“But I am going to hurt you.” He took another step toward me, talking calmly, so calmly, almost like he was soothing a frightened child. “I’m going to hurt you enough to make you reconsider whatever you’re planning. You won’t make Elena talk because I’ll hurt her too. You won’t get to Wright because he’s a psychopath who could give a shit about you or your friend Skye McKenna. She’s just a dead piece of pussy, and if I have to come back after this, you will be too.”
I darted toward the kitchen, but I wasn’t fast enough. Heart in my throat, I choked out a yelp as I felt the sharp sting of my scalp pulling. Frank yanked me by my ponytail into his chest and covered my mouth with his hand, using his weight to force me to the floor. I fought with every ounce of rage inside me, bucking and battling, grappling and crawling, trying to get away from him.
Smashing my elbow into his face, I heard his grunt of pain as his grip on me loosened. I dug my nails into the floorboards, attempting to propel myself forward into the kitchen.
He grabbed me by the calves and hauled me back down the floor toward him. I cried out, my plea for help cut off as he flipped me like I weighed nothing and slammed me into the floor. He knocked the wind right out of me and I panicked, struggling to draw a breath.
Kramer drew back his fist and smashed it into my face. Fire blazed across my cheekbone as sparks of white light flared in my vision.
He hit me again, this time near my mouth, and I felt the sharp sting of my lip splitting.
Discombobulated, I couldn’t get myself together quickly enough to retreat before he hauled me up by the hair and punched me in the gut, winding me again.
Gasping for breath, I fell to my side. Fire exploded across my ribs as he kicked me as hard as he could. Another kick. Another.
And another.
Agony wrapped around me, but I tried to fight through it, tried to find my way back into my body.
“You had enough?” he asked, his voice sounding far away. “You’re just a little thing. I don’t want to go too far. Maybe I should break that cute little nose and we’ll call it a day, huh?”
Through the blurred vision of the eye I could feel swelling up, I gauged how close he was. Then I pulled my knees to my chest, pushed through the pain, and screamed as I punched out both feet toward his shins with as much force as I could. It sent him slamming down onto my coffee table, which collapsed beneath his weight. I scrambled to my feet and shot toward the door, slipping on magazines that scattered off the table.
I was almost there, sobbing in relief, when suddenly I toppled to the hardwood, yanked down by the ankle. Roaring in fury, screaming for help, I flipped onto my back, kicking out at his grasp. He was on his knees, coming toward me, and he threw himself onto me, his fist slamming into my face again.
My face felt like a ball of swollen, burning, throbbing pain as he squeezed my chin between his hand, hellfire in his eyes. “You need more, you little bitch?” Spittle flew from his frothing mouth.
Was I in hell?
Was he a hellhound?
Yes. I thought of his wife, Juanita, and how he didn’t even care about me like he’d obsessed over her. He’d cared if she died. He wouldn’t if I did.
Where were my neighbors? Couldn’t they hear this?
No one was coming to save me, I realized.
No.
No way had I survived the shitty cards I’d been dealt in the twenty-six years I’d spent on this planet to break at the hands of this dickless abuser!
I grabbed for Kramer’s throat, trying to choke him, my nails clawing at his jugular. Kramer punched me, this time connecting with my temple.
I lost consciousness. I didn’t know for how long, but when I came to, he was still there, so it couldn’t have been long.
He straddled me, panting, hard. My vision was hazy; the room spun. Kramer wiped his nose and then spat on me. The wet fluid landed on my cheek, just below my eye.
The son of a bitch.
I turned away in disgust, and that’s when I spotted my keys on the floor.
My arm snapped out, my hands clawing at them, and as I felt