Fifty Shades of BLACK SILK

BLACK SILK: Part 26

"How are you, cutie?" one guy with a long beard said.

"Huh—uhh—" I was going to respond cordially but it took me a second to realise I was being cornered.

"Hey, you look sexy," another guy said, plucking my spaghetti strap so high it slapped down on my shoulder when he let go. The men exchanged glances when they heard.

"Where you off to?"

"Or coming from?"

"I—I'm going home," I stammered. One nudged me with his body when I tried to step forward and I staggered back.

"What's the rush, babe?"

"Yeah, we're just having a little fun."

"Want to have some fun with us?"

"N—no, please," I breathed so lightly the words disappeared from my mouth like smoke into the cold night.

"Come on," one sing-songed demonically, gripping my arm tightly. "Come on," he repeated, this time with a little scruff to his voice, littered with the stench of impatience so badly potent it reeked like hot garbage on the sidewalk of a sweltering summer's day.

He shook me at my arm and I tried clawing at it. "Please," I tried again, but my voice bailed. Traitor.

They started laughing. Then, a flash blinded them. The one clutching my arm released me and in an effort to get away from the light the two behind me shoved passed me, knocking me to the ground.

I turned my head back. "Christian," I squeaked.

Christian was flanked by two bodyguards. Taylor parked the car on the curb and got out as swiftly as a bullet; he fixed his pitch-black suit jacket, revealing a pistol hidden underneath in its holster.

The guys ran off as Christian and his men sauntered towards them. They walked backwards slowly with their hands up at first, but something must've clicked in their mind—a fight they already knew they lost—to make them run away and run fast.

"Hey, are you okay?" Christian asked, the warmth of concern in his tone embracing me, hugging me, picking me up and giving me a cloud to lean on while we walked to his car.

Christian took off his jacket and covered me as I coiled up in the back seat, my knees close to my chest. I looked out the window with eyes wide, but I was exhausted.

My heart slowed down when we got to his high-rise. I didn't ask questions. I didn't wonder why we were here and not my apartment. Maybe because they'd be stupid questions. Maybe the answer was obvious but my eyes were too muddled to see. But I didn't care. I welcomed the vast black, marble floor of his apartment; I welcomed the hearth where a picture frame of his family sat upon the mantle; I welcomed the plush, dark sofa that accepted my frail, shaking body as I sank into it. I welcomed the floor to ceiling uninterrupted window view, where on a cold, dark, night like this one, the universe graced me with a blanket of twinkling stars and a moon so pure, so rich, so beaming with tranquil light, the soft rays ebbed with a certain serenity only dreams could conjure.

"Here," Christian said and handed me an icy can of carbonated lemonade.

"I don't want it," I said, monotone.

He pushed my hand away. "It'll take the edge off. Just drink."

I gave in. I didn't want to fight any more tonight. I took one sip, then two, then three. On the third, I brought the fluffy, grey blanket over my head when I burst out crying. I sniffed, trying to contain myself. Christian pulled the blanket back, but I covered my face with the open palms of my hand.

He chuckled lowly. "Don't hide."

"I'm sorry," I wailed, tears rushed out like a waterfall. "I'm trying to stop."

"Don't. Let it out."

"Ugh," I scoffed. "Don't look at me." I turned my head to avoid his gaze.

"Why?"

"I must look like a rodent, right now."

He cackled bubbly. "You look beautiful." He placed a finger underneath my chin and turned my face to face him. "Look at that—" he pushed away strands of hair that stuck to my cheek with my tears as adhesive. His fingers delicately stroking my jawline, the sensation so calming I closed my eyes— "Beautiful."