Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I sucked in my stomach, tried to make myself as small as possible.
Then I rushed past, scraping my hips against the counter and yanking open each drawer as I went, hoping one might catch him, slow him down, something.
I flew out the door, praying there wasn’t a second set of hands to grab me as I rushed down the short hallway toward my bedroom.
But hands shoved me hard, making me stumble forward.
I managed not to fall, but before I could surge forward again, he landed a kick to the back of my leg, sending me down onto my knees, the impact of the hard floor sending pain shooting through my thighs and hips.
Heartbeat hammering, I scrambled forward on all fours, trying to get to the side of the bed.
A handful of my hair was grabbed. I was shoved forward, the whole side of my face catching the edge of my wooden bed frame.
My lip split, a metallic taste filling my mouth as I finally drew in a breath and did all I could do as he viciously yanked my hair.
I screamed with everything I had.
It only lasted maybe three seconds before one hand yanked my hair until my head was arched unnaturally backward. Then his hand was over my mouth, fingers digging in, silencing me.
I tried to throw my weight forward, to use the side of the bed to pull myself out of his grip.
It was no use.
He was too strong as his arm wrapped around my waist, pinning me to his body.
“You’re gonna pay for what you did in Georgia.”
Georgia.
Where I’d bested not only him, but his buddy.
I could do it again.
I had to.
I reached up onto the bed, knowing I’d left the remote up there when I’d turned the TV off earlier.
I felt around blindly, my head and chest getting tighter as my oxygen depleted until, finally, my hand closed around the hard plastic.
With a death grip on half of it, I drove the other end into the man’s knuckles with every bit of strength I had left.
“Fuck,” he snarled, his hand dropping.
I gasped for breath and surged forward.
But a remote wasn’t much of a weapon.
Before my fingertips could touch the gun safe, I was shoved forward.
This time, his knees pressed into my back, making me choke for air once again as the crushing sensation felt like my ribcage was splintering apart.
I tried to scream, but nothing but a rough rasp escaped my lips.
I couldn’t reach him to hit, couldn’t kick, could do nothing but lie there and feel my life flash before my eyes.
Denali, being told by York that she would never see me again. The nonstop tears, the questions, the uncertainty. Denali, growing into a teenager and young adult without me. Traveling, falling in love, maybe having babies of her own one day…
I’d never get to see any of that.
Tears flooded my eyes as a whooshing sound had me jolting.
I knew that sound.
I’d heard it many times during my childhood. I’d been a reckless kid, never following the rules, always getting into little troubles.
And I had a grandfather who believed in corporal punishment, no matter how many times it never worked on me.
I knew the sound of a belt leaving its hoops better than most.
But this guy wasn’t there to beat me.
He didn’t even seem interested in assaulting me.
He just wanted me dead.
The loop closed around my forehead, and I tried to press my face to the hard floor, attempted to squeeze my chin to my neck. But all he had to do was grab my hair again, yank violently backward, and the belt was around my throat.
Tightening.
Squeezing.
The leather was more unrelenting than a hand, the frayed edges biting into my skin, the pressure even and unyielding.
My heartbeat went from a quick hammering to a slow, thick thud.
My vision darkened around the edges.
Then, suddenly, light.
Flashing around the room in a small strobe.
A voice.
“Hey!”
I wanted it to be him. I wanted it to be him so badly. But I didn’t know that voice. It sounded young, angry, but scared around the edges.
“Get off of her!”
The flashlight beam shook around the room for a second before I heard a crack as, I assumed, it smacked into the head of my attacker.
“What’s going on in here?”
Another voice. Male. Older.
The pressure on my body eased as my attacker turned to face the men.
With leaden arms, I reached up, yanking the belt loose enough to start sucking in greedy gulps of air.
I was aware of yelling, of some slamming, of footsteps. But I couldn’t even make myself push up from where I was on the floor. I just lay there, air burning my lungs, throat screaming, too weak even to lift my head.
I was aware of someone, likely the older guy, finding the breaker box, of the lights all flashing back on.