Page 146 of House of Crimson Kisses
Shouts rent the air, the noise blisters. Words are indecipherable. I grab my dress, clutching it as I manage to half pull it over my head.
Eleanor grabs my hand. Her eyes are wild and harried. She squeezes so tight I fear my bones will crack.
“I was wrong,” she pants. “We should have run. I never want to leave you.” This time she cries, and clarity floods my mind.
I glance frantically around the rooms, searching for the familiarity I’m afraid of and yet I know I’ll find.
The logos on their uniforms. My mother’s house: St Clair, and on the others, the Randall family crest.
They found us.
I lurch forward and clutch Eleanor to me. She’s put her trousers on and her shirt, though it’s not done up. She doesn’t even try to fix the buttons. Instead, we cling to each other, half naked and desperate.
Our hands dig into each other’s skin, only this time my nails don’t mark her as mine, but with a desperate plea: please don’t let go.
The first man, a Randall, lunges for Eleanor and grabs her around the waist. She jerks back; the force tugging away one of her hands, leaving us connected by one hand. Her grip stays firm.
She lashes at the man. Throwing wild fists at his head, his neck. Her leg kicks out almost pulling me over.
“Eleanor,” I shriek, as a second man grabs hold of her. I’m knocked forward, as a man, a St Clair, leaps at me.
“No!” Eleanor shrieks.
But I am not as strong as her. One of my fingers slips. The heat and sweat between our palms making it hard to hold on.
The man drags me up and yanks at me.
But I refuse to let go. My knuckles ache with the strain, the skin between my fingers stretching and splitting where I refuse to let go.
“Eleanor, please,” I beg.
But I no longer know what I’m begging for. This is inevitable. It’s too late to stop them. Too late to run.
A second man grabs hold of me, a third on Eleanor.
She is a force. Her shoulders and neck strain with the effort of not letting me go. Veins pulse in her face and down her throat while her muscles quiver and burn with the effort of maintaining her grip on me.
The same heat floods my shoulders, the strain feels like my joints will pop. But still I refuse to let go.
And then, two women walk through the front door and into the living room where Eleanor and I are now horizontal, being tugged apart like a rope across the living room.
Their faces are shadowed by the light behind them. But when they are revealed with their proximity, all the fight leaves me. I know we’ve lost.
“Mother,” both Eleanor and I say simultaneously.
The two matriarchs of our families stand before us. Both wearing scowls that could freeze oceans, destroy cities and sever heads.
“Release her,” my mother says.
“Mama, please.”
“Eleanor,” her mother says, her tone sharp enough to cut our wrists.
Our mothers look at each other and give each other a slight incline of the head.
But it’s my mother who speaks for them both. “We will ask you once, to choose to let go...”
She turns to Eleanor’s mother who says. “Or the consequence will start a war that will tear the city and both of our families apart. We are agreed. Our families cannot be joined. We will do whatever it takes to protect the integrity of this city’s economy.”
