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Blunt force trauma?
I can only hope.
But I know another attack is imminent...as soon as his brain unscrambles.
I have to scramble it all over again if I have any shot at escaping.
I roll out from under him, leaping at my guitar. I grab the instrument and swing it around at the other side of his head like a baseball bat. He throws up an arm, and the guitar lands against bone with a loud crack.
With some otherworldly strength, he grabs the guitar out of my hands and slams it against my wall, demolishing the rosewood body. I scream as he destroys my prized treasure. Splinters fly into the air, peppering my skin.
I dart around him before he can smother me with his massive body, and I pick up a flute on my desk, heaving it at him so that I can buy enough time to grab my door handle.
I am acutely aware that I’m topless right now, not that it slows me down at all. My legs tangle in the mess of laundry sitting in the middle of my floor. I grab for a shirt to cover myself and trip over a sneaker. The shirt slips out of my hand as I stumble.
Goddammit! My mother is always on me to put my shit away.
I make the mistake of glancing backward for a split second…just the amount of time he needs to reach out and grab me before I face-plant onto the floor.
I scream as he throws me onto my bed. My back slams against the mattress so hard, the force knocks the wind out of me.
“You have fire in you, Natasha. That’s good. You’re gonna need it.”
A fist pounds on my bedroom door, and the man doesn’t take his eyes off of me as he responds. “Did you take care of them?”
“Yeah,” a deep voice says through the door. “It’s all done.”
“Oh my God. What did you do?”
“Shut the fuck up,” my tormentor hisses. “You are powerless from this point forward, Natasha.” He grabs my arm and pulls me off the bed, his hulking body blocking me from any possibility of an escape. “Get dressed. It’s time to say goodbye.”
