"Who Did This To You?"

Chapter 4

​Rihanna’s POV

​The wind was trying to rip my face off, which felt entirely uncalled for given the circumstances. I look bloody and ugly enough,  thank you very much...

​I clutched Sean’s waist like he was the last remaining life raft on planet Earth. My shoulder was a screaming, throbbing mess of agony, and my vision was beginning to do this fun little thing where the edges blurred into a fuzzy gray watercolor.

​The motorcycle roared beneath us, tearing through the midnight streets of the city like a demonic bat out of hell. It was terrifying. It was loud. And honestly, if I wasn't currently leaking blood onto Sean's ridiculously expensive dress shirt, I probably would have found it a little bit hot.

​Focus, Rihanna. You have a new hole in your body. Prioritize you life for once!

​Sean suddenly swerved, leaning the bike hard into a sharp right turn that took us toward the upper-class district, the place where all the billionaires hid their excessive wealth. He was heading toward his estate.

​“No!” I yelled, my voice cracking as the wind swallowed the sound. I hammered my good hand against his hard chest. “Stop! Don’t go there!”

​Sean didn’t slow down. He just tilted his head back slightly. “Shut up, Princeton! You’re bleeding out. I’m getting you to my house. My private doctor is already on his way.”

​“Are you thick?” I screamed back, ignoring the sharp spike of pain the effort cost me. “Stop the damn bike, Davis!” I didn’t care if he was my boss at this point. The motherfucker was about to get us killed... for real this time.

​With a violent screeech of rubber against asphalt, Sean pulled the motorcycle over onto the curb, the engine idling with a heavy, aggressive rumble. He threw his visor up, his stormy gray eyes blazing with absolute fury as he glared down at me.

​“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped, his grip tight on the handlebars. “You’ve been shot. In case your brain has stopped working alongside your lungs, that means you need medical attention. My house is secure.”

​“Your house is an obvious target!” I retorted, trying very hard not to faint right onto his lap. “Think about it, Mr. Genius CEO. Whoever just tried to turn us into Swiss cheese inside your own company building obviously knows your schedule. They know your address. If you show up at your mansion, they’ll just be waiting to finish the job!”

​Sean’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. He stared at me, evaluating my words, his corporate brain rapidly calculating the risks. “And what do you suggest, Princeton? We check into a motel? Sit in a hospital emergency room where the press can find us?”

​“We go to my place,” I wheezed. My head was spinning now. “Nobody knows where I live. It’s safe.”

​He let out a harsh, skeptical laugh. “Your place? You live in a cramped apartment on the edge of town, Rihanna. If they track us there, we’re trapped.”

​“Just… shut up and drive,” I muttered, my voice dropping into a barely-there whisper as the blood loss started taking a real toll. “Take the highway… exit four. I’ll direct you. Please.”

​Sean looked at me, his eyes softening for a fraction of a second as he noticed how pale I was becoming. He let out a sharp curse, slammed his visor back down, and kicked the bike into gear. “If we die because of your stubbornnness, Princeton, I’m firing you.”

​“Fair enough,” I thought.

​I managed to mumble the directions into his back every time he slowed down enough to hear me. My forehead rested against his shoulder blade, and despite the literal assassination attempt we had just survived, my stupid brain couldn't help but notice how solid he felt. He smelled like expensive cologne, whiskey, and raw adrenaline. It was a terrible time to be attracted to a man, but apparently, my hormones didn't care about my life either.

​When the bike finally pulled into the underground parking lot of a multi storey building, Sean killed the engine.

​He dismounted swiftly, then reached over and lifted me off the seat before my feet could even touch the pavement. Once again, I was in his arms, being carried bridal style like some tragic heroine in a cheesy romance novel.

​“I can walk,” I lied, my eyelids feeling like they weighed fifty pounds each.

​“You can barely breathe,” he countered flatly, walking with long, purposeful strides toward the private elevator lobby.

​When we stepped into the eleevator, Sean had to shift his grip to press the button for the top floor. Without his arms fully anchoring me, my knees instantly turned to jelly. I collapsed forward, burying my face straight into his chest, leaning my entire body weight against him just to stay upright.

​Great. Fantastic. Look at you, Rihanna. A total damsel in distresss, I scolded myself internally. Where is your dignity? Where is your fierce independence?

​But at the same time, a tiny, shameless part of me was absolutely thriving. His chest was incredibly broad, and the steady, rapid thumping of his heart beneath my cheek felt like the safest fucking place in the world. I fisted my uninjured hand into his shirt, soaking in the heat radiating off him.

​The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal a massive, ultra-modern penthouse suite.

​Sean blinked, looking around the expansive, high-ceilinged room with immediate suspicion. “A modest apartment, huh? What other thing did you lie about, Rihanna?”

​“People lie on their resumes all the time, its not new under the sun...Sir,” I mumbled.

​I stumbled out of his grip the moment we cleared the threshold. My legs shook, but I managed to stagger across the polished hardwood floor toward the kitchen area. I bypassed the furniture and went straight for the hidden utility closet, pulling out a massive, heavy-duty military-grade first aid box...perks of being my fathers daughter, I guess.

​I dropped the box onto the kitchen island with a loud thud, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

​“Princeton, sit down. Let me look at it,” Sean commanded, stepping toward me with his hands raised slightly, like he was trying to approach a wounded animal.

​“No. Stay there,” I barked, my voice taking on a sharp edge that actually made him pause.

​I didn't have time to be modest, and I definitely didn't have time to play the fragile secretary anymore. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was becoming blinding. With trembling fingers, I unbuttoned my cream blouse, and completely pulled it off, tossing the blood-soaked fabric onto the floor, making sure not to move my  left shoulder too much so I wouldn't fucking die.

I was left standing there in just my bra, the cool air of the penthouse hitting my skin.

​Sean froze. His gray eyes widened, a sudden flush of heat crossing his face as he stared at me. He looked completely shocked, utterly out of his depth for the first time since the alarm had gone off on my desk.

​I didn't care. I grabbed a bottle of antiseptic and a handful of sterile gauze from the box. Biting down hard on my lower lip until I tasted copper, I poured the alcohol straight over the gunshot wound on my shoulder.

​A choked, pathetic scream left my throat. My vision went entirely white for two seconds. I gripped the edge of the kitchen island, my knuckles turning white as the burning sensation ripped through my nervous system.

​“What the hell are you doing?” Sean hissed, snapping out of his trance. He marched over to me, his hands instantly reaching out to grab the gauze from my shaking fingers. “You’re going to give yourself shock. Let me help you.”

​He stepped up right behind me, his large body blocking the light as he leaned over my shoulder to take control of the medical supplies. But as his hands brushed my skin, he stopped.

​The room went completely, dead silent.

​Sean didn't move. He didn't speak. His breath hitched sharply against the back of my neck.

​I knew exactly what he was looking at. With my shirt off and the bright kitchen lights overhead, there was nowhere to hide. My back...the skin that had been hidden beneath thick, ugly cardigans for months...was completely covered in a network of small, pale, healed scars. Sharp, jagged lines from years of a "disciplinary" upbringing that my father had deemed necessary.

​The silence stretched between us, I almost faked a damn cough just so it wouldn't be so fucking quiet, until Sean finally spoke, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl that trembled with something I had never heard from him before.

​“Who did this to you?”