Page 84 of Deliah

“So is Damion your boyfriend then, Deliah?”

I blinked, halfway through laughing at something Cherry said. “Erm… no, well… kinda. We’re just seeing each other.”

He scoffed, and the sound hit like a slap. “Oh. Is that what he told you?”

The air in the room shifted. Thickened. My blood ran hot as the laughter drained from my throat.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, slowly, cautiously.

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him like it was some fucking trap.

“I know Damion,” he said, crossing his arms, tone smug. “Known him for years. Seen him with girls like you before.”

My stomach dropped, slow and sick. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

He shrugged, casual as anything. “He’s a dickhead. Used to come into the club I managed in London. Flashing money like he owned the place. Treated the girls like fucking property. Like they were toys.”

“Shut up, Charlie,” Cherry snapped. “You don’t know shit.”

His head whipped towards her, eyes narrowing. “Fuck off, Cherry. Don’t you have a home to go to?”

I turned to her. “It’s fine. Go wait in the car. I want to hear what he has to say.”

Her eyes darted between us. “Deliah—”

“I’ll be five minutes,” I said more firmly.

She hesitated, jaw set, then gave Charlie a look like she’d happily strangle him with her handbag strap and stormed out.

I turned back. “Right. Go on then. What the fuck are you trying to say?”

He leaned back against the lockers like he had all the time in the world. “I’m just warning you, Deliah. I know what he does to women.”

I clenched my fists. My pulse thudded in my ears. “How the fuck would you know that?”

“Because I saw what he did to Layla.”

My head jerked back. “Who the fuck is Layla?”

His face darkened. “Some girl he got his claws into. Got in her head. Made her fall for him—properly fall. Then tossed her out like trash when he got bored.”

I stared at him, heart hammering, breath caught somewhere in my throat. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. Close enough to smell the whisky on his breath.

“You’re just another one of his fucking whores he’s going to ruin.”

That was when the staffroom door burst open. The air cracked with it. Damion stood in the doorway, tall and lethal, eyes burning.

“What the fuck did you just say to her?”

Charlie turned, smug like he’d been waiting for this. “I said she’s just another one of your fucking whores.”

It was instant. Damion launched. Fist first. The sound of knuckles against bone rang out like a gunshot. Charlie’s head snapped back, blood blooming from his nose as he stumbled—but then he came swinging. Fists. Elbows. Bodies slamming into lockers. Bottles clattered to the floor, chairs toppled, one of them knocking over a coat rack with a deafening crash.

“Stop it!” I screamed, shoving forward, trying to wedge myself between them. “Damion—stop!”

They didn’t hear me. Didn’t see me. They were too far gone. Charlie swung wild. Damion ducked low, then slammed him back against the lockers. Metal dented. Skin split. Shouting erupted from the hallway. Then, in the tumult, Charlie shoved me. I tripped—backwards—towards the table. My head hit thecorner. The sound wasn’t even loud. Just a sickening little crack. And then came the pain. Hot. White. Blinding. I dropped to the floor like my strings had been cut. My fingers scrambled to my scalp, slick and wet and warm. When I looked down, they were red. Blood. So much blood. Everything tilted sideways.