pencil or quill with her mouth to write out her abusers’ names. You can attempt to silence me all you want, but the truth will eventually get out. It always does.”
He momentarily loosens his grasp on me, and I take advantage of it, leaning forward to throw him off balance. He stumbles and I quickly spin around, using an upper strike of my open palm in the hopes of breaking his nose. But he moves at the last second, avoiding the blow.
“Kitten really did grow some claws. And learned to fight, too,” he remarks breathlessly.
Refusing to engage him any further, I rush toward the exit once more. And once more, Nick catches me, grabbing my bicep and yanking me toward him. His eyes wild with fury and excitement, he reels back, landing a hard slap to my cheek. The blow knocks me off balance, causing me to trip and fall to the floor.
Disoriented, I struggle to stand, but before I can, he’s on top of me, keeping me pressed to the floor, a wrist bound in each hand as he straddles my back. It’s the same position he used all those years ago. I do everything to swallow down the memories, trying to buck him off, but it only seems to encourage him, his arousal hardening against me.
“You know, I love a woman with some fight in her. There’s something incredibly intoxicating about something off-limits.” He drags his tongue from my earlobe to that place where my neck meets my shoulder. “Something forbidden.”
Despite wanting to panic, I try to stay in control, something I didn’t know how to do the last time he had me like this. But instead of zoning out, I focus on any possible escape routes. I have two. Make another dash toward the door and hope to be able to outrun him onto the street and flag down someone to help. Or I help myself and go for the gun in my purse, which is only a few feet away.
“Do you have any idea how often I’ve thought of you over the years… What was it Wes called you last night?”
I stiffen, holding my breath.
“Oh, that’s right.” He takes my earlobe between his teeth, biting hard. I yelp, kicking against him, but I’m on my stomach and unable to push up enough to make any difference. “Honeybee.”
Bile rises in my throat as Wes’ term of endearment rolls off Nick’s tongue with such ease. I hate that he’s destroyed that, just like he’s destroyed everything else.
“And lucky me that you happen to be wearing a dress. If you ask me, I think you hoped you’d run into me here.”
He adjusts, taking both my wrists in one hand now, trailing a path along my side, lifting up the hem of my dress and ghosting his finger against my panties.
“You were so easy to fuck back then. So ready. So eager.” His breathing becomes more ragged as he pushes my panties to the side. “Just like you are now.”
“If that’s what you need to believe, be my guest. But don’t kid yourself. You’re just a lie parading around as the truth.”
Taking advantage of his weakening restraint on my wrists, I wiggle one away, throwing an elbow back in one swift move and hitting his nose. There’s no audible crack, but it’s enough to force him to loosen his hold on me.
“You bitch,” he bellows, holding his nose to stop the blood from flowing.
I clamber to my feet, my heart pounding with more intensity than it ever has. I’m no longer thinking of anything other than reaching my purse and gun, all my effort focused on that. Nothing else.
The seconds feel drawn-out immeasurably as my fingers fumble for the zipper of my purse and slide it open, barely able to maintain a hold on it. Reaching inside, I say a silent prayer when I feel the cool metal handle of the revolver, pulling it out of my bag.
I’m about to spin around and aim it at Nick when it’s knocked out of my hands. I watch as it skids across the floor and toward the back door, frustration building inside me. But I refuse to give up. I can’t. Not now. It’s either him or me. This time, I won’t go down without a fight.
Using every ounce of stamina I possess, I dart after the weapon, but Nick tackles me, a sharp pain radiating through my hip when we hit the floor.