Freeing Clara

2. Discolored

"That's fucking obvious," Callum says before gagging again.

"Toss it, clean up this shit. We'll take Clara out to breakfast."

Flint raises an eyebrow. "We?"

"If you want, I can make pancakes."

Flint laughs. "You? Please it'll be worse than what I made," he scoffs.

"Is that a fucking challenge?" Callum glares.

"Be my guest, try it but if Clara doesn't like it, you're buying breakfast and there will be no we," Flint says with a scolding finger.

"And if I make the pancakes, I can stay for breakfast and talk to Clara?" Callum counters.

Flint thinks about it. There is no way this privileged asshole, who probably gets scared of spoons that aren't silver, knows how to cook.

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Clara inspects her body in the mirror. Bruises on her hips and her thighs are now worse than before. She was worried Flint would see.

She needed to tell Flint before he saw them himself and freaked out. If he saw them, he would think he was too rough and would never allow himself, or her, the pleasure of being rough.

Wearing her blue matching cotton bra and panties, she leaves the bathroom. Her damp hair is up in a bun, water still drips down her neck.

After she exits the bedroom she is overcome with a smell of fire. Worried, she goes towards the stairs.
Taking her steps quickly, she calls out to Flint.

"Is everything okay?" She asks as she steps into the kitchen.

She didn't even process the situation until after the second man's voice came to her. Callum felt confident about his task but as Clara entered the kitchen in nothing but blue underwear and a matching bra, he turned uncomfortable. The underwear was Brazillian, showing off her ass, it was close to a thong but not entirely. Her breasts were larger having gained some weight, they almost didn't fit in her bra.

Callum looks away, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to not only be respectful to her but also he didn't want the oversized boxer to know he had seen his girl. He wasn't attracted to what he had seen which was odd for him. Usually, any woman could get it up for him but now he only thought of one woman and it wasn't Clara.

"Oh my God!" Clara screams turning around and exiting the kitchen.

"Fucking hell," he curses because his friend would soon find out what he had seen and murdered him.

Just prior to Clara walking down the steps, Flint had his phone pressed to his ear, standing on the back deck. His head throbbed from the situation in which Najeem began to explain to him.

"Carter will take over the kitchen with Max's firing. That means we are down a bartender. If we hire a new one it might get complicated with them getting adjusted to the rules and the pace," he explains.

Flint groans. "Put out an ad. We can't train the girls. Vanessa would hate to lose tips and the others are below twenty-one."

"Should I interview?" Najeem asks.

"You interview then I'll do a second wave of interviews. Let's just hope these guys aren't-"

His heart began to hammer in his chest as his ears rang with the sound of his girl screaming.

"Flint?" Najeem asks as he too heard the scream.

Flint doesn't reply as he is off in a sprint. Inside his sitting room in seconds, he sees, to his horror, Clara walking across their entryway naked. Although she wore her underwear and bra, to Flint it was far too much for someone to see and he knew exactly who just saw her.