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I crawled until my back was against the wall, my eyes never leaving his own as he slowly walked to me.
He loved the chase, the fight.
I used the wall to steady myself as I stood, my eyes darting around my dark surroundings to find something I could use to protect myself.
I couldn’t run anymore, there was nowhere to go. There was no one to help me. His guards were accustomed to it; to him beating me while I screamed bloody murder. They never came to the door before. Why should they come now?
I walk sideways as he got closer, leaning on the wall, making my way to the lamp on the bedside table.
Following my eyesight, he laughed even more.
“You want it?” He mocked, “Have it.”
Grabbing the lamp, he threw it at me. I barely covered my head as the glass exploded, some shards settling in my hair.
I walked further to the right, away from him, crushing pieces of glass under my feet as I sought solace in the corner of the room when my foot froze upon feeling something cold.
It was the knife.
Ilya smirked at me, unaware of my discovery, and began to walk toward me menacingly. My heart started to pound, my chest tight, my fingers clammy.
I dropped to the floor and picked the knife up, trying to conceal it as I sat in a fetal position on the floor.
“Get up.”
I didn’t move, my hands curled around the handle of the knife, my hands straining at the pressure.
Grabbing my hair with his inhumane strength, he forced me to stand, his other hand enclosing around my throat as he pushed me into the wall.
My eyes bulged, as he restricted my airway, water coming to my eyes once more.
“Pl—ee—,” I tried to beg for my life, but he only tighten his fist more.
“Shut up, bitch,” he spat.
I felt my face turning red, as my lungs cried for air.
He was going to kill me.
Using the little willpower I had left, I raised my hand and drove the knife into his neck, forcing him to stumble backward as he held the spouting vein. The blood ran down his bare chest, staining his briefs and the floors.
I dropped to my knees, taking exaggerated breaths, as I inhaled the air I was previously denied.
Turning my head to Ilya, I watched him stumble onto our bed, staining the white sheets, as his fingers unsuccessfully tried to stop the blood.
Spitting my mouth free of the blood that had pooled, I watched him gurgle on his own as his eyes dimmed.
Then it happened.His eyes were wide, his hands dropped, and his body fell onto the bed.
I rose to my feet, my hand around my throat as I took steady, slow steps to my husband’s still body afraid this was another sadistic game of his; that he would sit up and laugh in my face.
As I stared down at him, I knew that this was no game.
My husband was dead. I killed him.
Chapter One
MIA
