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Chapter 11
What Happens Next
Effie
It’sbeenthreedayssince my failed attempt to get into Finn’s computer.
I talked a big game—and I’m proud as hell for keeping it together—but I thought I was going to puke all over his Italian leather boots when he made me get on my knees. My stomach drops uneasily just thinking about it. Sitting on the couch, I draw my legs closer to my chest.
I get a chill down my arms remembering the cold metal of the gun.1I’ve heard my father’s men and my brothers talk about being shot. You don’t always feel it like you might think. Your body reacts so quickly, pumping you with adrenaline and setting you in shock, that you notice everything but the pain.
The smell of gunpowder.
The sound of your body hitting the ground.
The warmth of your spilling blood as your body grows cold.
But sometimes, they say, you can feel nothing but pain. Hot, searing, mind-numbing pain.
When the muzzle dug into my spine, I wondered which experience I’d have when he finally shot me. I considered the location he’d chosen and thought perhaps I’d avoid both. He was sparing me this one kindness, a one-shot kill.
The crew is out right now, probably somewhere deciding whether this job is even worth it now that I’ve fucked it up even worse. So, I’m left alone to ruminate on how close I came to dying, how I’ve destroyed the one job my father ever entrusted me with, and how—
A sharp knock at the door pulls me out of my spiraling pity party.
I hop off the couch and go to the door, standing on my toes to look through the peephole. All the air in my lung escapes as panic settles over me.
Hudson.
His hair isn’t in it’s usually perfectly coiffed fashion and dark circles ring his eyes. The collar of his coat is popped only on one side and his dress shirt is untucked.
There is no reason for him to be here. None. He shouldn’t even know about this apartment.
“Effie, open the door.” He drawls drunkenly and leans his forearm onto the door to peer into the peephole like a parrot bobbing its head. “I need to apologize,” he slurs so it sounds more likeI needa apawl-a-size.
Christ, he’s wasted.
He stumbles back from the door and clutches his mouth. “I think I’ma be sick…” He starts to curl over, and I whip the door open.
“Okay, just get inside, I’ll get you to a toilet—” My words are suffocating in my throat as he wraps his meaty hands around my neck and pushes me back into the apartment.
There’s not a whiff of alcohol on him when he pushes his nose against mine and snarls in my face, “You fucking slut.” Words crisp and clear.
“Huud—”I can’t get any air, let alone words, out as he squeezes harder, kicking the door shut. Panic crawls up my body like a thousand pin pricks, demanding my body to react, fight, dosomething. But every thought is overridden by the aching wrench of my lungs for air and the feel of his grip crushing down on my esophagus.
He throws me to the floor and my knees skid on the wood, skin splitting. But I can finally breathe again, even if it’s in sputtering, painful gasps. My elbow throbs where it broke my fall.
“Recognize these?” A ball of fabric lands by my head and I prop myself up to look at it.
The underwear Finn tore off me at Peaches.
“If you’re having trouble remembering, I can show you quite the video to jog your memory. Received it in an unmarked package but I’m sure we all know who it’s from.”Fuck. This is bad. Really fucking bad.My mind floods with filthy images from what Finn made me do and what he did to me. If Hudson has seen even a few seconds of what transpired…
My pulse is so loud, blood pumping in my ears. He drags me from the floor by my hair. I’m sure I scream at the tearing against my scalp, but all I hear isthump, thump, thump.
My body doubles over when he delivers a wrenching blow to my stomach. But I’m yanked right back up again, his grip in my hair strong as ever.
Spittle lands on my face when he presses on. “You throw that fucking fit at the lunch about being called my fiancée, and then turn around and jack off that piece of shit wearing a ring that’s supposed to be from me?”
