AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Take your hands off me,” I hiss.
When his grip tightens, I don’t think. I react. I flip him over and watch him crash to the floor. His shocked face brings me a fleeting measure of satisfaction as I look down at him. I lick my lips and watch his eyes darken as I taste his cum.
“To answer your question, no, it doesn’t feel good. All it does is prove what I already knew.”
He huffs. “Yeah, and what’s that?”
“That all men want from me is to fuck me and then fuck me over. You’re not special, Calix.” Though for a brief moment, I thought he could be.
“Wait, you’re mad at me?” He laughs as I shake my head.
“You don’t know me, Calix. If you did, you’d have some serious questions about what happened. But I can see by your face that nothing I say matters.”
He climbs to his feet, and I sidestep him, making sure to keep myself out of his reach. He sees the move, and if it’s possible, the mood in the room blackens even further.
“I’m not going to fucking hurt you,” he snarls.
I don’t bother telling him it’s too late, he already has.
“Trust me, the last thing I want to do right now is touch you.” His blow lands as he heads for the door. He turns to look at me and opens his mouth, but whatever else he was going to say, he swallows down before storming out.
I take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm my battered nerves. Hearing the front door slam, I walk over to the window and see Calix climb into my car and drive off, the wheels spinning and kicking up dirt and gravel. I keep watching as my emotions strike at me with the force of a battering ram. Then I do something I haven’t done in years, something I swore I would never do here, of all places.
I slide down the wall, pull my knees up to my chest, and cry my fucking eyes out.
* * *
I don’t knowhow long I’ve been sitting here, but when I look up, I notice it’s getting dark. My eyes are puffy and sore from crying, but I’ll admit I feel ten times better. Months and months of pent-up emotions had to spill out eventually.
I get to my feet and head to the bathroom. I stand under the hot spray for the next thirty minutes, washing away every trace of the two men determined to break me in their own ways. Well, not today, boys. Why would I let you succeed where others have failed? Feeling calmer and more in control, I climb out and dry off before grabbing my bag from the closet.
I didn’t bother to unpack. I like to be prepared, and something in me is always ready to run at a moment’s notice. I pull on a clean pair of panties, a pair of pajama shorts, and a T-shirt, forgoing a bra. Not having the energy to do my hair, I towel it dry and throw it up in a messy bun. After pushing the bag into the back of the closet, I look toward the bed and scowl at the rumpled sheets.
“Stupid men always fucking everything up,” I mutter as I strip the sheets from the bed and trudge downstairs to the laundry room. I throw them in the washer and head back upstairs.
I’m heading to the kitchen when the alarm starts blaring, and I freeze. Thinking that it could be Calix but not wanting to take the chance, I run upstairs and grab my gun from my bag and check to make sure it’s loaded. I shove my feet into a pair of biker boots and head to my parents’ old room. Ignoring the room details, I make my way to the panel on the wall and type in their anniversary. It turns off the alarm and brings up the video feed from the security cameras.
The images are grainy. The system is so outdated, I’m lucky it works at all. I make a mental note to upgrade when I spot two figures at the front gate. I can’t make out if they are familiar or not—the picture quality is that poor. I can’t tell anything beyond that they are both men, tall, and not afraid to use the gym.
“Just once, I’d like the bad guys to be short and either skinny enough for me to snap or fat enough for me to run from,” I grumble, making my way downstairs and out the front door.
I pull my gun and keep to the trees lining the driveway, using them as coverage as I head toward the gate. Once I see them, not wanting to take any chances, I decide to forgo questioning them in favor of not getting killed. I aim and shoot the man closest to me in the back of the head. The second guy whirls around and pulls his gun, but he’s not fast enough. I fire two bullets. One hits him in the center of the chest, the other hits him between the eyes. Both drop to the ground, both dead. I go to pull my phone out but remember that I’m in PJs with no pockets and no cell phone.
Spinning around to head inside, I realize my mistake too late. I only saw two men on the screens. I didn’t account for a third. A gun cracks down across my cheekbone, making my head snap to the side. Overwhelming pain has me seeing spots, but despite that, I raise my gun and fire, earning a muttered curse. With my vision blurry, I’m not sure if I hit anything important. I aim again, but the gun is ripped from my hand. A punch to the same fucking cheek drops me to my knees. I try to crawl away, but the pain is swallowing me whole. When I feel a kick to my ribs, I close my eyes, lie down in the dirt, and let the blackness take me.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
When I wake up, the first thing that registers is pain. I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. My whole body feels like it’s throbbing. I crack open an eye and swallow when I find myself in an unfamiliar room. Carefully, I turn my head and find myself alone.
I slowly get up and take in the room, which in itself is unremarkable. There’s a bed with a faded striped blanket over it and a little table next to it. A dresser that’s seen better days sits across the room and beside the door. I see another door off to the side, slightly open, showing just enough of an off-white tiled wall to know that it’s the bathroom, and that’s pretty much it.
I hobble to the closed door first. When I find it locked, I make my way to the window covered by black drapes. I reach up and curse under my breath at the pain. Wrapping one arm around my tender ribs, I use the other to tug the fabric back. Thick black bars block the window from opening—not that it would matter because beyond the bars are what appear to be steel shutters.
“Just your run-of-the-mill hostage hotel,” I mutter as I make my way to the bedside table and pull the drawer open. It’s empty. As quietly as I can, I head to the bathroom, scanning the room as I go, looking for a weapon—and finding nothing, of course.
Sliding my hand up the wall, I flick the light switch on and swallow down a gasp as I catch sight of my reflection. I grip the edge of the counter to keep myself up as I stare at my bruised face. My cheek is bruised and swollen, as is my lip, which is split, but at least the bleeding has stopped. Turning my head, I see more bruising around my temple and dried blood matting my hair, suggesting there is a cut back there too.
The guy who hit me sure as shit packed a punch. It seems he wasn’t happy with just knocking me out, though. My aching body tells me he continued beating me even after I passed out. I’m grateful I still have my clothes on. That eliminates the likelihood of being violated—past tense. I won’t take it off the table of things to come because I’m dealing with monsters now. The ones I know usually treat rape as if it were meaningless.
