The mother fucker.
Quietly, I open the heavy wood door enough for me to creep around it. Casanova is on a makeshift bed with Avery but seems still dressed. Maybe his fly is open. I can’t tell.
Avery cries out.
Anger crushes my fear instantly, and I rush forward and dive.
I land on them, driving the nails into his back. Casanova screams and bucks. At first, he can’t knock me off because we’re linked together through the plate and chain.
His shouts of rage are deafening, and I fall off the side of the bed, causing the nails to yank free of his flesh.
Casanova springs from the bed, coming at me. I twist my wrists, angling the metal plate up at him. He doesn’t stop in time, and the plate’s edge slices his throat. His shocked gasp is satisfying as he falls to the side, grabbing his neck.
There’s blood, but it’s not gushing. His hands drop as he pushes himself upright.
The cut wasn’t deep enough.
Rising to my feet, I watch him. His face is twisted with rage, and the light is so low that it takes me a minute to recognize Professor William Smith-Hall.
I need to get Avery and myself out of the room. Backing up until my thighs touch the mattress, I never take my eyes off him.
“I’m going to kill you,” he says, rubbing his neck and smearing blood on his shirt collar. His belt is undone, fly open, cock out.
Jesus. The sick fuck.
He pulls the belt free of the loops with a slither. Turning it so the buckle dangles, he glares at me menacingly.
My heart hammers, but I don’t move. This is like being on the competition floor, waiting for the music to start.
“Ary—Arya, here,” Avery mumbles in a voice so soft I barely hear it.
I don’t look at her. My eyes need to stay on him every second.
Click.I’m not sure what makes that soft sound behind me.
The bed shifts with a creak, and I feel Avery’s hand against my side. I can’t tell if she’s showing support or just needs to steady herself. Either way, it’s all right.
He swings the belt, and the buckle hits the side of my leg. White hot pain bursts through my flesh.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
He snaps it twice more against me, and then swings it at my face. I use the plate to deflect the high blow but he advances, swinging wildly. The buckle strikes the side of my head and my shoulder.
I scream and shove out with the plate, but he dodges like a matador. The bull’s horns miss him, and the buckle hits my back so hard the crack drives me to my knees. He advances on me. I try to use the plate as a shield, and the buckle bangs against it. It sounds like a church bell.
Suddenly he cries out and back-pedals.
What?
Blood sprays from his thigh, and he grabs his groin. His fucking hard cock is still out of his pants, and it deflates like a balloon as his blood pours from between his fingers.
As he stumbles out of the room, I jump up. He tries to close the door on us, but I throw myself against it.
As it swings open under my weight, it knocks him down. He crawls to his feet and staggers away.
I glance back at Avery who is standing next to the bed. She’s naked except for a bra that’s twisted to the side so the cups are holding nothing.
In her hand is a bloody knife with a thick serrated blade. Her small fingers are inside a large finger grip that was clearly meant for a man’s hand.
