Free THAT MAN 5 (The Wedding Story-Part 2) by Nelle L'Amour

didn’t want me to go. Not only because of my rundown state, but because there had been a recent chain of gang-driven crimes in the Venice Beach neighborhood where we met. But I insisted. We were going to have a small Christmas party with a gift exchange. Plus, I wanted to thank Dr. Williams for her kindness as well as hug my friends who’d shared and learned to face their fears like me. Blake wasn’t thrilled, to put things mildly. He still had to learn I was a big girl and could take care of myself. And he couldn’t always control me.
    The meeting lasted about an hour. Instead of our normal routine of taking turns to talk about our rape-related issues, we feasted on eggnog and snacks we’d each brought along and shared what we were doing over the holidays. Dr. Williams and my sweet fellow rape victims had been invited to the wedding and were all looking forward to attending. Before leaving, Dr. Williams and I exchanged a hug. She’d helped me so much—especially with my trust issues. I was grateful Blake had urged me to join the group after the Springer attack.
    The mid December air was chilly, especially for LA. Wearing only a lightweight wool sweater, I hugged myself as I walked quickly to my car which was parked a few blocks away. The poorly lit streets were dark and desolate. Nearby sirens sounded in my ears. And then I heard footsteps. So I thought. I anxiously looked over my shoulder. No one. My weary, distrustful mind was playing tricks on me. Paranoia was a recurring feeling among rape victims. We feared being followed and thought it could happen again. Holding my car keys, I picked up my pace until I reached my vehicle. Before I could unlock the door, a harsh voice called out my name.
    Startled, I flipped around and accidentally dropped my keys. I bent down to retrieve them, but another hand got to them first.

Chapter 12
    Blake
    A s much as I loved my tiger, she still knew how to piss me off. She could be as stubborn as a mule. I didn’t want her to go to her rape support group. She was overworked and rundown. Plus, knowing there had been a bunch of gang-related incidents in the seedy Venice Beach neighborhood where they met bugged the shit out of me. If something happened to my tiger, I’d just about die. I’d almost lost her once; I couldn’t lose her again. It wouldn’t have killed her not to go, but it would kill me if something bad happened to her. I was as protective of her as I was possessive.
    Despite my protestations, she insisted on going and told me to take a chill pill. There was nothing I could do to stop her—except tie her up and hold her down—which, in retrospect, I should have done. My cock twitched at the image of her all tied up in ropes. It made me horny as hell. Later when she got home, I was going to live out this fantasy and give her a fucking she wouldn’t forget.
    She’d left the office early to head over to her group, which met weekly at seven p.m. At 7:30, I packed up my briefcase and headed to my car. Once settled inside, I flipped on the radio. Breaking news. The body of a badly beaten young woman had been discovered in Venice, close to Jennifer’s support group center. Her wallet had been stolen and her identity was still unknown. Police and paramedics had rushed to the scene of the crime and were still there. My heart leapt into my throat. I yanked my stick shift into first gear and peeled out of the parking lot.
    Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Chapter 13
    Jennifer
    C rouching, my unexpected companion and I were face to face. His nostrils flared. My pulse sounded in my ears.
    “Bradley, what are you doing here? And what do you want?”
    One word: “You.” His fetid breath assaulted me. Shit. He was uncharacteristically drunk.
    I tensed but tried to remain calm and thought I could reason with him. But before I could get my lips to move, he shoved me against the car. My head banged against the frame, and in a painful breath, his slimy lips were all over mine and his hands were