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Oh, God, he shot me.
I glanced over my shoulder as he approached. “Go ahead. Run. I like nothing better than a wounded bitch with the scent of blood all over her.”
I swallowed the bile in my throat and I tried to get to my feet.
He laughed as he continued to walk toward me.
No. God, no.
Past horrors flashed before my eyes—the isolation, the fear to sleep, to wake. I couldn’t live like that again. I’d rather die.
Serafina.I didn’t know if she still lived inside me, but my tattoo was my only hope.
Rise, Serafina. Breathe. Fight for me. Protect me.
I crawled along the pavement toward the streetlights as I called to my tattoo Serafina over and over again.
Footsteps ran toward me.
Oh, God. I crawled to my feet again just as arms wrapped around me, pulling me backward into him.
“No,” I screamed and flailed against his hold. I would never give up fighting. Never again.
