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I focused on the gun dangling from his left hand as he walked toward me.
Sauntered.
Like he was trying to seduce me.
I had to get the gun from him if I had any hope of surviving.
“Get away?” I parroted as he approached the other side of the bed. “Of course I’m trying to get away, dipshit. The thought of you raping me would have me gnaw my own fucking hand off if I could reach it,” I hissed through my teeth.
I knew it wasn’t smart. Being docile, vulnerable, and weak would’ve been his preferred version of me. It definitely would’ve stopped him from backhanding me so hard that my head snapped back painfully against the iron of my headboard.
But I wasn’t docile. And I certainly wasn’t weak. And no way was I ever going to act like anyone’s preferred version of me. Especially not my would-be rapist and murderer.
As I recovered from the hit, he positioned himself on top of me, pressing against all my bruises so his face was inches from mine.
“You’re a fucking stupid bitch, you know that?” he rasped, his voice stinking of Jack.
My fucking Jack.
“You think because your brother is the president of some motorcycle club that you’re untouchable? You think you can act how you want? Talk to me like that without fucking consequences?”
The hand not holding the gun to my temple traveled down to squeeze my nipple roughly and painfully.
It wasn’t the pain that had me blinking back tears, it was the degradation of it all. The helplessness. He was victimizing me.
“You’re about to see consequences,” he whispered, his mouth at my neck. His hand continued downward, leaving trails of pain and disgust in its wake until he reached my panties.
He didn’t hesitate, ripping at them, his hands rough and painful as he groped me.
As they went inside.
Violated me.
It took every single ounce of my strength not to let my tears fall. Not to squeeze my eyes shut. Not to beg.
Instead, I met his stare, unblinking, unyielding, challenging.
“You’re going to die,” I croaked, my throat raw, my mind itching to escape the present, the horror of what he was doing. What he was going to do.
I’d witnessed it.
The women in my life going through stuff like this.
Laurie went through this.
Bex went through this.
Laurie died.
Bex survived.
I’d always been so angry at Laurie’s fate. Cursed every deity out there.
Now, as I was experiencing only the horrific appetizer of what she was exposed to, I was wondering who was luckier, Bex or Laurie.
Because as Kevin continued to violate me, my body was not my own anymore. The one sacred thing that was ours in this world was being trashed and tarnished. Not just my physical body but my mental one.
I wanted to be like those strong women survivors you read about, who talked about their body being taken but not their soul.
I’d always thought I’d be one of those women.
Always considered myself strong.
That was until the second his fingers went inside. Clutching at my soul and shredding it. Dirtying it. Showing me just how fucking vulnerable it was.
“You’re nothing,” he hissed in my ear, pressing down on me.
He moved and his hand wasn’t inside anymore. It was yanking at my panties, and I knew his intention.
“Fuck you,” I whispered.
Then I lifted my hips with a rush of adrenaline that gave me enough strength to buck him upward and backward, obviously not expecting the sudden fight.
I didn’t hesitate to kick at him, the heel of my bare foot hitting the bottom of his chin, the resulting crunch of bone sending waves of satisfaction shooting through my body.
Whether it was intentional or whether the shock and pain caused him to squeeze, Kevin fired the gun at the same time he grunted a wet, pained sound and tumbled off the side of the bed.
Luckily for me, the way his hand was positioned meant that the bullet went upward, into my ceiling, instead of horizontal, into my forehead.
I hoped that gunshot was enough to get the cavalry coming.
I was friendly with my neighbors, older couples and a young family. Not people who I’d want to endanger themselves by intervening. But they were also born and bred here, which meant they knew who to call.
No, not Ghostbusters.
Or the cops.
My heart clenched at that thought.
Luke.
In that little part of my brain that I pretended I couldn’t hear, I’d been thinking about him. Replaying all of our moments. Regretting being such a fucking coward. Thinking about choosing a man who would rape and kill me because I was trying to escape the man who would die for me.
That was not to be thought about.
Survival was top of the list at that juncture.
Kevin scrambled up, blood pouring from his mouth.
“Yu-ooh bitch,” he spluttered, blood and bits of his tongue he’d bitten off flying onto my white comforter.
