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Terror resounded in her mind, darkened her vision, and stole consciousness. A deep, black void yawned around her, threatening to pull her into it, to smother her. She was going to die here. If she didn’t fight, then she would die in the darkness.
Awareness returned seconds later, voices whispering around her, evil, ugly voices.
“Fight me, Zoey,” Harley demanded, his voice harder, rougher, unrecognizable as he stared down at her with a gentle green gaze despite the hate-filled sound of his voice. “Mackay bitch. Come on, fight me. Maybe I won’t make it hurt so bad. Come on, Zoey, if you don’t fight me I’m going to kill you. I’ll fuck you so deep, so hard, it will kill you.”
She fought, hoarse, terrified sobs trapped inside her, given no voice but echoing through her head with such terror she felt strangled by it.
“Come back here, you silly bitch . . .” She managed to kick out at him, struggling to get away from him.
Why was he doing this? What was happening to him? To her? Why would he hurt her?
What had she done? Why was he so angry?
“Bitch. Humiliate me again,” he snarled in that voice so unlike his. “You humiliated me, Zoey.”
She shook her head desperately, fighting the hands grabbing at her breasts, bruising her nipples as he pulled at them.
“Bitch. You don’t question me,” he snarled.
Fury exploded in her head. Fury, terror, and a determination to fight, to defy him. She was a Mackay. He might kill her, but she refused to make it easy for him.
“No,” she wheezed, so desperate to scream, fighting for enough air to scream until her lungs burned with it. Curling her fingers, enraged growls left her throat as she fought to claw him, to dig her nails into his flesh and rip it open.
He laughed at her.
“You going to fight me, little whore? Mackay whore. I’ll make you my whore. You’ll beg me to hurt you, to show you who’s boss.”
The hell he would. She would die first.
She would kill him before she let him do something so vile to her.
Hard hands snagged her ankles, jerking her legs apart again as Harley tried to slide between them.
He was going to rape her just as he threatened, and no matter how hard she tried, how hard she fought, she couldn’t escape him.
Harley . . . ?
His features twisted, flashed from Harley’s face to something else. From Harley’s deep green eyes to cold, pale ice-blue eyes. From Harley’s youthful features, to a flash, so fast it made no sense, to harder, more mature features.
She fought him, trying to slap him, hit him, fighting to find something, anything to protect herself. As she kicked out at him, her foot caught him high on the thigh, his hold loosening, allowing her to scramble away from him.
“Fight, bitch,” he growled with such black malevolence it was terrifying. “Fight me. If you don’t fight I’ll just hurt you worse. Go ahead. Kick.”
Oh God, why was he doing this to her? Harley wouldn’t do this.
Pain exploded against the side of her head. He hit her. His fist slamming against her skull, scattering her senses.
Oh God, it hurt so bad.
He struck her again. An open-handed slap to her face.
Enraged, furious growls were all she could push past her throat as tears spilled from her eyes.
“Fight, bitch.”
She was fighting. Kicking, twisting beneath him, her nails digging furrows into his face, his shoulders.
“Fight me or I’m going to fuck you, Zoey. Where’s your weapon? Find it, bitch.”
