Page 13 of Jane Deyre
He slaps me hard across my face. I wince. The sting of the impact brings tears to my eyes.
“Andyou’regoing to pay for being born!”
A new voice. I recognize it. Mr. Rochester!
The front door swings open, causing me to lose my footing and fall on my ass outside on the landing. Before I can pick myself up, Mr. Rochester has his forearm wrapped around John’s scrawny neck. Squeezing it with unbridled force.
Garbled sounds leak out of John’s mouth and his face grows crimson. All the air is leaving his lungs. He’s too weak to fight back. Just when I think Mr. Rochester’s about to throttle him, he releases him from his ironclad grip and shoves him hard to the floor. My hero looms above him, his lush lips curled into a fierce snarl. A gun is in his hand, pointed straight at my assailant.
His eyes twitching with terror, John slides up his jeans with one hand and shields his face with the other.
“Hey, man. Don’t shoot me!” he stammers, each word laced with abject fear. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows the fear back. Mr. Rochester holds him fiercely in his gaze.
“You cretin!”
Without another word, Ward kicks a whimpering John Reed hard between his legs with the foot he injured. The ear-splitting sound reverberates in my head.
My assailant groans. My hero smirks.
“Just for good measure.” On my next breath, another forceful kick.
John curls into a fetal position and cries like a baby. Mr. Rochester glares at him. Coldly and mercilessly.
“If I ever see you touch this girl again or come within ten feet of her, you’ll have a bullet between your legs. And another between your eyes.”
John Reed continues to squall, clutching his crotch. His face softening, Mr. Rochester sets his eyes on me. He helps me to my feet. I adjust my backpack and guitar while he bends down and hands me my thankfully undamaged vision board.
“Are you okay, Jane?” His voice is tender, full of concern.
A silent nod. I can’t form words because tears are clogging my throat. Not because I’m shaken to the core, but because no man’s ever cared about me before.
“Good. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I watch as he grabs my duffel bag and lifts it effortlessly. He slips his gun into the waistband of his jeans and then, placing a hand on my lower back, ushers me to his car. At his touch, a rush of goosebumps erupts on my bare arms despite the unbearable heat.
I don’t look back. A rebel tear escapes one eye as I clutch my vision board. Ward Rochester belongs on it.
But sadly, reader, men like him are not within my reach.
CHAPTER 7
Jane
I’m still shaken after that life-and-death ordeal. And speechless. I should be thanking Mr. Rochester for coming to my rescue, but I know anything I say will come out all wrong. My heart’s still beating in a frenzy, but I think it has more to do with him than John Reed. Now that he knows where I come from, I doubt he’ll want anything to do with me. And surely, he won’t want me anywhere near his little daughter, Adele. If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either. I may be out of a job.
Wordlessly, his brows furrowed, and oblivious to the punks who are gawking at his Rolls-Royce, he unlocks the passenger door, yanks it open, and orders me to get in. Placing my backpack on the floor between my feet, I buckle myself up, my hands still trembling, while he rounds the car and puts my duffle bag, guitar, and vision board in the trunk. I hope he’ll be careful with the board. My dreams are still all I’ve got.
He gets into the car, starts it up, and peels away from the curb. I can’t help noticing the flex of his biceps as he cranks the wheel. The tires screech against the blistering asphalt.
“Who was that ugly piece of shit?” he asks, shooting through a red light.
“Um, er, someone I know from the system.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was in foster care. His family sponsored me.”And abused me, I add silently. Emotionally and physically. I narrowly escaped death.
I force the memories away. “Are you going to tell Edwina about the incident?”