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And I didn’t touch it again…until last night.
Oh, God, why now? Why, when everything was starting to look up, does he have to show up?! Just when I started to believe that I could have it all.
“Have nothing to say to me? Well, I have to plenty to say to you, bitch.”
His heavy palm hits me between my breast first, knocking the wind from my lungs and my legs right out from under me. As I crash to the floor, his laugh wraps around me like a noose.
“Little Syn, living up to her name by playing house with that motherfucker who took you from me when I wasn’t looking. Did you fucking think I would sit back and let you go? I don’t fucking think so,” he fumes, his spit flying from the force of his words and falling on my face. “You belong to me, bitch.”
I move to stand—to just get away from the disadvantage I have from being on the floor as he towers over me—but I’m stopped short when his heavy, booted foot presses against my chest. I can feel my ribs protesting against the pressure, crying out for some relief.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson first, Syn.”
When his foot comes off my chest, I crab-crawl backwards until my head hits hard against the desk in the corner. I go to scream, but guessing my intent, he jumps and his body crashing into mine renders me silent. My body is drowning under the panic he elicits.
His hand grips my neck, digging in and curling his fingers—choking me in a brutal hold. I gasp, my eyes watering at the pain. My fingers tear at his skin, and when that doesn’t work, I bring my hand weakly up to his face and claw him. My fingers score his skin, leaving four deep marks across his face from temple to chin.
“You fucking bitch!” he roars and brings his fist down, hitting me right in the cheek.
My head snaps to the side, but I fight the blackness that is hedging in. I won’t fucking give in. Not this time—not when I have every reason to fight him.
He’s always wanted this—this fight—and he’s going to get it.
I give him everything I have. His fist hits me every time I move my arms from my face to deliver one of my own. Then I feel my left arm split in one powerful punch, making it harder to defend myself. When he leaves his guard down, I slam my knee into his crotch, knocking him to his side. As quickly as I can, I start to crawl away, opening my mouth to call out for help only to have a hoarse rasp come out. My efforts are weak since I’m dragging my body with one arm. Each time I put pressure on my left side, my arm gives out.
His laughter starts to taunt me and the fear almost consumes me. Every inch of my body hurts, but I’m not giving up. He won’t have me this time. Not when the future is right within my grasp.
“Get the fuck back here,” he snarls when I unsteadily climb to my feet.
The second I have my footing, he brings his leg out and sweeps me right back on my ass. I fall with bone-jarring force, the wind once again knocked from my body. The tears and snot running down my face are making it hard for me to even see, let alone breathe, so every breath I’ve been conserving rapidly throws me off.
He climbs on top of me, straddling my waist, pulling my arms over my head, and clamping them tight within one of his own—the other going to my mouth to make sure I don’t cry out. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. My throat is raw from when he choked me earlier. The pain from my broken arm produces a wave of nausea to roll through me, causing me to vomit all over myself.
He doesn’t even notice, his all-consuming rage to the point where I know he’s not going to stop until he’s gotten everything he can from me. “I’ve had to sit back and wait for this moment. Wait for you to finally fuck up and lead me right to you. I knew it would happen—you never were very fucking bright. I’ll give you credit. You got away once, and had you not come crawling back to me, I might not have found you. I don’t fucking like to wait, Syn, and it’s about time you learned who is your goddamn boss! You think you’re fucking smart, running off again? I won’t let you get away this time. Not when the club needs your cunt to make the money keep coming in.”
When his hand comes back to my throat, I see it in his eyes—he doesn’t care if I live past this moment as long as he gets whatever sick shit he wants.
“Just like a sitting duck,” he spits in my face. “The second your credit card was used, it was like a big fucking flag just taking me right to your door. Where’s your big, bad savior now? Doesn’t look like he’s going to help you this time, you senseless fucking bitch!”
