Page 209 of What We Become

“Fine.” I swallow hard, and the words crawl up my throat like fire.

“Brock offered to walk me home from the party. I told him no, that I was good alone, but he wouldn’t let it go—kept insisting, like it was some chivalrous bullshit.”

Stephen’s face lights up, a sick delight twisting his features as he leans in, hanging on every syllable.

“He sweet-talked me into detouring along the beach. Said there was something cool to see. Then he bolted ahead, yelling for me to catch up, all excited like a kid.”

“God, he was good,” Stephen breathes, the sick fuck actually impressed. “And you followed, right? He got you all excited with him and then . . .”

My chest tightens, the memory slamming back. Waves crashing. Salt air turning sour. My vision blurs. My throat thickens.

“And then?” Stephen roars, and I force the bile down.

“He was on me, shoving me down to my knees, yanking at his pants, trying to force his dick into my mouth like I was nothing.”

Micah turns his face away, tears running down his cheeks.

“Did he threaten to knock your teeth out?” Stephen’s grin stretches wide, eyes gleaming, and he steps right up to me. “Were you scared to lose this pretty smile?” He flips the knife and rams the handle into my mouth, cold metal scraping my teeth as he shoves it deep.

“No!” Micah screams while the others growl and fight their restraints.

“Was it like this?” Stephen purrs, undeterred, twisting the knife until I gag.

Brock’s hands in my hair. The sand under my knees. His weight pushing me down while the surf ate the sound I tried to make.

The foam. The pressure against my lips. The chemical taste. The dark.

The rope around my neck behind my apartment. The pressure building in my skull. The world going narrow and bright and then nothing.

Bile surges. My body convulses against the ropes. Tears sting my eyes and have nowhere to go but out. My lungs are seizing, locked in a desperate battle against the panic reflex and the obstruction in my throat. The room spins—a dizzying carousel of shadows and the horrified faces of the men I love—but I claw my way back from the edge of the darkness.

Not again.

I’m not that girl on the beach. I’m not the victim at the end of a noose or in a wall. I am the woman who held the blade. I’m the one who survived.

I won’t let him take the lights from me. I won’t go under.

I force my eyes open, staring directly into Stephen’s manic gaze, and I gather every ounce of strength left in my core.

“Fuck you!” It’s a muffled scream behind the metal as I swing my legs forward, a clumsy, desperate arc fueled by pure adrenaline. The toe of my heel connects squarely with his shin.

Stephen shrieks, the sound high and thin, and the knife handle yanks out of my mouth as he stumbles back, clutching his leg. I cough violently, spitting out a mixture of saliva and blood, my chest heaving as air finally rushes back into my parched lungs.

“Sage!” Eli’s voice is a roar of encouragement, his body slamming against the ropes with renewed ferocity. “That’s it, little savage! Fight him!”

Stephen’s face contorts. The playful “bestie” persona vanishes, replaced by a raw, ugly snarl. He limps in a small circle, his breath coming in jagged hisses.

“You little bitch,” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. “You think that changes anything? You think you’re in control?”

He lunges at me, his hand snapping out to catch me by the hair. He yanks my head back, exposing my throat as he holds the tip of the knife trembling inches from my eye.

“I was going to be patient,” he spits, his hot breath sour. “I was going to let you talk. But maybe I’ll just start taking pieces of you instead. How about an ear? Or maybe a finger? We can see how long it takes for your harem to stop looking at you like you’re a prize.”

“Let her go!” Micah yells.

Stephen turns to look at him over his shoulder. “You are my favorite, Micah. Don’t make me hurt you.”

Before Micah can respond, a heavy banging erupts against the barn door. The sound shakes the whole structure. Dust sifts from the rafters. Stephen’s head whips toward the sound. He goes still, listening.