small room, I make my move. With every ounce of strength I have in my body, I quickly stand up and leap, literally leap, for the lamp. I grab it, and in one fell swoop, I do a one-eighty and bash his head with it as hard as I can. Shards of broken glass fall all over the floor as the man howls in pain.
“You fucking bitch! I’m going to make you pay!”
But I don’t stay to listen. I turn, and with a burst of adrenaline, I throw open the door with so much force it’s probably off one of the hinges, and then, I’m running. I scream as I run through the dark hallways, not stopping for anything.
I can hear his pounding feet behind me. He’s gaining on me, getting closer, but I scream anyway, hoping that someone, anyone at all, can hear me.
As I run at top speed down the hall, my left leg missteps, and I land on my ankle with such force and briskness that the pain is instant and intense. A broken gasp leaves my lips, but I bite my tongue. No crying. No screaming. No pain.
But there is pain, and the feel of it breaks a part of my spirit because a part of me knows. . . I’m not going to make it out the front door.
No. I will. The rest of me is still fighting; a twisted ankle won’t stop me. Ignoring my ankle altogether, I run toward the staircase, that will lead me to my escape. If I can just make it out the door. . .
“You can’t run. I’ve waited long enough for you,” he shouts and then starts laughing, as if taunting his prey.
But I run.
I reach the stairs as quickly as I can with a sprained ankle. I wobble, jump, and wobble again down the stairs as fast as I can.
My mind is racing. I can taste the tangy metallic taste of blood in my mouth from biting my tongue, but that doesn’t matter. Shivers and goose bumps are all over my skin, and I can see my life flash right before my eyes in the dark.
I have to escape.
I have to run.
I have to get help.
I need my brother.
I need my protector.
I need Ace.
As I wobble down the stairs, I look over my shoulder. The man isn’t there anymore, and that makes my stomach drop like a bag of cement. My heart pounds even faster as dread moves through my system. Where is he? My eyes are wide-open and getting dry as I frantically look around, hardly able to blink for even a split second. I know he’s somewhere, but I’m not staying to find out where.
Or to find out who he is or what he wants to do to me.
So, I run. The front door is right in front of me. I’m almost there.
I get to the last step and turn for the front door. I have no idea where he comes from but he tackles me, actually tackles me like it’s a football game, and it’s rougher than anything I’ve ever felt. I scream in pain as I land on my hip, my body slamming into the hard floor. My hip is definitely bruised and sore now, making it difficult to fight, but I won’t stop.
“You have fire in you that sparkles in your eyes. Did you know that?” The man chuckles, now straddling me like he just conquered me. I kick and scream, but I should have known. His attempt—or lack thereof—of stopping me from screaming meant he was confident no one was around to hear what was going on.
“I guess that’s why he favors you. He hates you, no doubt about that,” he smirks, staring down at me. “But he’s so very much addicted to you.”
“Go to hell.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I will, but first, I’m going to enjoy what I know he wants more than anything in the world. I know, even right now, he’s dreaming about you, salivating about tormenting you to soothe his demons, demons that I gave him,” he says. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”
I have no idea who he’s talking about, and I don’t care. This man is delusional, but what gives me pause is what I see so clearly in his eyes as he looks down at me with barely contained rage.
The glint of evil in his eyes and the hate…
God, there’s so much hate in his eyes my heart actually stops for a few beats. That hate, the presence of