Thy Kingdom Come

Locking the door, I continue my ruse of dusting, a rush of adrenaline thrumming through me at not being caught. If only the Duffys knew the real reason I’m here. But they will. Soon enough.

Once I’m done dusting, I collect the supplies I need to clean the main bedroom. I’ll take a quick look around as I haven’t been able to do so with Mrs. Duffy around. I’m feeling good about this because it’s only a matter of time until I can leave this hellhole for good and go home.

I miss them. So much.

My mind is so lost to a place I yearn to return, that I’m not aware of my surroundings until it’s too late. I turn the corner and bump into a delectable smelling wall. However, that doesn’t make a lick of sense because I’m in the hallway.

I peer up and up and see the wall is actually the muscled chest of the last person I expected to see here.

“Punky?” I can’t hide my surprise because what in the ever-living hell is he doing here?

However, it doesn’t take me long to catch up to speed when I see he’s wearing a pressed white shirt and black ripped jeans. His long fringe is flicked to the left, styled this way to accent his bad-boy look.

He looks incredible.

But no matter how incredible he looks, him being here leaves the most bitter taste in my mouth because he is Darcy’s guest. I’m going to be sick.

“Babydoll?” he says, his surprise clear. “I didn’t think ya were workin’ today.”

Needing to get my head back in the game, a game where Punky does not exist, I pull back my shoulders and ensure my mask is firmly in place. “Well, I am. If you’ll excuse me.”

I attempt to push past him, but he doesn’t let me move an inch.

Gripping my wrist, he looks at me closely. He examines my face, down my chest, and then ends with my feet. I’m covered, so there is no way he can see the atrocities which remain hidden beneath my uniform. But I nervously lick my lips, nonetheless.

“What happened to yer face?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

Shit.

I slathered on the makeup, and no one has noticed thus far. But Punky isn’t no one. I should know that by now.

“That’s none of your concern.” I use his own response as ammo back at him because when I asked the same question, he had no intention of sharing. And neither do I.

Yanking out of his hold, I shove past him, but again, he stops me, and this time, he ensures I’m not going anywhere as he pushes me and pins me to the wall. He places his hands either side of my head, caging me in. I shove against his chest.

He doesn’t speak, but in this case, actions speak a lot louder than words. He examines every inch of me, those blue eyes looking for any clues.

“I’m sure your date will be looking for you,” I sarcastically bite, still unbelieving he is here of his own accord.

But he ignores the jab.

He keeps one hand fixed to the wall, but with the other, he gently runs his thumb over my chin. I flinch as I’m not used to such a tender touch. It surprises me. As do the trail of goose bumps which coat my skin.

No matter how hard I try to stay calm, my labored breathing gives me away. Being this close to Punky is a drug, and like a junkie, I want more…more…more.

A look I can’t quite place overcomes him, and I’m too late to stop him when he pulls down the sleeve of my loose-fitting dress, exposing the purply blue bruise on my shoulder, courtesy of my beating three days ago.

“Who did this to you?” he orders, his voice frighteningly low.

Frantically, I attempt to pull up the sleeve of my dress, but he won’t permit me to cover my shame. “I fell down the stairs,” I whisper angrily, not wanting Darcy or anyone else to hear our exchange.

“Bullshit!” he growls, not caring who hears it seems. “Tell me.”

I fight him, desperate he doesn’t continue disrobing me as I’m afraid of what he’ll see. But the harder I fight, the more evident it becomes I’ve got something to hide. Punky yanks down both sleeves and spins me around so my bare back faces him.

A horrified breath escapes him when he sees the ghastly mess. The fresh welts from this morning’s beating are swirled among the bruising I’ve withstood since coming to this god forsaken country.

I drop my chin to my chest, wishing I could just disappear.

“The fuck? Ya got…whipped?” His surprise is clear because being whipped without the kink is just punishment, a brutal form of torture.

I hold back my tears, and his question remains unanswered. I can’t tell him what happened, no matter how badly I want to.

“Go back to your perfect date and forget this ha-happened,” I assert, but the quiver to my voice betrays my bravado.

I’m clutching onto the front of my dress, the material bunched in my tight fists as I wait for Punky to let me go. He’s seen the ugliness as these scars come with baggage, and what sort of man wants to deal with that.

But what he does next has a single tear trickling down my cheek.

At first, I think my fragile mind has conjured up such an occurrence to deal with the humiliation, the pain, but when I feel the unmistakable glide of flesh upon flesh, I know that this is really happening—Punky is stroking over my wounds. He isn’t repulsed by my humiliation.

“I can’t forget,” he confesses, his fingers gently tracing over the welts on my back. “I don’t want to. And I don’t want perfect…I want real.”

I allow myself this moment of silence because I know it won’t last. It can’t.

“I’m sorry this has happened to ya. I know what it’s like,” he shares with regret. “My aul’ lad, he knocked me out. And then the next night, I got into a fight. That’s what happened to my face. And the brooch…it, it belonged to my mum.”

His confession is laced with so much pain, I feel it all the way to my core. I now know why I gravitated toward him. We both share something life changing which has shaped us into the damaged people we are today.

I don’t need him to explain what happened to her. I can guess. Him speaking about his mother in the past tense says it all, and that breaks my heart because it hits close to home.

“So thanks for giving it back.”

“It’s okay,” I reply softly. “I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.”

“Who did this to ya, Baby?”

I like this nickname for me too.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Course, it matters. No one has the right to lay a hand on ya. I’ll break every bone in their fucking body for doin’ so.” He strokes over the large welt across my back; his touch filled with nothing but compassion.

I can’t take his kindness. I don’t deserve it.

Gently shrugging away, he gets the hint and lets me get dressed with my back turned. I wish I could slip away and forget this encounter ever occurred, but he shared something personal with me, and I don’t want to throw that back in his face by not at least acknowledging it.

With courage filling my lungs, I turn around and slowly lift my chin to face Punky. I see nothing but sincerity reflected in those clear blue eyes. “Thank you, but I can look after myself. I better get back to work. And you better get back to Darcy.”

I wish I did a better job at concealing my jealousy because being jealous means I care, and I can’t care about Puck Kelly.

“I’m not here ’cause I want to be,” he reveals, shaking his head and thumbing over my bottom lip slowly.

“Then why are you?” His touch sets me alight.

“She has somethin’ I need,” he reveals, finally releasing me from this spell he’s cast.