Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 77598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
There were no sharp objects around. There was nothing to stab him with. But there was the pot and pan in the kitchen. It would take forever and drain me, but I could bash his head in. He would be unconscious from one good blow to the side of the head, just beneath the ear. He wouldn't regain consciousness.
Six. Seven. Ei...
The side of his hand slammed forward into my throat, making me choke hard and drop my hands.
Fuck.
There went my advantage.
I was thrown off of him, pinned under his weight. There was a split second before I felt his fist in my face. Familiar, god the sensation was so fucking familiar it made me sick. I tasted blood in my mouth and, with what was probably not a smart amount of anger, spat it in his face.
His hands went up to wipe his face, giving me the chance to drag my legs up from behind him, cursing at the weight of the chain, and cross them over his throat, pushing him backward with the strength in my thighs. The chain pushed into his throat as he twisted to the side, wrangling away. He hit the floor and my leg kicked out, my foot colliding with the side of his face. His grunt of pain was like the voice of God to my ears. Especially because I knew I had gotten a few good shots in, but that he was going to overpower me. I was going to get my ass kicked again.
“Stupid bitch,” he said, sitting back on his heels and wiping the blood off his lip. “I know what kind of lesson I need to teach you,” he said and his hands moved downward.
When I saw what they were seeking, I felt a sweat break out over my whole body. His belt. He was going for his fucking belt. I had taken a lot of beatings during my time with him. I'd felt his bare hand on my ass. I'd felt his fist in every soft place in my body. I'd felt his feet stabbing into my stomach and ribs. But nothing, literally nothing ever hurt as bad as that belt on my skin.
“Just like that first time,” he smirked, pushing the hook free from the hole and slowly pulling the leather from the loops. It was then that I noticed it was going to be just like that first time... because it was the same fucking belt.
For the first five strikes, I had the protection of my shirt. Damian, frustrated by the fact I wasn't shrieking in absolute agony, dropped the belt long enough to grab my shirt and tear it off, leaving the skin of my back bare save for the band of my bra.
Then, well, there was screaming.
I didn't want to. It hurt somewhere deep in my soul to do it, but the pain was unlike anything else life had to offer, somehow feeling both blunt and sharp and burning all at once. I fought, don't get me wrong. I twisted, turned, scrambled away. But I could only get so far so fast with the shackle at my ankle. And each time he caught up to me, the lashes got more vicious until the tears were streaming down my face as the skin at my back finally broke open and the lashes didn't stop.
My throat hurt, raw from crying out and I collapsed forward on the floor, unable to draw up any energy to fight anymore. I was done. Done done done. I just wanted it to end. I wanted to go back in time and drag that knife up my forearms. I wanted everything to...
My thoughts trailed off when I heard the belt drop down beside my body, followed by the sound of his fly being pulled down. Yep, just like the first time. The only difference being this time... I couldn't delude myself into thinking what was about to follow wasn't rape.
I closed my eyes tight against that idea, trying to will my arms to push me up, but they stayed limp at my sides as I saw the belt get picked up again a moment before it slipped around my neck as a noose and tightened. He held it one-handed, the other going to the back of my pants and slipping into the waistband, trying to drag them down.
I didn't hear the door slamming open.
I didn't even hear the boots on the steps.
But I did hear something.
I heard the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in my life. I heard Cash's voice.
It was then that I realized I had fallen asleep.
Because only in my dreams did Cash come rushing in to save me.
So I closed my eyes and smiled, sinking into the dream.
Twenty-two
Cash
There are moments in your life that, when they happen, you know they are going to be burned into your memory, that will always come back to you in bright, flawless, technicolor perfection.
Throwing the storage shelf out of the way and finding a door behind, having to wait for Malcolm to use some kind of device to break open the code thing, then charging down those steps and seeing what I saw... mother fucking burned into my mind.
Forget that the basement had been changed into some freaky apartment that I had a sneaking suspicion must have had some kind of significance to Lo's old life. I barely even fucking took that shit in. Because right there in the center of the floor with a god damn slave chain around her ankle, was a face-down Lo, her entire back torn open with gashes, her blood seeping down to her sides and puddling on the floor beside her. A belt was wrapped around her throat and was being pulled mercilessly as Damian fucking Crane, pants down and hard dick out, tried to pull down Lo's pants.
That was a sight I never wanted to fucking see.
And now I would never be free from it.
“Lo,” I heard myself call, but it was a strange, raw, crackling sound.