The other two this time. The other fucking twin, and Lydia in-tow.
Lydia who pulled open the door and stared at him. As if scrutinizing. As if she had any right. As if she drew some fucking significance from whatever she saw at his throat.
Bruises. The same bruises the absolute fucks from security goggled over and thrust pointed questions about. Darius had been three steps from the door, about to charge after Lydia and the bastard before her when hotel security flocked in with shouts and questions aplenty. Prying, 'Are you in danger' and 'Are you all right' and fucking no of course Darius wasn't not fucking all right but that had nothing to do with his goddamn throat and everything to do with the busted door and crowd of guards and, yes, with the absent Puppy Darius knows better than to mention.
With Enri who fucking needs him, who was told to stay and who shouted for him and who Darius didn't get a single solid glimpse of. With Enri who was supposed to be on Darius's bed right now, safe and fucking sound, only the door's been broken in and now Darius is stuck dealing with this absolute fucking mess, telling the troop of assholes that he'll pay for the damage, never fucking mind why or how it happened and never fucking mind the bruises, just fix the damned door and let him get on with his fucking day.
It takes longer than he'd like to shake away.
It doesn't, in the grand scheme of things, take particularly long at all. Cash works wonders, as does a bit of purposeful rage, to tie things up and set a plan in motion: Darius is going to pay double for repairs, the door will be fixed within the half-hour, and meanwhile, there's space to step outside, phone clutched in-hand, watching the room through the door.
Does he want to press charges, they'd asked. There's security footage, they'd suggested. Probably plenty of witnesses.
And he'd said no. And he's going to speak with whatever fucker he can find with access to those cameras, unless Custis fucking Pendleton - or, shit's fucking sake, Alice fucking Colling - gets there first.
That's in the 'future steps' category, though. That's in the 'it'd be nice, but it's not dire' category. What's important right now is the number he's dialing. What's important right now is the call ringing through, and fuck, shit, fuck, he hopes Enri managed to grab his phone. And if Enri didn't, then fuck it, Darius is making a trip to the Pendleton suite right fucking now, let Morgan try to gut him if the bastard wants.
Darius is going to get this Puppy back.
When Enri answers, if Enri answers, Darius is quick to speak, a command bearing warmth at its edges: "Puppy. Breathe.
"Daddy's coming for you. I'm going to bring you back.
no subject
The other two this time. The other fucking twin, and Lydia in-tow.
Lydia who pulled open the door and stared at him. As if scrutinizing. As if she had any right. As if she drew some fucking significance from whatever she saw at his throat.
Bruises. The same bruises the absolute fucks from security goggled over and thrust pointed questions about. Darius had been three steps from the door, about to charge after Lydia and the bastard before her when hotel security flocked in with shouts and questions aplenty. Prying, 'Are you in danger' and 'Are you all right' and fucking no of course Darius wasn't not fucking all right but that had nothing to do with his goddamn throat and everything to do with the busted door and crowd of guards and, yes, with the absent Puppy Darius knows better than to mention.
With Enri who fucking needs him, who was told to stay and who shouted for him and who Darius didn't get a single solid glimpse of. With Enri who was supposed to be on Darius's bed right now, safe and fucking sound, only the door's been broken in and now Darius is stuck dealing with this absolute fucking mess, telling the troop of assholes that he'll pay for the damage, never fucking mind why or how it happened and never fucking mind the bruises, just fix the damned door and let him get on with his fucking day.
It takes longer than he'd like to shake away.
It doesn't, in the grand scheme of things, take particularly long at all. Cash works wonders, as does a bit of purposeful rage, to tie things up and set a plan in motion: Darius is going to pay double for repairs, the door will be fixed within the half-hour, and meanwhile, there's space to step outside, phone clutched in-hand, watching the room through the door.
Does he want to press charges, they'd asked. There's security footage, they'd suggested. Probably plenty of witnesses.
And he'd said no. And he's going to speak with whatever fucker he can find with access to those cameras, unless Custis fucking Pendleton - or, shit's fucking sake, Alice fucking Colling - gets there first.
That's in the 'future steps' category, though. That's in the 'it'd be nice, but it's not dire' category. What's important right now is the number he's dialing. What's important right now is the call ringing through, and fuck, shit, fuck, he hopes Enri managed to grab his phone. And if Enri didn't, then fuck it, Darius is making a trip to the Pendleton suite right fucking now, let Morgan try to gut him if the bastard wants.
Darius is going to get this Puppy back.
When Enri answers, if Enri answers, Darius is quick to speak, a command bearing warmth at its edges: "Puppy. Breathe.
"Daddy's coming for you. I'm going to bring you back.
"It's okay. I'm here."