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I open the living room door, and when I step inside, I see Letta sprawled on the floor, surrounded by debris. It looks like a hell of a fight happened here. My sister fought for her life. I drop to my knees in front of her, slowly turning her over. She has a gash in the side of her temple and her nose looks broken. Her lip is split, and her eyes are swelling. My gaze slides to her chest, and I notice it’s rising and falling. That eases some of the pain that was gathering in my own lungs.
“Letta.” I try to shake her in an attempt to wake her, but she doesn't stir.
I hear footsteps behind me, the creek of a floorboard, and spin. Michael is standing in the doorway, clutching a glass of wine in his hand. He takes a sip of it, his eyes never leaving mine. “You really are predictable.”
My attention drifts to the scar on his cheek, one I gave him. I smirk. “Did you want a matching smile?” I sneer at him.
This gaze goes to the knife I'm holding, disinterested. “And what, exactly, are you planning on doing with that little thing?”
“You might think that because your father is someone important, you can get away with treating Letta however you want, but she has family who care about her.”
I move quickly, jabbing my knife in his direction. He is quicker, surprisingly so. He grabs my wrist with the hand not holding the wineglass, and I can't lower the knife. He tilts his head to the side and glares at me. “You maimed me, you bitch! I had to explain to my father why my face was cut up.”
Am I supposed to feel sorry for him? Despite the fact he has hold of my wrist and is stopping me from hurting him, I hiss in his face, “If you kept your hands to yourself, we wouldn't have had a problem. The moment you laid a finger on Letta, you decided your own fate.”
He drops the wineglass, but I barely register the sound of it breaking as he pushes me back. I fight with everything I have, slashing my knife in his direction, but he’s quick to dart out of the reach of my blade. I sneer at him, daring him to come closer, but he circles the coffee table, towards my sister.
I need to protect Letta, so I rush him, trying to bring the knife down in the process. I slash his arm before he grabs my wrist, the one holding the knife, and his grip is like iron shackles. I can’t pull free, no matter how much I tug against him.
Holding my wrist over my head, he walks us backwards until I feel the sofa hit the back of my legs. Then I go down onto it, folding easier than I thought possible. He comes down on top of me, not releasing my wrist no matter how hard I try to fight him. I can do nothing to stop him taking control. His full weight comes down on top of me, and I can hardly breathe past his bulk as my chest is constricted. Regret fills me that I came alone, but in truth, I didn't expect this. Last time he had been pliant, a coward. I barely touched him, and he had sobbed and begged for forgiveness. This is not a man who is cowed. The look in his eyes frightens me. It's the look of a man who has nothing left to lose.
He lifts my arm over my head, beyond the arm of the sofa, and squeezes my wrist so hard that I'm forced to release the knife. It clatters to the floor, and in one move, he secures both wrists over my head in one hand while his other wraps around my throat. I fight him, bucking beneath him, trying to unseat him, but laid out like this I’m completely at his mercy. His weight on my hips means I can’t get enough traction to shove him off me, and my hands over my head makes me feel so vulnerable.
I peer into his eyes as my vision starts to darken on the edges. Panic starts to grip me. I’m going to die. He’s killing me.
If he ends my life, what will he do to my sister?
My eyes start to flutter, and I can feel myself slipping into darkness.
Just as I'm about to pass out, he releases his hold. I take a sucking breath, trying to get oxygen into my lungs as fast as possible. They burn fiercely as I draw air in. I feel weak, my body trembling from adrenaline.
“You fucking prick,” I gasp out. My hand goes to my neck, which feels bruised and like I've swallowed glass.
His fist lashes out and smashes me in the face. It rattles my brain and my skull, and I taste blood in my mouth as my teeth smash against the inside of my lips. “My father was disgusted I allowed a little girl to slice me up. I swore after that I would see you dead, but everyone I have hired has done a shit job. So, I took matters into my own hands. I'm going to kill you, Elena, but first I’m going to make it so that not even your pig husband wants you.”
