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He takes a step closer and another. My heart is pounding like a trapped thing in my chest, and I have to fight for every breath I take as panic sets in.
“Ah, there’s my girl. I’ve missed you. I think I’m going to have a little taste before I hand you over to Mr. Brown. You do remember Mr. Brown, don’t you?”
How could I ever forget the most sadistic of the men who frequented Red House? I don’t answer because it’s a rhetorical question. He knows I would never forget Mr. Brown. He’s the one who let Mr. Brown cut me, permanently scarring me so that I would always remember ‘our time together’ as he liked to call it.
“Mr. Brown has paid me a lot of money for you. It’s a rather tragic story. His personal slave recently died from an unfortunate accident, and he just hasn’t been able to find a suitable replacement. He was thrilled when I told him I located you.” Mr. Perfect reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, and I flinch away. “Look at it this way, you wanted away from Red House… now you’ll never have to go back. Though, you might wish you were back with us after living with Mr. Brown. He likes to break his toys.”
“No!” I scream and shove him away from me. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have been able to budge him, but he’s not used to me fighting back so I catch him off guard. He stumbles away, knocking over a chair.
“You little bitch!” he seethes as he gets his footing again.
He lunges at me, but I dodge out of the way. Adrenaline fueling me. I frantically look around the room for a way out, but he’s still between me and the door. I force back my panic, refusing to let myself be weak in front of this monster.
Never again.
I won’t be taken. I’ll die fighting if I have to.
Mr. Perfect lunges at me again, and I skitter backward, putting a little distance between us. My eyes dart around the room, looking for a weapon. Then I see it. Each of the recovery suites is decorated to the nines, and this one is no different. Sitting on a side table is a bronze statue. I put another foot between him and me. I’m standing within arm’s length of the statue.
“It’s useless to fight me, Tessa. You’re never going to win. I would really rather you not be damaged when I hand you over to Mr. Brown.”
I force my breaths to come in rough pants. I curl in on myself slightly looking every bit the meek, terrified woman he expects me to be. It’s easy enough to pretend that I’m in the throes of a panic attack. I’ve had enough of them to fake one convincingly.
He reaches for me, and I move. I grab the heavy statue and swing with all my might at him. I’m not sure what I expected to happen, but other than cursing me and holding his arm while he backs away, he doesn’t show any sign of damage.
It pisses me off.
He should hurt for all the suffering he’s caused. Not only to me but all the other girls too.
I hold the statue like a baseball bat and follow his retreat. I get close enough, and I take another swing at him. He jumps back, and I miss. My vision goes red. Even though I’m aware of the knife in his hand and the danger he presents, I keep advancing on him, swinging my weapon with determination.
He’s so focused on me that he’s not paying attention to where he’s stepping. His eyes widen with shock as he slips in Nancy’s blood. The blood he spilled. He crashes to the ground, and I rush him, pushing him to his back. There is a sharp pain in my side, but I ignore it as I crack the statue down on his head.
I hit him over and over and over again. I scream as I hit him, letting out years of anger and fear and pain. I hit him until my arms ache, and his face is unrecognizable.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind, and someone pulls the statue from my hands. I struggle against the arms holding me, but exhaustion wins, and I collapse against a strong chest.
“Jesus Christ.” I look towards the voice and see Kisten standing in the doorway, looking at me in horror.
Gunner is beside me, holding the bloody statue. It’s Matthew that has me wrapped in his strong arms. Because, of course, it is.
I blink down at what used to be Nelson Grant. He’s not so perfect anymore, I think to myself, then start laughing. I laugh until tears flood my vision. I laugh until my side hurts.
“Is she okay?” Kisten asks, looking worriedly from me to Matthew.
Gunner sets the statue down and squats down beside me. “Rose, I need you to stand up. Can you do that?”
The seriousness in his voice squashes my laughter. I look from him down to the body I’m still straddling and feel a desperate need to get up. The reality of what I’ve done starts to sink in. I try to stand, but fumble. Matthew steadies me, and Gunner reaches out to help. I put my hand in his and almost puke when I see the blood covering my hands and arms.
“Oh, God,” I say shakily.
“Don’t look at that. Look at me,” Gunner commands. He’s got one of those dom voices like Matthew something inside me revolts at the idea of taking orders from anyone but Matthew, but I listen anyway.
With Gunner’s help, I get to my feet and step over Nelson Grant’s body. Matthew is there a second later, pulling me into his arms, not caring that I’m covered in blood and gore. He hugs me close, and I gasp at the sharp pain in my side. I vaguely remember being hurt, but adrenaline and anger overrode the pain.
Now that the adrenaline is wearing away, all the little and not so little aches and pains make themselves known.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Matthew asks, holding me at arm’s length and looking my body over for any sign of injury.
