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Hence the flash.
I shot up, momentarily too stunned to remember my purchase from earlier as the camera flew onto the mattress beside my body and his dark form moved toward me, face twisted up into an ugly sneer that had my blood running cold and my stomach dropping hard enough to make me seriously wonder if I was going to be sick all over myself.
My feet hit the floor a split second before a hand closed around my throat, squeezing hard enough to immediately cut off air, pushing until I was flat on my back, his body looming over me. My hands went up, clawing, slapping, trying to punch anything close enough as my head started to go light, my lips tingling, my chest unbearably tight from the need for oxygen.
I was sure I was going to pass out, was going to have sickening things done to me. At that moment, knowing it was going to happen whether I was awake or not, I almost preferred the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness.
But then his grip lessened, stayed, but allowed me to take a frantic, gasping breath, effectively clearing my mind, giving me clarity. And I remembered that while I wasn’t overly extraordinary, had no real world-changing skills to speak of, I was absolutely not the kind of woman who would lay there and take it; who didn’t try to fight even when her back was against the wall. Or, in my case, against the mattress.
I hadn’t spent months trying to keep myself safe the only ways my budget would allow only to give up in the final round.
Hell no.
His hand pressed down hard again, cutting off air, as his other hand reached down and squeezed my breast hard enough to make me arch up.
And that was just about friggen enough.
I pulled my arm as far back as the mattress would allow, balled up my fist, and slammed forward with everything in my decidedly smaller than his, body. My punch landed square in his already-hard dick, making him release my throat and breast simultaneously as he let out a loud cry, hands cupping his crotch.
“You stupid fucking bitch!” he roared, reaching out with one hand and slamming his own fist into the highest point of my cheekbone, making my eyes immediately water and pain ricochet out until the entire left side of my face was throbbing with pain. “You are going to pay for that,” he hissed, reaching for his fly and starting to undo it.
I scooted back frantically on the mattress, the only thing I could think was getting away from him. My shoulder brushed the camera, and I reached for it, heart beating so fast I swear I was choking on it. My hand closed around it, and I hurled it at his head, feeling no relief when it whacked him in the nose, making him let out another loud roar.
Because the fact of the matter was, he had gotten his hard dick out of his pants, and I knew, I freaking knew how he was going to make me pay for hurting him.
So there was no relief from the momentary pain I caused him, knowing that if he got his hands on me, I would pay for it in a much longer, more painful way.
I rolled off onto the floor on the far end of the bed, getting up in a blink, inching around my bedroom, trying to make it to the door. There were windows behind me, but I would never be able to get one open before he got to me. They were old and got stuck on good days, stayed stubbornly in place on others, no matter how much I pounded on them.
The only way out was the door.
Screaming wouldn’t help me either.
The house to the left of mine was bank owned. The one to the right had a pipe burst a week before, and the owners were staying with family as the place got gutted. Behind, there was a small patch of woods that butted up to an elementary school. There was a quiet road out front and not a living soul for a good mile in any direction.
I was completely and utterly alone in the world.
No one would hear me.
“I like me a little fight,” he said, still smiling, still sure he was going to have me eventually.
Chances were, he was right.
I was under no delusions.
His body was blocking the nightstand where my gun was situated. Even if I made it to the door, he would probably catch me halfway down the stairs or before I could get across the house to the front door where I would be barricaded in anyway.
I needed that gun.
It was the only way.
So I did what I really, really didn’t want to do – I started inching away from the door, away from unlikely escape. And I inched closer to the side of the bed I had thrown myself off just seconds before.
