The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Hands come around to grab my breasts and I lash out furiously, trying to yank free with little effect, wriggling to move but it’s
almost futile. I’m held taut, and I can only imagine they think the super drug is going to render me docile at any minute. I start to
panic. So many flashing images running through my head to send me over the edge if I let that pervert back in to render me
useless. I claw away the visuals and try to focus on staying here, in the now.
“What the fuck, Cam?” I snap at her, but the male behind me yanks me back against him harder, clutching my breasts painfully
from behind, diving into my naked neck and shoulder and biting my skin with little care to leaving marks. I react psychotically,
turning in his arms with new found strength from a sudden adrenaline boost, yanking my wrists free and throwing my hands at
his chest with slaps and shoves that are quickly restrained with fast reflexes and what feels like a million hands.
“She’s a feisty one. You know I love me some fucking fire, Cam.” He laughs at me and looks over my head, trying to back me
further into the secluded area with him. I struggle and fight, head full of that girl being pounded against the wall, panicking like
crazy, tears biting my eyes and heart exploding in my chest.
I don’t hear her response, don’t turn to see her before he dives in again, yanking me cruelly close with strong hands and forces
his mouth on mine, his grip on my arms biting hard. Teeth clash against my lips which I have slammed shut, in the most painful
way.
He’s not the kind of young boozed up asshole I’m used to dealing with; he’s about thirty-five maybe more, strong, well-built, and
obviously works out. He just reeks of money and power and no way in hell am I able to fight him off. He’s intent on getting what
he thinks he’s owed. Some sort of sex hungry prick with little concern about raping women it seems. I open my mouth and bite
his lip hard, tasting blood with satisfaction, trying like crazy to get him off me, but he’s like an octopus with limbs encircling and
trapping me. He grabs me by the throat and tightens harshly, hurting and choking off my air supply, pulling me into his mouth with
a deadly evil gaze, right into my eyes which makes me momentarily mute. I’m completely terrified. Gasping at the shock of his
swift reaction, aware that I can’t inhale, or swallow and my body goes limp.
“I have a million fucking rape fantasies; I suggest you play nice if you don’t want to be on the receiving end. I love slaves and
some BDSM, really know how to make a girl fucking scream, and I don’t mean in pleasure. Camilla owes me. Pipe down and let
the drugs take effect, you will thank me for it later.” His cruel words calm me momentarily, my body reeling in shock and that
psychotic, controlled tone makes me freeze submissively for a moment.
I turn my head slightly to catch Camilla, to plead for her to help me with wild eyes and tears falling freely. I don’t know why I think
she will, considering the bitch tried to drug me. She blows me a kiss, cold and uncaring and turns on her heel with a little smirk.
Disappears into the crowds around us and leaves me trapped in this cruel embrace.

Finding my inner fire, sparked by her response, clawing out from inside me as his mouth ascends on my cleavage. He is
obviously someone who is used to getting what he wants, doesn’t take no for an answer, but I am not about to give in because I
know I can’t win. It isn’t in me to give in that easily, even when my father abused me for years. He left me black and blue from the
beatings because I wouldn’t yield to him. I am not about to fucking yield now, to this power-crazy asshole with a hard-on,
especially not when surrounded by people who might actually help me if I make a scene.
I push with all my might and bring my knee up hard into his groin, the way Arrick taught me years before. Little memories of self-
defense moves he tried to get me to remember. Kept hounding me to learn under his careful guidance, and right now, I wish I’d
listened to him and took more lessons. I get a twisted sense of satisfaction when I collide with something soft, then hard, with a
force to hurt my own limb in the process, and he lets me go, crumbling into a bent pose with a muffled ‘ughhh’.
I make a dash for it, but he’s only half wounded, recovers inhumanly fast, grabbing my wrist and tugs me back to him so I collide
once more. This time he grabs me by the throat and pulls me tight to him, so I’m nose to nose. Squeezing so I can’t breathe,
can’t take a breath and I panic. I grasp at his fingers with both hands, no longer fighting to get away, but fighting to take in air as,
that terror-inducing fear points out I can’t. I’m suffocating and I’m going to black out if he doesn’t let up on my throat. His grip is
superhumanly tight, and he has no qualms about applying pressure, obvious he uses this form of control frequently.
He lifts me up a little, so my feet scrape the floor, making it tighter. Weird gasps come from my mouth and he sneers at what he’s
doing to me. A smirk on his face that puts the fear of God into my soul.
This here is a monster, much like the one I ran from. A man who has no qualms about inflicting pain and suffering and taking
what he wants. I know I’m pretty much screwed; even in a public club like this, this kind of shit happens all the time. With enough
money and power, you can make anything go away, and he knows it. This obviously isn’t the first time he has exerted force on a
little girl, and I have no doubt that as soon as I get weak or pass out from this, he will fuck me, in a dark rancid corner like that
girl, and then walk away as if nothing happened. His smug confidence in how he’s handling me makes that clear.
What the hell is Camilla into?
He forces another kiss on me, loosening my throat enough that I gasp, still unable to do anything but claw at his hands and try to
pull back. I taste the blood I caused on his mouth, gagging at its vileness. Crushing cruel hard lips lock against mine, pushing
hard to open me up to him. My body is weak, resolve deteriorating with the lack of oxygen and I know that I’m fucked. I’ve been
on the receiving end of an overpowering male, intent on sticking his dick inside you. I know how useless a girl can be when faced
with brute strength, regardless of where we are. I resign myself to the fact that I can’t fight, no one’s going to save me, but I know
if I lock myself inside my head then I can endure it like I did so many times before. I won’t let this destroy me; I never let any of it
destroy me.

I’m ripped out of his grip by warm hands around my waist, yanking me back and depositing me on my feet, hard, in the blink of
an eye. Gasping and choking. Suddenly able to inhale air. The rush of it makes me dizzy and I crouch and crumble to my knees,
clutching my throat pathetically, as I expand my lungs and come back to reality. The sheer force of relief that I can breathe and
get lightheaded with the sudden intake of oxygen. Everything’s spinning, but I’m aware I’m not being held anymore. I have no
idea who the hell just grabbed me and dumped me like this to languish on the floor amid pounding feet.
I look up as the blood drains from my body, a cold wash of terror as I realize exactly who. That formidable hard body, his speed,
and skill unmatched by normal men, pounding his fist into the creep’s face in sheer rage. Arrick looks insane, he’s bypassed all
his typical calm and cool responses and is instead, beating the guy into oblivion. In a fury of punches and movements that would
befit a ring fight, he seems lost in his own head, unable to stop. Beating down a reign of pain on his victim. Nothing like he has
ever done to any sleazy asshole in a club for me before.
Fear grips me, sense hits me harder, and I realize he might actually kill him. Concern for him overtaking me, I jump to my feet,
closing the few feet that have opened between us amid the grinding crowd and start hauling him by the back of his shirt, yelling
his name. Begging him to stop. He’s like a demon possessed, pounding the guy into the ground with swift trained blows,
precisely placed, like a well-oiled machine on autopilot.
Arrick is deaf to me, oblivious to my pulling at his shoulders and arms as he hits him repeatedly. The guy tries to fight back,
obviously someone who can, yet still no match and is already on the floor. Arrick’s too fast, too well trained, and too enraged to
be controlled. The other man has no chance.
He’s on the ground cowering as Arrick rains an assault of blows and kicks at his head instead of body, and surrounding dancers
are starting to turn with the commotion which at first had been concealed. I dart around in panic, thinking of what this will do to
his career, his reputation. It will be in every paper and magazine if I don’t stop it. This could ruin his life.