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The old man’sfingers groped her leg, heading for the area on her body where no one had yet touched. This weirdo wouldn’t be her first. Couldn’t be.
In that moment, she wished she’d worn something besides her denim cutoffs. But the look in his eyes told her no amount of clothing would have been barrier enough. Bound as she was, the advantage was all his.
The helplessness that washed over her paralyzed every muscle in her body. Even her brain was frozen and unable to formulate a plan. With growing horror, she watched his finger move closer and closer. Thoughts scattered through her mind like shrapnel, too fast and scattered for her to latch onto.
An echo pushed against her paralysis. It grew louder and louder until the reverberation turned into a memory. The memory transformed into Liv’s voice.
“If ever you find yourself under the control of another, you fight, Caledonia.” Liv tapped a finger against Callie’s forehead. “Use this and do whatever it takes to survive. Whatever. It. Takes. Promise me.”
Callie rolled her eyes. “I promise, G-lady.”
Without a doubt, Callie knew Liv was on her way. She had to keep this sick bastard at bay until her sister reached her.
Hurry, Liv.
When Sam’s nasty finger closed in, Callie clamped her thighs together and twisted her body away.
His hand fell to his side, and eyes that held no empathy met hers. “Lucky for you, I don’t have to go back to work. The night is ours to play.”
When he reached for her again, she kicked out. Her bare foot slammed into his surprisingly hard stomach. The impact had no ill-effect on him. He didn’t grunt, let out a whoof of air, stagger back a step, yell curses, or hit back.
He did something far worse. Something that felt like a thousand wolf spiders gang-rushing her body.
He smiled.
Ice crystals cracked across her chest and her mind went blank.
You fight, Calendonia.
But that’s what he wanted. He wanted her to resist, wanted her to scream and cry and pray for release. He vibrated with the need to deny her, to repress her, to tame her.
Callie’s throat grew tight with tears. Tears she refused to shed even while the terrible paralysis still held the strategic part of her mind captive.
Thick, calloused hands grabbed her ankles and yanked her down until she was lying flat on her back. Even knowing she was playing into his fantasy, she twisted and screamed and bucked.
What other option did she have? Allow him to rut on top of her until help came? If help came?
Bile pushed into her throat.
No. She refused to allow that part of her fear to take hold. Liv would come.
Do whatever it takes.
His fingers worked on the fastenings of her shorts. Ignoring the feral desire to watch his progress, she instead took in his well-groomed hair, smooth jaw, poorly pressed clothes, and grease-free fingernails.
An idea sparked. One that made every muscle in her body rebel.
But no better options came to mind, and she was running out of time. She had to wrest control of the situation before it was too late.
She calmed her see-sawing breaths and forced her body not to resist him as he yanked her shorts off, folded them, and laid them onto the edge of the bed. When his attention returned to her, he frowned at her unmoving body and dry eyes.
Survive.
Every strand of willpower went into keeping her body motionless and filling her gaze with unmistakable challenge.
Uncertainty shivered across his features, and he shifted away.
