Page 9 of Save You

Chapter 4

Now

Beth

“Oh, Beth, you look simply wonderful!” Mrs Lawrence grins at me like I’m a priceless ornament. “Wait until Oliver sees you!”

“Did someone mention my name?” All of us jump back to see Oliver dressed in his black tux, casually standing in the doorway where he is leaning up against the dark wooden frame.

As soon as he spies me from behind his mother, he suddenly stands up straight and gives me dark, hooded eyes, with no subtlety as to what he’s thinking about. He studies me up and down, taking just a little bit longer on my curves. I must say his ‘dream team’ has managed quite the transformation on me. I now look like a blond version of Jessica Rabbit, her chest included. Fortunately, my floor-length red dress is a corset back so I could discretely slip it over my slightly pronounced belly, while the dresser pulled me in so tight, I felt dizzy. My stomach is almost flat as I stand before him, though whatever extra weight I am carrying has now been pushed up into my already growing bust. My hair is set in big blonde curls and my makeup is as flawless as his mother’s. I hardly recognize myself; I hate it.

“Ladies, may I ask you all to leave so I can have a few minutes with my rather stunning fiancée,” he orders before sauntering towards me.

He hands over a wad of cash to the two girls who have just dressed and styled me to resemble someone I no longer recognize. They grin discreetly at one another, then rush out before he changes his mind. His mother is not so easily dismissed and crosses her arms to show as much.

“Oliver, remember what I said! Tradition!”

“Mother?” Oliver says as he slides his hand around my waist and crushes me up against his chest. “Get out before I ask Dad to come engage you in conversation.”

I see her grimace over the idea of that threat and part of me feels like giggling, but the bigger part of me is hoping she will ignore him and stay firmly inside of the room with me. She seems to be the only person who can tame his urges when it comes to me. Unfortunately, she tsks before stomping out in a huff and slamming the door firmly in her wake.

“Now, where were we earlier before my interfering mother came in without being invited?”

He brushes his hand over my face again, before pressing his erection against my stomach. He pushes his nose into the crook of my neck and takes a long inhale, groaning on the exhale as he simultaneously directs me back toward the bed.

“Oliver, please…” I whisper, but he doesn’t stop rubbing against me, making it abundantly clear as to what he’s after. “Oliver…”

Annoyed by my attempts to stop him, he grips my chin painfully between his finger and thumb, all the while giving me an expression that is halfway between lust and anger.

“A Mayfield wife doesn’t answer back, and she certainly doesn’t refuse. Do.You.Understand.Me?” His eyes look as though they are brewing a storm of anger within him, unnerving me so much, that I begin to shiver. I nod my head rapidly if only to calm him down and to stop him from hurting me. My body isn’t only housing my own life anymore and I need to remember that. “Good girl. You’ll get there, Beth, I promise.”

At that moment, fate must be smiling down on me because his attempts are halted by the sound of someone thudding urgently on the door.

“What?!” Oliver yells in frustration to whoever has dared to interrupt him from molesting his fiancé.

“Apologies, Sir,” a man dressed in a much cheaper black suit says in a fluster. The choice to interrupt someone like Oliver Lawrence is not one I can imagine many people choose to do, not unless they absolutely have to. Whatever the reason for doing so must be pretty dire, but it only makes my heart begin to beat a bit harder as it lets a fraction of hope start to seep in. “There seems to be a disturbance on the perimeter on the Western side of the property.”

“So, deal with it!” Oliver growls, still with his hands on me, but now looking seriously pissed-off. “Where’s Rogers?”

“That’s the reason I’m here, Mr Lawrence,” the poor man says with his Adam apple bobbing up and down, as though swallowing back his immense fear, which I can see swimming within his eyes. It must also be how mine always look when in this man’s intimidating presence. “Rogers has been taken out, Sir!”

My eyes widen with shock and horror over such a declaration. What the hell has happened? Surely Bodhi wouldn’t have shot a guy?

“Fuck!” Oliver snarls with anger, only now letting me go. “I will be back soon,” he says reluctantly to me, and in such a way that it sounds threatening. “Do not leave until I am here with you!” he instructs, then turns toward the guy who now appears to be sweating profusely. “Get Henley up here, immediately. I do not want anything to happen to Beth. Where is the body?”

“What?” the guy sputters with his eyes now doubling in size. “What body, Sir?”

“Rogers,” Oliver growls, “where is Rogers? His body?”

“Oh…oh…er…, he’s not dead, Sir, I meant he’s out cold. A small explosion caused some debris to fly in his direction. Sorry for the…er…confusion.” He looks away before he has to face Oliver’s wrath, and I wince for the poor man.

“Fucking moron!” Oliver growls low and menacingly before marching past him. The guy looks at me uncomfortably before apologizing and running after his boss, aka, Satan in a tux.

I instinctively place my two hands across my stomach and let out one long breath to steady my nerves. I then pace toward the doors to close them. A new, even beefier bodyguard, appears at the side, looking both stern and mean. He says nothing to me but nods his head in acknowledgment, chewing on his gum while he folds his hands out in front of his groin. I see the radio on his hip and the outline of a handgun hidden beneath his jacket, causing a flutter of nerves deep inside of me. When he catches me studying it, I sort of smile but try not to at the same time. I can only imagine how insane I look right now. Still, I manage to close the doors on him without damaging myself, which is a miracle considering how fucking nervous I am.

Leaning against the door, I slowly breathe out again before looking left, then right, though for what, I have no idea. My fingers tremble together while my hands visibly shake, so I ball them into fists and begin to pace. Either someone comes to my rescue, or Oliver will return, try to fuck me, then probably kill me when he finds out I haven’t saved my hymen for him.

Trying to think rationally, I decide to go and wait by the huge ornate window, and perch on the seat in front of it. The guests to Oliver’s little soiree are still arriving in either over-priced sports cars or James Bond-worthy classics. As I steady myself to watch them all filtering through, I at least begin to calm down.