Seduced 2
Authors: P.A. Jones
Seduced 2
P.A. Jones
Copyright © 2013-14 PA Jones
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, place and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Tristan
A sharp pain shot through me as I looked at my bloody arm. The knife had left a large cut on my forearm; blood was dripping out of it, hitting the floor. I pressed my hand over the wound for a second in hopes that the blood would clot sooner.
“Seriously?” I shouted at Trisha’s cousin. I hadn’t anticipated the knife from a nineteen-year-old kid. I was caught off guard and now I was in trouble.
Time to get serious, Tristan.
There were three kids, including Trisha’s cousin, standing at the three corners of the room. I was in middle of the room and Trisha was standing in the door frame. Her safety was important, I couldn’t help but wonder if one of these maniacs would attack her. “You should go back down, Trisha. Go wait for me outside. Things are turning little messy here.”
“Is that blood?” she asked in panic. “Why did you stab him? Are you crazy?” she screamed on her cousin. “Tristan, for God’s sake, let’s get out of here. I can’t see you hurt because of me.” She rushed forward, sobbing, trying to pull me back.
“Don’t worry, Trisha. I’m fine. It’s just a small cut.” I looked back at those three; two of them were holding a knife in their hand. “If you don’t drop your knife, I’ll either call the cops or else I’ll take matters into my own hands and beat the crap out of you.”
“Fuck you, man,” Trisha’s cousin, who was standing at my left, roared in anger. He was wearing a long bush shirt. He was older than nineteen, but because of his drug use, his face looked like crap. He looked malnourished;, his eyes had sunk back into his skull, his cheeks were non-existent and black circles surrounded his eyes, giving him a ghostly look like the zombies out of
The Walking Dead
. He charged on me while holding the knife above his ears. But he wasn’t moving in a straight line; his motion was more of a zig-zag, maybe a drug effect.
I bent a little in my knees; I had to avoid him. Another cut would be a disaster for me and at the same time, I’d to beat him to the ground. When he closed on me, he swiped his knife at my face. I ducked down and punched him hard in his abdomen. I didn’t want to hit him in vital points; he was just an angry kid, taking it out on me. But that punch was enough for him to stumble back and scream in pain.
“What did you do to him?” his friend on my right side shouted. “I’ll kill you, dickhead.” He, too, ran towards me with a pointed knife in his hand. This one was running straight toward me and tackling him was very easy. I just had to move left, but at the last moment, I realized Trisha was standing behind me.
Fuck
. I had no other option but to jump in front of him. But I couldn’t stop his attack; his knife stabbed me on my left arm. Pain shot like a rocket through my arm, but standing there would have resulted in more hits. I slapped him hard on his neck with my right hand. He was thrown against the wall and then laid down, unconscious. I targeted his vital parts, otherwise he would have hurt me.
“Oh, FUCK,” the remaining hippy screamed in panic. “You killed him, man, you killed him.” He ran forward and hugged the kid I’d just hit.
“No, he’s just unconscious,” I roared in pain as I took the knife out. Blood was flowing out of my arm like a small river.
Trisha came running to me, tears rolling down everywhere. “I’m so sorry, Tristan. This is all because of me. If I just hadn’t told you this…”
“You would have been dead someday, then.” Pain started shooting again, and small black spots appeared in front of me. The blood loss was affecting me. “Don’t worry about me. Call 9-1-1. We need to report this.” I wasn’t sure if the third hippie tried to attack I would be able to stop him.
“But he’s my cousin.”
“And he beat you like an animal. This must go to the cops. Either you call them, or I will.”
She nodded and dialed 9-1-1 from her cell.
Thoughts of the morning rushed back in my mind. If only Nikki was there.
Earlier the Same Day.
After checking Nikki’s message to Carrie, I was so furious that I couldn’t concentrate on a single thing. I wanted to go and ask Nikki about this. Somehow, I controlled myself and decided to visit the bookstore. I’d to do some paperwork for taxes and try to keep my mind occupied.
On the whole journey, my mind was burning with questions. The questions I wanted to ask Nikki. I couldn’t believe what Nikki had messaged her friend. My brain was fried, thinking about what could be her plan and why she wrote that she had tamed me.
Was it all a lie? You owe me an explanation, Nikki Jordan.
Surprisingly, the book store was closed. This had never happened since I’d hired Trisha. she was a very prompt and hardworking girl. I didn’t expect her to be absent without informing me. She opened the book store at eight a.m. sharp, daily. How could she be so careless? I wondered if my casualness was giving her the wrong message.
I must make this straight today itself.
Half an hour later, around nine thirty, Trisha came in. Her face was covered in a thick, black scarf. That was weird, I thought. She never used one. She walked in, and I looked at her, expecting an explanation. For a brief second, she looked in my eyes and then went back to a rack to flip some books here and there.
I watched her doing some fake work and waited for her to come and apologize, but nothing happened for ten minutes. Finally, my patience broke.
“Trisha, why are you late today?” I asked in anger.
“I had some work.” She kept doing re-arranging books, avoiding my eyes.
“You should have informed me, at least.” I was still playing good cop with her.
“I had some work, Tristan. I was busy, so I couldn’t,” she replied, in ignorance.
“I’m your employer, Trisha, not your friend,” I said. But then I felt bad. I sounded very rude. “I mean, you should have at least sent me a message.”
She started sobbing hard. It made me feel more guilty.
What have I done? I made her cry!
“I’m sorry, Trisha. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just I’m not in a good mood today.” I walked closer to her and touched her shoulder with compassion. I didn’t want her to cry because of my jerkiness.
She couldn’t contain herself, she bawled out loud. I held her shoulder and let her cry, her head in her hands.
Few moments later, she breathed deeply. “It’s not you, Tristan. I’m sorry that I couldn’t message you.” Her eyes glistened again. Tears were flowing down onto the scarf.
Why is she wearing the scarf?
It felt weird; she was hiding something from me. I held her shoulder and flipped her scarf. A big bruise below her chin stunned me.
“What’s this, Trisha? Who did this to you?” I couldn’t believe she was hurt like that and she was still working in the book store. “You should see a doctor.”
“I’m okay, Tristan, it’s nothing. I fell off my bike while coming in. It will be okay soon.”
She was hiding something; that bruise couldn’t have been from a fall. I knew from my experience that she had been hit by someone.
“Tell me the truth. I know it’s not because of a simple fall.”
“Please don’t push me, Tristan, it’s nothing. Please don’t force me into this.” She looked away.
“As your employer and a friend, I need to know this, Trisha. Tell me, or I’ll call 9-1-1.” I took out my cell.” Tell me the truth, Trisha.”
“It’s my cousin. He is living with us. He and his friends beat me for some money.” She wept hard and fell on her knees.
I was stunned. It was beyond my imagination. “How many days?”
“Since my mom’s been in the hospi...” another sob, “hospital. I can’t take it anymore, Tristan, but I’ve nowhere to go.”
I pulled her up and held her to my heart. “Don’t worry, Trisha. we’ll make this right. Is your cousin home right now?”
“Yes, b...but why?” she asked innocently.
“Let’s go and teach him a lesson.” I couldn’t bear that he could hit a sweet girl like Trisha. I was going to teach him a lesson and then give him to the cops.
I closed the book store and drove to Trisha’s house. She was living in a suburb. Her apartment was small, but the surroundings were clean and neat.
“Give me the keys,” I asked.
“Please, Tristan, let’s go back.” She pulled me back.
“Key, please,” I replied in a firm voice.
I opened the door with a bang.
Three kids, in their late teens, maybe nineteen or twenty years old, were sitting in a circle, drinking some beer and inhaling some white powder from a paper. It was surely drugs. I opened the door with a bang, but they hadn’t even noticed us. I thought they were stunned.
“Who hit you?” I asked Trisha without looking back at her.
“The middle one. He is my cousin. Please, let’s get out of here. If he finds out that I told you, he will beat me again.”
“No, we are not going back until we teach them a lesson. How could they hit a girl?” I looked back at them. I went ahead and tipped the newspaper on which they had put their powder.
“Who the fuck?” her cousin shouted and turned his head to us. His movements were sluggish and dazed. He seemed to be under the effect of the drugs. “Who are you?” He looked at Trisha. “You brought him here, cuz? Do you need another beating. Take him away. we’re busy.” He crawled on his knees to collect the powder that had spilled on the floor.
“You jerk.” I bit my lower lip. My nerves had been at a boiling point before I came in that apartment, and now he pressed me hard. My blood heated in anger. I wanted to grab that boy by his head and beat him until he spilled blood out of his mouth.
Instead, I kicked her cousin in his oblique; he got tossed on the wall.
He screamed in pain.
“Bastard.” His other friend stood up and out of nowhere, he hit me with a knife. I was quick enough to avoid it, but it still slashed my arm. I pressed my hand on the wound; the third person stood up and went to one corner. Trisha’s cousin recovered from his pain and walked to another corner. All three were standing in three different corners...
“They are coming soon. Are you sure he’s not dead?” Trisha snapped me out of my thoughts.
Back to the present.
I looked at the unconscious bastard. “Don’t worry, he’s not dead yet. And when cops come, tell them the truth.”
“I will.” She was still looking at the knife I had just taken out of my arm. It was throbbing, but my mind was still wondering about the whole situation.
Half an hour later, paramedics were attending to me and Trisha was being interviewed by a lady officer.
While the paramedic attended to my wounds, the cops assured me that they would be taking care of Trisha and would release her to her mother.
“Thanks, Officer. Here is my card. If you need any help on this one, please give me a call.”
“Thanks, Mr. Scott. Thanks for taking care of the girl. And we would require you in court in couple of days.”
“Sure, and my pleasure. She is a sweetheart.” I smiled at Trisha. She was now calm and responding to the lady officer well.” Trisha,” I called to her, “I’m leaving. If you need anything, give me a call.”
Trisha smiled back and waved goodbye. Her eyes still had a touch of sadness; she would require many days to recover from it, but the officers were there and they would be taking good care of her.
Driving was a little painful with the wound in my left arm, but I managed it somehow. On the journey back, my mind was dwelling on the domestic violence cases I’d read about in the newspapers. It was closer to home than I’d ever thought. If I hadn’t acted that day, God knows where Trisha would have ended up. A shiver passed through my spine at just the thought of it.
Going back to the bookstore was an option for me, but the day’s drama and pain in my hand turned my thoughts dark; I decided to head back home and get some rest.