Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
She looks at me, and then at Alexander, and she stands on trembling legs. She runs for the door.
And she doesn’t make it.
Alexander tackles her to the floor and then forces her to her hands and knees while she cries silently.
“That was a piss poor effort if I ever saw one,” Alexander says.
He pushes himself inside of her from behind and grabs a fistful of her hair. He’s fucking her, but his eyes are on me. It’s like gasoline to his hostility.
It’s turning him on like nothing else can. Imagining that I’m her. Taking out his hate for me on Katie.
It only gets worse. His delusion enters a point of no return when he starts calling her Ten. Ten the whore. Ten the cunt. Ten the filthy slut.
Katie screams, and he muffles it with a hand over her mouth.
He’s getting off on the memory of that night. The way he smothered me into unconsciousness and left me for dead. He’s reliving the high with Katie.
The binds cut into my wrists and my heartbeat thrashes in my ear. The sounds are too much. The light hurts my eyes, and the chair is stabbing into my skin. I’m hyperaware of every thrust. Overstimulated and under-oxygenated.
Rory’s voice is the thing I grasp onto. His words from this morning at the gym.
Telling me to stay calm. Always stay calm and think about your next move. He told me I would make a mistake if I let panic win, and he was right.
I seize a mouthful of air and drown out the noise in front of me.
Duct tape.
Mack told me once about the duct tape. How if you bring both of your arms down with enough force, it will break on its own.
She showed me, and she made it look easy. And it’s never as easy when you’re doing it yourself.
With my arms behind the chair, it’s a strain to get the momentum I need. But while I’m shifting around, there is a physical incentive pressing against my calf. My sheath is still where I left it.
Either Alexander didn’t notice it, or he already removed the knife.
I won’t know for sure until I can reach for it.
Time is running out.
His grunting is louder, and his violence is too.
Katie isn’t moving. She isn’t breathing. Her face is ashy and wrong. One of Alexander’s hands is still wrapped around her throat, the other clapped over her mouth and nose.
Nothing else exists to him outside the clutch of his violent fantasy.
I scream at him and he bashes her face into her floor. Over and over again. Fucking her while blood spatters across the room.
It’s too late.
I’m too fucking late.
Katie falls limp against the floor, and Alexander collapses on top of her, groaning out his release with one final thrust into her dead body.
My heart beats faster and a rush of rage spiked with adrenaline floods my veins. I overextend my arms and thrust down as hard as I can.
It has to be now.
He has to die now.
The duct tape breaks with an audible sound, and Alexander is moving.
Crawling towards me- covered in Katie’s blood- with an expression on his face that I won’t soon forget.
I’m next.
He’s going to do me next.
My fingers shake as I reach for the sheath and yank on the Velcro strap. I’m stumbling, shaking, grasping… and it’s real. The handle is real, and it’s in my palm.
Alexander reaches out for me when I bring the blade up and plunge it into his chest.
My fist squeezes around the wood and recoils, yanking it from his flesh. He retreats and touches the place where I stabbed him. The place where blood seeps from his wound and drips onto the floor below.
A series of emotions flashes through his eyes.
Disbelief. Shock. Hate. And then rage.
I have wounded him, but it isn’t enough.
I slash the bloody knife between my ankle and the chair, severing the tape.
There is only time for one before Alexander comes at me again, still clutching his wound. This time, I aim for his balls with my foot and I don’t miss.
He doubles over, and my other ankle is free.
The knife is a mess of blood and glue and my hand is sore and stiff. This isn’t going to work.
I bolt from the chair and pull up my pants, seeking out alternate weapons with my eyes. There’s a mug on the counter and I move for it while Alexander crawls after me.
I throw the mug at his head and it misses.
But the next item, a frying pan, hits him in the shoulder.
“Cunt,” he roars. “You will beg for your death.”
A fork sails through the air and bounces off his forehead, which does me no favors.
He’s wounded and bleeding, but adrenaline is powerful. He’s on his feet now, clutching at the counter as he moves around it.
I don’t even know what I’m throwing at him anymore. I reach for anything I can find and hurl it at his face.