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"So, the rich girl had an existential crisis, didn't she? Didn't know what to do with all that money you've got, and now you'll finally be Daddy's girl?"
"You were spying on Damon and me?" Maybe if I make him talk long enough, I can get him to change his mind.
"I didn't want to let you out of my sight. No one will help you. Not Damon, not even James. It will kill him to live with it...the almighty James Cohen couldn't keep his sister safe. It will serve Damon a lesson, too. Let's see if he still wants you after I’m done with you."
"What do you have against James and Damon?"
"I spent a year in jail because of them."
"You went to prison because you broke the law," I say coldly.
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p; "You rich people always have an answer. Everything comes easy for you. It's great, making plans, isn't it?" Something about his controlled composure sets off alarm bells, sweat forming on my palms. His face tightens, and his eyes come alive with hatred. "You know who didn't get to make any? My sister. Because your brother and Damon killed her."
"What are you talking about?"
"When your precious James put me in jail, I had a lot of debt toward dangerous people. You're a smart girl, tell me...do you think I could pay them back if I were jailed?"
"No," I whisper.
"No. These aren't patient people. They don't give second chances."
"I don't understand—” I begin, but Gabe cuts me off abruptly.
"I'll explain. They took it out on my sister," he says. Cold fear runs through me as Gabe leans in closer to me. His weight crushes me. "They raped and beat her." Pain flickers somewhere behind all the rage in his eyes. "She killed herself two days later."
"I am so sorry, Gabe." I barely get the words out. My chest heaves, each breath slicing through me.
"You should be. I wonder if you'll do the same after."
"You don't want to do this. It won't bring your sister back," I say with as much calm as I can muster.
"I don't care."
My body starts shaking uncontrollably, beads of sweat forming on my upper lip. Images of what my life would look like if Gabe rapes me flash through my mind with a nauseating speed. My heart slams against my ribcage so violently it blocks out any other sound, including his voice. I don't hear what he says next. My eyes fix on the burning anger in his eyes, on the way his jaw clenches.
"Answer," he bellows, moving away the knife and shaking me so violently that yet another whiplash hits me.
"I didn't—I didn't hear what you said," I stutter. Gabe presses the side of the blade deeper into my skin again, his other hand groping the inside of my thigh, moving higher and higher.
The next seconds pass in a blur. When Gabe's hand reaches the hem of my underwear, the pressure of his knife on my neck weakens. My senses kick into overdrive. I suddenly become aware of every muscle in my body, every weak point of Gabe's, anything that could provide an escape. It's all or nothing now. I'll be damned if I'll let him have anything at all. With a force I didn't even know I possess, I shove his blade-holding hand away. When it touches his chest, Gabe yelps, moving back, looking at his knife in disbelief, checking if I've cut him. I didn't because the blade was sideways, but this split-second of confusion offers me my one shot. I push my elbows in the mattress, propelling myself upward, then throw myself at Gabe with all my force. He falls back on the bed, ripping a shred of my dress in the process. I try to jack myself out of the bed when I feel his hand close on my ankle. My stomach churning violently, I kick him with my other leg. I don't turn to look where I've hit him, but he growls in pain. I just push myself forward, landing on all fours on the floor.
Half-crawling, half-running, I barrel to the door. The crackling floor behind me announces to me that Gabe is out of the bed, lurching toward me. I barely have time to process the thought when Gabe jams me into the door, squishing my breasts against the wood.
"You bitch." He pushes himself into me, pinning my hands just above my head, holding them with one hand.
"Let me go," I grit through my teeth. My whole body becomes clammy with sweat when I hear him unzip his jeans. I force myself to breathe in deeply, but pain slices through my chest with the next inhale. My nails graze at the door, hoping against hope it will attract someone's attention. Gulping down hard, I push the next words past my lips. "That's how you're gonna do it? You don't even have the guts to look at me?" I grasp desperately at words, something to halt him.
Gabe flips me around. "Problem solved," he says. I glance down at his unzipped jeans, and any hope of fighting my way out of this crumbles, fear overpowering me. I wish I had the power to turn off my senses. That way, I wouldn't hear his ragged breath in my ear, or smell the whiff of alcohol. I wouldn't feel his hand pressing my wrists above my head so hard it's like he's wrapped them in barbed wire. I wouldn't hear him pushing down his jeans. I've never been this afraid. I once read that fear paralyzes you, dulling the senses. It has the opposite effect on me. I sense everything in the most ruthless detail.
All of a sudden, the music stops, startling Gabe. Then the door bangs open, sending both me and Gabe stumbling forward. I regain my composure, but Gabe, whose dropped pants limit his movement ability, falls flat on his face. I grip the railing of the bed to steady myself as I take in the scene before me. Damon storms inside.
"You bastard," he spits.
Gabe rises to his feet, pulling his jeans up. Then he launches himself at Damon, wielding his knife like a sword. Damon deflects Gabe’s arm with such force the knife flies out of his hand, colliding with the wall and dropping on the floor.
“I don’t need a knife for this,” Gabe says. His face contorts into a grimace as he and Damon start fighting. Both men fight to kill. I scream as Damon receives almost as many punches as he throws.
