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“I’d rather rot.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that too. The idea of fucking all your holes when you’re no longer breathing is getting me hard, Layla. I think I’m going to try my hand at both options and compare what I like most—you moaning like a bitch in heat under me or the dead silence of your obedience.”
What did my mother ever see in this asshole?
The thought is just a blip in my mind as something vital catches my attention. In the distance, I see a black car racing toward us. I have a split second to decide what to do. I choose to fight.
“Help!” I wave my arms in the air so the driver of the car can see what’s going on. I hardly think whoever is in the car can stop a madman with a shotgun, but maybe it’s enough to scare Roy back into his truck and make him drive away. Roy turns in the direction of the car, cursing under his breath when he sees we have company.
“Guess our time is up, Layla. I really am disappointed that we didn’t get to have fun, but that’s life,” he comments before racking his gun.
Oh my God.
He’s not going to run.
He’s going to kill me.
For the second time today, I stand frozen in place, unable to move a muscle as fear cements me to my spot. When I stare down the barrel of the gun, I know all is lost. This is the end of me. What a wasted life. I had so few moments of joy for this to be the end of such a miserable existence.
I guess if I’m to meet my maker, at least I’ll go out with the same bravery my little sister showed earlier. I square my shoulders and look Roy in the eye with all the resolve I still have in me.
“I hope you rot in hell, Roy. I hope they catch you for what you’ve done and that the rest of your days are spent in a cage. Only iron bars and a tiny cell are a good enough home for you. Let’s see who is going to use your mouth and ass then, you sick fuck!” I shout, unwilling to beg or cry for mercy.
“You fucking bitch!” he yells, aiming the shotgun at my head.
The next ten seconds feel like they happen in slow motion, and although my eyelids scream to be closed, I force myself to keep them open, not missing a single second of it. The black car—now just a few yards from us—slides to the side, stopping only when it’s directly across the middle of the road. I watch in complete astonishment as the driver rolls down his window and extends his arm with a gun in his grip. Another loud roar of gunfire pierces my eardrums, deafening me. I continue to gawk as the bullet slices through the air until it finds its target. Roy’s head explodes as I watch. He starts falling to the ground, but not before his trigger finger jolts and makes his last shot. I wait for the bullet to find me, and when it does, the sensation is so violent, I drop to the ground.
As I’m falling, I focus on the blue eyes of the man who is stepping from the car with his gun still in his grasp. They are the color of midnight, mesmerizing me with their beauty.
He meets my gaze, and then I do the most idiotic thing.
I smile.
It’s not a bad way to die if the last thing I see are such beautiful eyes.
As I’m about to thank this kind stranger for giving the last seconds of my life the beauty it has always been deprived of, my head hits the hard cement.
Instead of the sapphire blue I wish to hold onto, all that’s left is cold, dark blackness.
CHAPTER1
Layla
Nightmares.
I’ve had plenty of nightmares in my short life, but none of them were as vivid as the hazy images that assault me now.
I’m running toward something.
No . . .
Not something.
Someone.
There is an urgency in my rapid footsteps.
It demands I pick up the pace.
