Nodding, he moved aside as I worked my way through the sea of bodies before me. All of them were laughing and talking over each other, most of the conversations centering on the good old days.
“Amelia?” my mother called, seemingly coming out of nowhere and wrapping her arm around mine. “Where are you going, sweetie?”
She was buzzed. Great.
“I was looking for the restroom, and then Noah and I are going to leave,” I said, and she nodded, grabbing the side of her head. “Maybe you should head home, too.”
“No, I’m fine. The restroom is down the hall, third door on the right. Hopefully that couple is out now. If not, there is one on the second floor, second door.” She muttered something under her breath, but her attention was completely diverted when she saw another person she wanted to throw herself onto.
“Bye?” I said to myself, following her directions and navigating down the corridor. I watched as a couple, kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes, rushed into the bathroom, the door slamming behind them.
Sighing, I turned back around, grabbing the side of my dress to walk properly up one side of the grand double staircase. Stopping midway, I glanced down at the people below me, remembering the millions of parties my mother had just like this one, where she showed off everything from the chandelier to my tap-dancing talents. It was like one giant circus, but instead of clowns and animals, there were actors and musicians.
Reaching the door, I knocked twice. Hearing no one, I opened it, but instead of a bathroom, it was a sitting area. It glowed with soft gold light that reflected off the mahogany wall, which was covered floor to ceiling in blue-black butterflies. Stepping inside, I walked toward the wall. It was breathtaking and—
“They are called Ulysses butterflies.”
When I glanced back, there was Ray Mallory, leaning forward on his cane. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Yeah. I know, they’re my favorite animal.”
“A butterfly is your favorite animal?” He snickered. “You’re definitely a new-age flower child.”
“Says the man with butterflies on his wall.”
“Touché.”
“As you may know, Ulysses butterflies are considered the most beautiful butterflies in the world. I’m hoping these aren’t real,” I said, pointing to the two dozen preserved on his wall.
“And why not?”
“Butterflies aren’t trophies, Mr. Mallory.”
“Ahh. My dear, but that’s where you are wrong. Anything is a trophy if you’re willing to pay the right amount,” he replied. All of a sudden, I felt his hand squeeze my ass.
“Mr. Mallory!” I jumped back away from him, successfully cornering myself in front of him. His grey eyes traveled up the length of me, stopping for a moment on my chest before looking me in the eye. I knew that look.
Lust.
“Sorry for intruding, Mr. Mallory. I’ll be—”
“You know, most girls grow out of that look, that innocence. But not you. How is it that you are just as beautiful now as you were when you were a teenager?”
I was going to be sick.
“Move,” I demanded sternly, no longer calm and eyeing the exit.
“Don’t be like that, Amelia. You have no idea how long I’ve been a fan.”
“I don’t care,” I growled.
As I rushed past him, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back, throwing me against the wall so hard a few of the butterflies fell down around me. Grabbing my throat, he pinned me there, his face inches from mine. He reeked of alcohol.
“You should care about your fans, Amelia. You should be grateful. Unlike your mother, you have the talent to match your beauty.”
“Let. Go!” I yelled through my teeth, my nails digging into his wrist. But he didn’t even flinch.
“Go ahead and fight! You’re only turning me on, sweet Amelia.” He kissed me hard, his mouth all over my face as I kicked and scratched any part of him could as I tried to turn my head away from him.
“No!” I struggled when he started to lift up my dress, but all of the sudden he was off me and stumbling backward.
“You no good fucking son of bitch!” Noah hollered just before his fist connected with Ray’s nose.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Ray screamed, grabbing on to his nose, the blood dripping on to his ascot.
“No, but I’m about to!” Noah yelled as Ray tried to stand up straight. But Noah was pissed and kicked Ray’s bad knee before punching him again and again…and again.
“Noah, stop!” I called out to him. But he didn’t stop.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you ‘no’ means ‘no,’ you stupid fuck?” Noah yelled, not letting up. Just as I ran toward him, one security officer held me back while the other tackled Noah.
“Let go of me!” I yelled.
“Ma’am, calm down,” he commanded, not letting my wrist go as two other people came in to assist Ray as if he were made of glass or was some type of victim in this situation.
“You’re going to regret this, you little shit,” Ray had the balls to say now that someone was holding Noah back.
Just like that, a perfectly nice evening descended into hell.
Chapter Four
Amelia
“How many times do I have to tell you this?” I groaned, rubbing the side of my head. It had to be at least three in the morning now, and instead of sleeping in my bed, I was sitting in an interrogation room at a Chicago police department.
“So you were looking for the restroom when you entered Mr. Mallory’s study?” asked the officer—Officer Tomato, I had taken to calling him in my head, since his face was bright red and his waist was as round as a globe.
“Ms. London?” he pressed.
“Yes. I entered the study while I was looking for the restroom, because I saw butterflies. He tried to rape me. Look at the marks on my neck. My boyfriend pulled him off me and then beat the shit out of him like a rapist deserves,” I said once again.
“What butterflies?” the officer asked.
Dear Jesus in heaven…
“Ms. London, your lawyer is here.” Another cop, Officer String Bean—not even going to bother explaining—opened the door. In came a woman dressed in a black jacket and jeans, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail.
“I’m sorry, is my client under arrest?”
“No, but she is a witness—”
“Ms. London, let’s go,” the woman cut him off, motioning for me to get up.
“We aren’t done here!” Officer Tomato said as he rose.
“If my client isn’t under arrest, then we are finished,” she said, pushing me toward the doors. I only made it about two feet before stopping. There was Noah, laying down and looking far more relaxed than he should have been, in a holding cell.