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She leans into another stretch and pauses for a moment before she continues. “What they don't plan for is me setting up a trap. They think I’m nice or just dumb, which means they have private conversations around me or forget I’m there at all. If you don't think I'm a threat, then you never have your guard up, and it's easy for me to get to you. It's something my father always taught me to use to my advantage.” She bends down to stretch, and I watch her feeling like she has more to say. I'm finding I actually really want to hear it this time.
“I guess we both have our ways to manipulate the people around us. It's what we’re trained to do as women in this world. But every once in a while, we find someone we can trust. And for me, that person is apparently you. I feel like you’re not one to do shit without a reason. So, I feel like I can trust you.” She shrugs then and takes off in a jog.
I follow right next to her, letting her set the pace since this isn't her thing.
“You’re right, '' I tell her, feeling bad that I judged her for essentially being just like me. “I’m sorry I judged you. It won't happen again.” I promise her.
We make it the full mile before Laney breaks off and heads back to the suite. I push myself for the next eight miles, finishing up in just under an hour. Laney said she would make a habit out of running with me, but her face near the end screamed she was never coming back. I practically fall into bed the second I get to the suite, hoping after the day I’ve had I can get more than a few hours of sleep for once.
???
The air around me turns cold. I pull the blanket closer as I shiver from my hiding spot in the dark closet. One of the guards has been coming to my room at night and touching me. I’ve only been in training for a few weeks, and I refuse to go crying to my uncle. I know eventually, I’ll have to deal with him myself, but I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.
I hear his footsteps outside my door, just before the light from outside my room peeks in. He's slow and methodical, his every move is planned in order not to wake me. Some nights, he just stands there at the door and watches me for hours. Other nights, he touches me and lately he’s been getting bolder.
He starts off slowly while I feign sleep, his fingers sliding down my arm, then to my back ever so gently. Goosebumps cover my skin, but not for the reason he thinks. At first, I thought maybe he had kids. Maybe he had a daughter he missed and this was his way of getting some sense of that in his life. Until last week, when he started slipping his hands under my shirt.
I’d never been touched by a man before, and the feeling of him taking what he wanted while I was at his mercy had bile rising in my throat. I jerked up, feeling like I was going to vomit. His eyes went wide right before he put his hands around my neck.
“Tell anyone, and I’ll kill you,” he threatened. I sat still as my vision clouded, refusing to give him any more of a reaction. I held his eye until the blackness took over.
When I woke up, I knew something changed, something was different. I’ll never forget that feeling, laying there in pain and helpless. That morning, I tucked blades under my bed between trips to the bathroom to throw up my insides. Tonight felt different, he was no longer calm when he saw me walking around. He looked agitated, like I had ruined something for him.
“You think you can hide from me, you stupid little whore?” he spits in a whispering scream.
I hear the lock click behind him as he moves further into the room. “You love my little visits,” he says, walking around the room. I hold my breath, praying he can’t hear my heartbeat as it pounds in my ears.
“Your body craves my touch. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
The door handle begins to twist and tears fill my eyes. When it’s fully opened he stares down at me, then slowly squats down. “What was your plan?” he asks sarcastically. “There are only so many places you can hide. Did you think I wouldn’t find you? That I’d give up?”
I can smell the alcohol on his breath from here, and a sense of dread fills me. He’s easily twice my size and well-trained. He’s been working here for eight years. His hand snatches out and locks onto my hair. He pulls me from the closet, then pushes me to my knees in front of him. I try to look anywhere except into his eyes, but his hand tightens in my hair as he forces me to see the devil in his soul.
“Please,” I beg him, “please, just…” I grasp at straws, not knowing how to change my fate. He slaps me across the face and tears fall from my eyes before I can stop them. His hand is still in my hair when he winds up to swing again. “Please, let’s go back to how it was.”
I just need to get him over to the bed. Why did I hide in the closet when all my blades are under my bed? I vow at this moment to never part from them again if I can help it.
His grip loosens with my proposition, and a small sigh of relief leaves me. “I’ll pretend to be asleep, okay?” I say softly. “I’ll lay there and let you touch me. I won’t move.”
His fingers slowly slide out of my hair as he looks into my eyes. He nods his head at me, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. I get to my feet quickly, walk to the bed, and slide under the covers. “Want to turn out the lights?” I ask.
He nods again and walks over to flick them off. He likes to be able to look at me, usually leaving the door cracked ever so slightly, so I’m not surprised when he turns on the light in the bathroom and cracks the door. When he turns away from me I quickly slide a blade from under the mattress into my inner arm and under the covers. When he starts to the bed, I pat the space next to me with my other hand, needing him to get close.
“Shut your eyes,” he says quietly, not sitting down yet. I stretch out and make myself comfortable, letting my eyes fall closed. A moment later, the bed dips with his weight. I pretend the slope in the mattress has me turning into him as his hand gently trails down my arm.
He’s so gentle at first that I almost forget he’s a predator, but I’m quickly reminded when his hands slide into my shorts. I’m dryer than the desert, and he doesn’t seem to like that. A huff leaves him, but when I peek my eye open, ignoring the pain, he’s looking right at me.
After a minute of not getting the reaction he’s begging for, he stands and unbuckles his belt. My eyes fly open at the sound and I sit up instantly, “Lay the fuck down,” he says, holding a gun to my head.
My jaw clenches—this is not happening again. I comply as I grip my blade in my hand, tucking it behind my back ever so slightly when he strips the covers from my body. He sets the gun on my nightstand as he crawls onto the bed, and I smile.
Wrong move.
Before his weight can fall on top of me, my blade plunges straight through his dick and deep into his stomach. His eyes go wide as blood pools under him and leaks all over my stomach.
In his panic, he pulls the blade out, and the grin of a true psychopath paints itself on my face. My handmade blades have inner serrated edges that tear the flesh as they pull out.
Screams erupt from his lips as blood sprays, knowing in his last moments, that even if he did make it out of here alive, his dick would never recover. I grab another blade that’s tucked between the mattress and headboard as I flip our positions to put him under me.
