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The back of her head crashed against the stone floor. Her right wrist felt as if it were severed from her arm.
Pain exploded behind her eyes.
Her jaw slacked and he tossed his head away from her.
Using both arms, she ignored her pain and pulled even harder on her cuffs, determined to choke him. He pressed his weight down hard, crushing her. Her spine popped, her bare skin rubbed raw by the bare, cold stones. God, he was heavy. So heavy. And strong. Her lungs felt as if they couldn’t move, her bruised ribs ached. Her wrist . . . Help me, she thought, barely able to draw a breath.
No, no, no. Don’t give up. You can’t. She bit into him again, blood streaming from her mouth.
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Lisa Jackson
She felt as if she were drowning. Her lungs burning, blood filling the back of her mouth, as he shoved her even harder into the floor.
She tried to keep up the fight, but her jaw loosened as she struggled for air. He was gurgling, still trying to pull the chain from his neck. Then he switched tactics. He convulsed, crashing his elbow backward. The joint landed with bone-jarring accuracy against her ribs.
“Aaaawwww,” she cried, sputtering blood. The blow felt as if it shattered two of her healing ribs. Pain rocketed through her chest.
She nearly blacked out.
He threw his head back. Crack! His skull hit her forehead and crushed the bridge of her nose. More pain. Agonizing and brutal.
More feeling of drowning in a sea of blood. She gasped, sputtering and spitting, still holding to her cuffs as if for her life. But her strength was slipping away and he grabbed hard on the chain, pulling it away from his neck, gulping for breath. No! She couldn’t let him get the upper hand. Oh, for the love of God . . .
She fought to hold on, but it was too late. Her muscles no longer obeyed her mind. Vainly, desperately, she tried to keep the chain looped around his neck tight, but he shifted and pulled against her arm, twisting until she yelled.
Don’t give up, Regan, do not give up . . . Oh God, help me. Please, please, please! Like lightning, blinding pain sizzled up her arm and shoulder. She felt the tide turning.
She had no strength left . . . not enough. Nor could she keep up the pressure as he slowly pressed
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his weight into her, crushing her bruised ribs, intent on breaking them all. He kept up his headbanging as well, hitting her over and over again with the back of his head, pulverizing her face. Let go, Regan . . . give up . . . you can’t do it . . . She heard the hopelessness and despair in her own words even as her muscles let go. The blood on the chains was slick, and her grip loosened. With an effort, he peeled her arms over his head and rolled away, the fake beard, now bloody, falling off. She caught a glimpse of his jaw in the semidarkness, the line of his nose. But she was gasping, breathing hard, her vision out of focus, her body shuddering. Lying on the cold sharp stones of the floor, feeling blood, hers and his, drying on her body, she couldn’t move, couldn’t raise her head.
She felt rather than saw him climb to his feet. Still breathing hard, he whispered, “You’ll pay for this, you goddamned cunt.” He spat on the floor, his promise still running painfully through her head. “And it starts now.”
Fine, she thought. End it. I’m done. She was gasping, dragging in air, the taste and feel of him a revulsion. She loathed the man. Hated him. Wearing only his blood, she rolled her head to one side and tried to see him.
“You just sealed her fate.”
What the hell was he talking about? Her fate? No, she must’ve misheard. He meant your fate. Pescoli was too tired, in too much pain to care about his stupid mind games. She’d tried to escape and had failed miserably. Now he planned on punishing her. Was he planning to take her into the woods, to lash her to a tree and leave her to freeze to death? 282
Lisa Jackson
Fine. Bring it on. She’d find a way to escape. If she could just get her strength back, quit hurting for a minute . . .
“You don’t get it, do you?” he said as he stood in the shadows at the door.
She didn’t care. Couldn’t answer.
He cleared his throat, spat again, and swore under his breath. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he held one hand over the back of his neck where she’d nearly torn away his muscle . . . If she just had been a little stronger.
“You think you’re the only one? That there won’t be consequences?”
She didn’t know what he was talking about. Didn’t care.
