My mind flashed to Tristian. He was the only person I’d ever allowed into my space, into my soul. We hadn’t even spoken about the other night—the raw, trauma-induced sex that had served as our only escape from a world that wanted to control us. It was tender. It was real.
Now Brandon was tainting that memory. Fresh tears burned my eyes as I shoved at him, but I was trembling so hard I could barely move him.
When I felt Brandon’s mouth, wet and demanding, press against the sensitive skin of my neck, the panic settled deeper.This wasn’t supposed to happen.I had only come here to find my sister.
I felt utterly powerless. I knew this feeling. I’d spent my whole life in it, under my father’s hands, in that house, always waiting to be saved. Camila had saved me. Abuelita had saved me. Tristian had saved me. I was too weak to stop him.
Tonight was no different. The last bit of fight drained out of me, replaced by a hollow, cold resignation. All I could ever do was be rescued.
Brandon’s hands slid lower, and my cries turned to dull whimpers—the same sound I used to make when I accepted my fate under my father’s hand.
I wish Tristian was here. He had saved me from my father, but he wasn’t here now. I was alone. I was helpless.
I’m so weak. So, so weak.
I should have stayed at Tristian’s apartment. I should have stayed with him. I should have told the girls I couldn’t make it.
There was no one here to save me but myself. And I was too weak to save myself.
There was no one here to save me but myself.
The thought hit me again, cutting through the static of my fear. Brandon’s hands were groping me shamelessly, his mouth still glued to myneck. He was so confident in my submission, so certain of my weakness, that he had grown careless.
I took a steadying breath. My hands were too weak to push him off, but my legs... I had spent a lifetime running; surely I could do more than that.
I drew my leg back slowly, inch by inch, creating a pocket of space while he was distracted by his own depravity.
I closed my eyes, prayed to a God I wasn’t sure listened, and drove my knee upward with every ounce of strength I possessed.
The impact was solid. Brandon’s hands vanished instantly as he recoiled, doubling over.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”
I stared at him, wide-eyed, my heart hammering against my ribs. I felt paralyzed, watching him writhe on the dirty pavement in genuine agony.I couldn’t believe I had actually done it.
The adrenaline hit fast and hot. My feet throbbed, my palms were slick, my mouth dry—but the paralysis broke. I took a few stumbling steps back, my heels digging painfully into the balls of my feet. Brandon was already starting to sit up, his face twisted with rage.
I needed to do the one thing I had never been fast enough to do with my father.I needed to run.
As Brandon started to sit, his face contorted in a mask of pure, murderous rage, I kicked off my heels. I scooped them up, my fingers trembling as my feet burned against the gravel. His eyes locked onto mine.
“You’re going to wish you never did that—FUCK!”
I acted on pure instinct, hurled one of my heels right into his face at full force. If he’d been sober, he would’ve easily dodged it. But drunk, he was too slow, and the heel smashed across his forehead, the point catching his eye before he could close it.
I didn’t wait to see the damage. I hurled the second shoe with everything I had, then bolted.
“You little bitch!”Brandon roared behind me.
My bare feet slapped against the cold pavement. Footsteps began to thud behind me immediately. But I didn’t look back. I ran faster than I ever had in my life, my lungs burning, the neon lights of the strip blurring into streaks of pink and blue.
The Obsidian was ahead. The bouncer was distracted, leaning in to talk to a group of girls. I didn’t slow; I dove past him, slipping into the dark, pulsating heat of the club in a blind, unthinking panic. I should have stopped. I should have screamed for help. But the adrenaline was pushing me to put as much distance between myself and Brandon as possible.
I glanced over my shoulder. Brandon was already through the door, his eyes locked onto me with terrifying focus. I shoved through the crowd, dodging sweaty bodies and spilled drinks, and scrambled toward the VIP staircase. It was a desperate, final attempt to get away, and probably the worst possible place to run—but I had to dosomething, otherwise he’d be on me again, he would—
I was halfway up the stairs when a hand clamped around my ankle. I let out a sharp yelp as I was jerked backward, my chin hitting the carpeted step hard.
“You’re not getting away that easily,” Brandon growled, his voice a low vibration of malice.
