Page 101 of Essence of Fear

Her fight renewed, and so did the tears.

Her shouts increased, and so did the pain.

Was it pointless?

Probably.

She still had to try.

Especially when every single time she closed her eyes in the darkness of that trunk, she continued to see bloody words written on the mirror in her bedroom. Words of a man who had clearly not had enough of her yet.

Who else would have done this?

No one.

Just the monster.

Only Boris.

She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Not for that piece of shit.

Never.

• • •

They’d shoved a goddamn hood over her head, and that more than anything else probably pissed Viktoria off the most. Wasn’t it bad enough that they’d tied and gagged her, but they had to cover her fucking head, too?

She cursed and fought against the people carrying her, not that it made much of a difference. Other than the occasional threat a man threw at her, and the mutter of someone else, they didn’t say anything to her.

Not even stop.

Not a quit it.

Nothing.

It was scary in the way that it felt like they had been prepping for this. It was as though they already knew what their job was with her, and how they were supposed to act once they had her in their possession.

Viktoria kept her struggle up as doors were opened, and more voices filtered to her through the thick, black hood they’d shoved over her head. She didn’t even get to see their faces when they did it—they opened the trunk, still wearing those ski-style masks, and in seconds, had her hooded and pulled out of the trunk.

Bastards.

Then, all at once, without any warning, Viktoria was dropped. She hit the ground hard, landing on her wrists and back. Her head cracked against the floor, too, but that was the least of her fucking worries. She could feel hands at her back—touching her.

Someone was touching her!

She screamed and tried to jerk away from the stranger’s hands, but it didn’t do her any good. Her words and threats fell into the gag, and more tears spilled. Soon enough, those hands were gone, and it was over.

She could move, then.

Her ankles had been cut from the ties at her wrists. Someone grunted under their breath, before a hand landed on the top of her head. Fingers curled into the hood and her hair underneath it before she was dragged upward and forced to sit on her knees with her hands still tied firmly at her back.

Oh, God.

“Sit there and shut up,” came a familiar voice.

Vomit found the back of her tongue.