Rutledge (Mayfair Model Series Book 3) Read online

  Rutledge

  Mayfair Model Series

  Claire Castle

  Copyright © 2020 by Claire Castle

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author, except for using small quotes for book review quotations. All characters and storylines are the property of the author. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are fictitious.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing provided by: Lisa Cullinan

  Warning: Intended for a mature 18+ audience only. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.

  Created with Vellum

  INDEX OF TERMS

  Castell Institute – fictional dance academy

  Finite – fictional clothing brand

  NYC Squared Models – fictional modelling agency

  Models Inc. - fictional modelling agency

  Swim for your Life - fictional romance story

  La Siesta - fictional contemporary dance performance

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Claire Castle

  1

  RUTLEDGE

  The atmosphere in the club was becoming too much for me—too loud, too crowded, and too stifling hot—so I moved to a secluded corner, hoping to get some much-needed space. I glanced around the dark club in desperation for Greyson, but there was no sign of him. The magazine editor suddenly had me second guessing my decision to accept his invite for a night out. I’d rather be back home in a tank top and shorts, sipping champagne and reading a mystery.

  I pulled my soaked t-shirt away from my neck while I tried to work my way to an exit door through the writhing, sweaty bodies. Was it me, or were the walls closing in? Everyone seemed to sway in an unusually robotic way; maybe it was my imagination. Random hands touched me, but I quickly swerved around them towards a light that I hoped was a way out.

  Finally, I saw the magazine editor who I’d worked with earlier in the day, over by the bar, talking to the bartender. “Hey, uh, Greyson, I’m going to go.”

  He didn’t seem too bothered and I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t that fazed either. We hadn’t hit it off or anything. Far from it. “Okay, man. Have a good night.”

  Man? That was it. Wow, okay, any slight second thoughts I might have had went right out the window. “See you.”

  Eventually, I made it to the exit and took a breath of the fresh night air while shoving my hands in my jacket pockets. I glanced over at the tube station but couldn’t handle the thought of it being busy, so I figured I’d be fine walking. Even though It was three a.m. and very dark without a star in the sky, there were other revellers about, having just left other clubs in the area.

  Turning left in the direction of the apartment I rented in West London, I walked at a brisk pace. Someone whistled in the distance, and I turned around. It was an automatic reaction, though I doubted it was meant for me. A moment of eeriness blanketed me as voices and car horns barely echoed in the distance. My previous sense of security at having people around was gone, and I felt cold and alone. A lone cab drove by and I debated whether to flag it down. Maybe walking around the city on my own in the middle of the night was not such a good plan.

  Glancing around, I stood under a streetlight for a few moments, moving foot to foot, trying to will another cab to appear, when I really should’ve been walking back to the main road near the club. While I debated my options, I obviously wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, because suddenly, there were five or six guys yelling obscenities. Horrible words: “Motherfucker! Faggot!”

  I zipped my coat up a bit more and tried as I might to avoid detection. Like a stealthy pickpocket who’d already stolen his wares and not wanting to get caught, I decided to take a shortcut home and steer clear of the hooligans. As I ran—fueled by adrenaline only—my right foot landed on something. Glass, I thought, as it glinted in what little light there was. My feet crunched down on it, and the snapping sound seemed to echo around the street. Turning around, I saw the men had noticed me—maybe even followed me. Fuck. I took off again but tripped shortly thereafter, and while I’d scratched my lips, my cheek, and both hands, that was the least of my worries right now.

  Ducking into a dark alley, I stood frozen to the spot, letting out shallow breaths while I listened for any footsteps behind me. Although my legs were shaking, I was beginning to think that stopping was a bad idea. I heard a whoosh above me and looked up to see it was only a bird. While I started walking a bit farther, something felt cold on my lip, and when I touched it, I saw red glistening on my fingers. Fuck.

  Stomping footsteps could be heard ahead. Shit, I had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. My shallow breathing felt loud in my head. Who should I call? I patted my outside pocket, but my phone was gone, so I bent down and crawled back, trying to feel if I’d dropped it on the ground. No, there was nothing but dirt.

  While I was crouched down, I feared I was having a full out panic attack. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I bowed my head forward, trying to hide. How ironic that I was in an area that would be busy with people rushing to work in a couple of hours. If I had to guess, it was probably around four a.m. now. My lips wobbled of their own accord.

  A split second later, I felt pulsing, then a kick and another. Curling into myself, I was in so much pain but didn’t dare move, hoping it was all superficial wounds. I caught a swift movement in sort of a shadow, but my eyes were almost closed. I was sure that he was about to kick at my head but thought better of it.

  “Don’t. It will leave brain damage,” I heard one of them say.

  Someone let out an eerie, horrible laugh, but following that, I couldn’t tell what happened next. Darkness surrounded me, not the serene kind of darkness like a night with few clouds, but an evil, haunting darkness from a nightmare that wouldn’t let me wake up.

  “Fucking fag,” I heard above me and then felt something wet and disgusting hit me, spit was my best guess. Great, the asshole must have had a sidekick.

  “Come on. People will catch us. Fook, come on.” That one had a thick Scottish accent. I didn’t dare move or open my eyes. Footsteps surrounded me. Were they coming in for another round? I couldn’t say. Instead, I lay there like a statue, for how long, I wasn’t sure.

  It was quiet. So quiet. I was going to die here, wasn’t I? My hollow breathing was all I could hear. Snot fell down my face, at least I assumed it was only that and not blood.
I opened and closed my jaw, trying to figure out if it was broken, but it seemed okay.

  “Hello, are you all right?” a voice said overhead, sounding friendlier, not gruff and harsh from earlier.

  I cowered, trying to make myself smaller. What if it was one of the guys who had attacked me coming back for another blow. So I said nothing.

  “I won’t harm you. I promise.” He held a hand out.

  I couldn’t really see much other than shaggy blond hair that came down just below his ears and glittery eyeshadow, but I took his hand. I was trying to think logically, although I wasn’t sure how well it was working. I let out a sigh and thought if he’d wanted to do something bad, he would have been able to by now. He crouched down to my level, and I could see he was smiling. His wide, sparkling eyes were full of warmth and joy.

  “Okay, thank you.” My voice cracked. “I, uh, lost my phone. Can you find me a cab or maybe stay with me until one comes?” My voice wavered and my stomach rolled in waves of nausea.

  The kind man pulled a floral fabric napkin out of nowhere. If I wasn’t in such a state or if I knew him better, I probably would have made a joke about who still owned those things.

  “What? No, I‘m staying at a hotel just around the corner. If you come with me, I can get you cleaned up, or should I take you to the hospital instead?” I debated the options and glanced at him again. He was staring at me, but not in a weird way, only as if he was concerned and planned to wait. His grip was firm and warm. He obviously wasn’t going to simply let me go—I didn’t want him to anyway—nor did I want to go to a hospital. At that point, I was so weak and tired. They’d kicked and bruised me, but because I’d acted like it was worse than it was, I think I might have gotten off lightly. Still, I started to shake in fear again.

  The stranger pulled me up, and I wrapped an arm over his shoulder and hobbled beside him. I tried to push all the trauma from my brain and pretend the last hours hadn’t happened and that I was safe for now. No one needed to find out. There was nothing I hated more than drawing attention to myself; the juxtaposition of that and my being a model always made my friends laugh.

  “This is it. Can you manage those steps?” He pointed to the stairs leading up to the hotel lobby.

  “Yes. Uh, thanks.” I slowly made my way up but not without sweat beading on my forehead. It felt like I’d done more than my weekly workouts with the evil personal trainer I’d had back in America, the one who told me it was for my own good.

  It was dimly lit inside, and I couldn’t really make out my surroundings; my brain was too fuzzy and out of sorts to try and figure it out. Silence blanketed us as we went up an elevator to the sixth floor. When we reached the hotel room, my eyes darted back and forth. The silence was broken after he turned to me with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave the door unlocked if you want to make a beeline for it.”

  I let out a meek laugh. “Uh, thanks. I’m good. I think if you wanted to keep me locked up or my body hidden, you’d have just dragged me behind the dumpster in the alley, not brought me to a posh hotel room. So … um, really … thanks again.”

  “Sure, it’s no problem. Why don’t you have a seat?” I hadn’t noticed that he already placed me near a chair next to a table by the window. He left for a few moments, and then reappeared with a small glass that he placed on top of the table and what looked like a damp cloth. He proceeded to gently wipe around my bleeding nose while applying some pressure to it. That was followed by prodding and poking. “Not broken,” he said. “What, ah, happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

  He continued to clean me up and then instructed me to lift my shirt. I hadn’t noticed that he’d also brought a large rolled up bandage to wrap around my stomach to my back. His touch was gentle and warm, and for a split second, I wanted to lean into it. I let him continue his ministrations in silence and took in his beautiful face instead: blue eyes surrounded by black eyeliner and glitter, a long, lean face, and kissable lips.

  “Instead of walking home after being at a club—”

  He stopped me as soon as he pressed right under my ribs where it was bruised.

  “Ow,” I let out a disgruntled noise.

  “This will heal, I‘m sure. Just don’t overdo it.” Light glinted off the glass from the table as he handed it to me. “Drink this.”

  I took a sip of the dark liquid, then sputtered. “Wow, that’s strong.” It was whiskey of some sort. I wasn’t really in the frame of mind to question it. The second sip was smoother and went down much easier. Silence surrounded us, but it wasn’t awkward; instead, I felt at ease with this man. It was unusual because I rarely trusted anyone more than as an acquaintance or in the professional manner I was expected to for work. A shiver ran through me, and I was overwhelmed by everything. I let out a sigh just thinking about how this man had saved me. I cleared my throat and spoke, “Uh, thanks. You really … I can’t say how much I appreciate this.” Then my voice broke and I leaned forward. He merely rubbed my back.

  I hadn’t even had time to take in what he said about healing. What about my modelling and if they wanted a torso shot? That made me perk up. “Did you say my ribs would fully heal?” I asked anxiously. I didn’t even know if he was a doctor or a nurse, but the reassurance from anyone seemed like it would put my mind at ease right now.

  “Yes, I think so. Maybe you might want to get checked out.” When he carefully pulled me up, we stood nose to nose, almost the same height. He grabbed my hand and I followed him down a hallway.

  For a split second, I wondered if I was dreaming as I continued my story from his previous question. “So, I was walking down the street, minding my own business, and some guys started trailing me. I wanted to call a cab but was worried they’d take my phone if I slowed down or stopped to make a call, so I started to run. The faster I ran, they did too. They must have been giraffes the way their long strides caught up. Then I bolted down a side street.” I tried to eject some humour into the situation, even though I felt anything but in the mood for a joke.

  “Anyway, they caught up to me. I was trapped. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, kind of just bent in two like a folding chair, and then they were kicking me.” Subconsciously, I put my hand up to my nose. “I think that my nose is more from when I fell, but I led them to believe they’d done that. I tried to stay still, hoping there’d be less likelihood of them continuing. I was so scared.” Quivering, I curled into a ball on whatever bed I was on. He must have moved me there, but I had no recollection. I never did finish telling him the story since I drifted off to sleep. So tired. I was so tired. That was all I remembered thinking.

  2

  OLLIE

  I’d left some ibuprofen and water on the nightstand for the young man I found on the street.

  I wanted to maim the bastards who did that to him. And he hadn’t even told me the whole story. I needed to find his family, his friends. When I’d asked him who I should call, he just shook his head and mumbled, “No, don’t bother anyone.”

  So I took matters into my own hands. I went through his stuff, but not without good reason. In an inside pocket of his hoodie, I came across the phone he’d thought he lost. The screen had a crack across it, but it still appeared to work. I scrolled to the recent numbers—not many—and called the last one. It was then that I realized it was only five a.m.

  “Rutledge, what’s wrong?” A deep male voice came across the line.

  “No, ah, I found him in the street, but he didn’t want me to call anyone. I just, uh, thought I better. Yours was the last number he’d dialled. Can you, um, maybe come and get him.” Saying it out loud brought it all to life how anyone could do that to someone. I tried to hold back a gasp and not think about what would have happened if they got to him again or I hadn’t found him.

  “Found him? What do you mean exactly?” The man suddenly sounded frantic and alert. Scared even.

  My voice probably mirrored his. “Ah, he was beat up and left to fend for himself.” At first, I
wanted to lessen his worry, but then I just blurted out, “In an alleyway off the street.” I’d hardly completed the sentence before I heard him ask for the address. I hit End on the phone and put it back in his hoodie, then glanced over and saw he was still asleep, so I quietly creeped out of the room.

  A half hour later, I made my way down to the lobby. There was no one there except the receptionist. As I waited, one of the most handsome men I’d ever laid eyes on appeared.

  “Mr. Easton,” he said, extending his hand to me.

  “Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Mr. Abbott.” And then the niceties were over.

  “Thank you, for everything. Do you know if the police were called?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Um, not exactly. It’s just been a whirlwind. Ah, come upstairs.” He followed me towards the elevator.

  I opened the door to my suite and ushered him in, then pointed to my bedroom. Rutledge—for I knew his name now when Marshall had answered the call—was still sleeping in a ball, curled up like a cat.

  “I’ll take him home with me. Thank you again.” His forehead was creased as if he was in agony too. He scooped him up as someone would carry their new partner across the threshold.

  I let out a sigh of relief as I watched them go. He’d be okay.