Beautifully Broken: If You Leave Part 46

They're all heroes and I'll never forget that.

I hope you won't, either.

About the Author.

Courtney Cole is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author who lives near Lake Michigan with her family. She's always working on her next project... or staring dreamily out her office window. To learn more about her, please visit www.courtneycoleauthor.com Please see the next page for a preview of Before We Fall.

Chapter One.

Dominic

I shouldn't be watching. I know that as I stare down from my balcony, looking past the shimmering pool below, looking past the rippling water that sheds blue light on everything around it, the images wavering in the night. Knowing that I shouldn't watch is what keeps me from turning away.

I take another drink of whiskey, watching them quietly as I lean against the railing.

The girl bites the guy's neck, then murmurs into his ear. He smiles, lifting her legs onto his shoulders as he thrusts into her. Hard. Then he frees one hand and grabs her neck. Hard.

She likes it. I can tell that by the way she scratches his back and moans for more. I can tell by the way she bucks her hips up to take him even deeper. I can tell by the way she doesn't even try to take his hand away from her throat. It always fascinates me when I see women who like getting debased, the ones who like it rough, the ones who want to be dominated.

It doesn't make any sense, but I see it all the time, more and more. Around my pool, in my hot tub, on my lawn. People seem to lose their inhibitions when they pa.s.s through these gates, which doesn't make any sense either. None of them know me, not really. But it doesn't stop them from making themselves very at home here.

Sometimes, like now, it works to my advantage.

I glance back down at the couple, watching the guy's face contort and twist and watching the girl moan and writhe beneath him. They're definitely making themselves at home, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm watching.

I feel myself getting hard and I shift, easing the pressure of my jeans away from my d.i.c.k. I brush my hand against the denim covering my crotch, stroking myself. Just a little. I'm not going to get off right out here in the open. The press would have a f.u.c.king field day if pictures of that leaked out.

If I were decent I'd back away from the balcony and give them privacy. But f.u.c.k that. I'm not decent. Not anymore.

And I like to watch.

Before long the guy pulls out of her and yanks her off the chaise, forcing her down in front of him. I can read his lips.

Suck me.

She shakes her head, trying to scramble away, but he holds her fast by her hair, making her take him into her mouth. Making her suck her own taste off of him.

She swings her arms at him, but he holds her hair tightly, wrapped around his hands, refusing to let her go.

f.u.c.k. I sigh. People come here and get drugged up and out of control. It's not worth it. Especially when I only have the parties in the first place because my publicist says they keep me relevant. Whatever the f.u.c.k that means.

I throw back the rest of my drink and head down the stairs, across the lawn and onto the stones leading to the pool. I grab the guy from behind and yank him backward. He yelps as I toss him on the ground.

"Get the f.u.c.k out," I snap at him. "No one gets forced against their will here."

"That b.i.t.c.h wanted it," he protests as he climbs to his feet. "She was asking for it."

I shake my head. "The last time I checked, no means no. It's not a new way of asking for something. Get the f.u.c.k out of here."

The guy stalks away without another word and I grab a pool towel and wrap it around the girl's shoulders. Her shirt is barely hanging around her waist now, apparently ripped in their scuffle.

"You OK?" I ask gruffly. She nods, sniveling, just as another girl, a gorgeous blonde, rushes up.

"Holy s.h.i.t, Kaylie. What the h.e.l.l happened?"

Kaylie explains about the a.s.shole and I turn to disappear back into the shadows, but she grabs my arm, then wraps herself around my waist.

"Thank you," she tells me shakily.

"It's not a problem. But you might want to stay out of situations like that. There won't always be someone to step in and save you."

The girl looks up at me in shock, too drunk or high to even respond. But her friend isn't so silent.

Big brown eyes snap at me angrily. "Why are you lecturing her? She was just violated, in case you didn't notice."

I roll my eyes. "Is that what you call it? She was having rough s.e.x with that a.s.shole right out in the open. It looked to me like it was an incident that just got a little out of control. I stopped it for her. You're welcome."

Her friend stares at me dumbfounded. "Are you trying to insinuate that she's not a victim, that it was her fault this happened?"

I sigh. "Of course not. I'm saying that she shouldn't be messing around with c.o.ked-up drunk a.s.sholes in the first place. Good night."

But she's not done. "Who the f.u.c.k do you think you are?" she demands. "You might not have heard, but you really shouldn't blame the victim."

"I'm not-" I begin, but I'm interrupted by her gasp as I step fully into the light and she sees my face.

"Holy s.h.i.t," she breathes. "You're Dominic f.u.c.king Kinkaide."

I can't help but smile, just a little, just enough to pull the corners of my mouth up. "Dominic will do. I tend to drop the 'f.u.c.king.' "

She smiles a breathtaking smile that should affect me. But it doesn't. Because nothing affects me anymore.

"I've heard you're trouble," she announces matter-of-factly. "That's lucky, because I happen to like trouble."

"I bet you do," I answer back, trying to ignore the way she's acting now that she knows who I am. They all act like this. Every one of them. It gets old. "Nice to meet you."

I turn around and walk back toward the house, but she takes two steps and grabs my arm. I pause.

"But you didn't," she says hesitantly. "You didn't meet me. My name's Jacey."

I sigh. "Your name doesn't matter."

I keep walking, ignoring the way she sucks her breath in, the way she calls after me in agitation.

I might be an a.s.shole, but I don't lie.

Her name doesn't matter.

Not to me.

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