Page 14 of His Ruthless Queen

My nails dig into the man’s forearm, and the fucker smiles at me. He’s not going to let me go. He’s going to hold his grip until he squeezes the last bit of oxygen that I have.

So, I go limp. I stop fighting because maybe he’ll think I’m dead if I stop. Cocking his head to the side, he releases my throat, and I hurl myself to the side of the tub, gasping for air and clutching the sore spot. My focus is air, even though I know it should be killing this fucker.

The man’s hand grips my head, holding me in place.

Shit.I really did not keep up that fake death thing like I intended.

“Scotty!” I scream, hoping he never left, despite my demanding him to.

The man covers my mouth with his hand, muffling my cries for help. I force myself to look up, to glance around the room for any blunt object that I can use as a weapon. Where did that fucking razor go? It’s got to be here somewhere.

His grip on me loosens, and it gives me a momentary advantage. Reaching up, I grab at his tie dangling in the bathtub. Fisting it, I wrap the fabric around my hand and yank, pulling his head down. Somehow in the fight for my life, my knee manages to hit him perfectly, striking the right spot at his temple.

The force brings him down and he’s slumped into the water. My heart races. I stare at the body in shock for a moment. Climbing out of the bath, I run, my feet slipping on the rug. I stumble, trying to find my phone, screaming as I try to flee.

I can’t breathe while I search for my phone. It’s not on my nightstand, and I try to remember where I set my clutch when I came home. It’s over by the closet with my heels, and I trip, crawling to get to it.

“Scotty!” I call out again, my throat sore.

The man in the tub is awake now, and he stomps toward me. I reach for the handle of the bedroom door. “Scotty!” I run down the hall.

The man’s hand grabs the back of my head, and he pulls me back against him. “Fucking bitch. You were supposed to be knocked out,” he says in a Russian accent.

“Let go of her,” Scotty growls from somewhere down the hall.

Russian words fling back and forth between them, and I struggle against the hold of the home invader. There is no fucking way I’m going anywhere with him. His grip tightens around me, and my chest heaves while I struggle to catch air.

“Now, Saoirse,” Scotty sounds behind me.

Flashbacks of our training all those years ago come back. I swallow, then rear my elbow back with as much force as I can muster. Pain splinters through my arm when I connect with the side of the Russian’s head. It’s not strong enough to do damage, but it is enough that he grunts as he lets go of me.

I lunge forward, creating distance between us. Then, I run. I don’t look back, even as the sound of bodies hitting each other, of pained grunts comes from behind me. I can’t help Scotty by staying and being a target. I need to get to a phone and call for help.

I make it to the front door when another man comes up from behind me. “Going somewhere, sweetheart?” he asks, in a Boston accent.

He grabs a handful of hair, pulling me back, then releases me. I tumble to the floor. Pushing myself up, I try to stand. I refuse to give up. I won’t give up. He laughs manically, his hand gripping me by the hair again, and he drags me kicking and screaming into the living room.

I fall again when he releases me with force. I try to get up again, but a black leather foot presses to my back. It pins me in place. I groan at the weight, knowing that if he applies much more, bones will crack.

My body is exhausted and I fall, pressing my stomach to the floor. Wet, red strands of hair stick to my face, goosebumps forming on my arms from the cool air against my naked body. I’d shiver if I wasn’t being held down.

“Damn, such a tight ass. It’s a shame I’ve been told I can’t fuck you,” Booted Boston guy says, a sad hint to his tone.

I muster up the courage to fire back a comeback, even though my insides are begging me to run away and hide. “Please. You’d probably come after half a pump.”

His foot pushes harder, the skin beneath the rubber sole pinching. I hiss, sucking in a breath. That only makes the situation worse, harder to breathe. There’s less space between the floor and his foot now.

He chuckles, then bends to grab my head again. “Oh, Vlad is going to have fun taming the fight out of you.”

“Is Vlad the guy upstairs getting his head caved in by my bodyguard?” I ask.

“What the fuck are you talking about, bitch?”

Metal clicking sounds above me, and I know it’s Scotty putting a round in the chamber of his gun. “Step away from her now,” he growls.

My body sags with relief. He’s here to save me.

“Fuck, no. I’m not leaving without her.”

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