“Yeah,” I lie.
“Huge rock and nice car…he must take good care of you.”
I roll my eyes since he’s behind me. Most men believe that you can’t support yourself. Coming up to the door, I turn the knob and spin around to face him before I open it all the way. “Not always.”
He reaches up and pushes my hair behind my ear. The simple touch makes my skin crawl. “Well, that’s what I’m here for.”
This man thinks he can get me off. If women had half the confidence in themselves that men have in their useless dicks, we would rule the world. Be unstoppable, I swear.
I turn and shove the door open, stepping inside. The room looks like it did when I left it, except my husband is nowhere in sight. There’s a black bag on the floor by the dresser that wasn’t here before, but that’s it.
“The Kill (Bury Me)” by Thirty Seconds To Mars plays from his cell phone sitting on the dresser beside the TV, so I know he didn’t go far. He’d never leave his phone behind. Maybe he’s in the bathroom.
I turn to the man. “Would you?—”
He wraps his hand around my throat, picks me up off the floor, and slams my back onto the bed, cutting off my air.
“I bet you like it rough.” He gives me a sinister smile.
You have no idea, buddy.
I buck my hips, and it forces him up off his knees a little bit but not enough to get out from underneath him.
He laughs. “Feisty bitch.”
I reach up to stab his eyes out, but his arm is longer than mine so I can’t reach his face. Instead, I grab at his suit jacket and button-down. Anything I can reach.
His free hand yanks my dress off my shoulder to expose my bra, and he frowns that I’m not naked underneath.
Fucking bastard. Where is Kashton?
I arch my neck, trying to relieve the pressure on my throat, but it does no good. My fisted hands punch at his chest, and he laughs, letting go of me.
Gasping, my throat burns when I manage to breathe. He gets off me and stands at the end of the bed. He undoes his belt and then unzips his slacks. I take the opportunity to roll onto my stomach and reach for the lamp on the nightstand as he grabs my ankle and pulls me down to the end of the bed. I flip back over and slam it into the side of his face, breaking the lamp.
“Fuck,” he stumbles back.
I shove my heel into his chest, knocking him into the dresser and TV, causing it to crash to the floor. He trips over it, stumbling around, disoriented.
Reaching out, I take advantage of his situation and yank his belt from hisslacks since he had it undone and jump on his back, wrapping it around his neck from behind and pulling it as tight as I can.
He thrashes around, slamming my back into the mirrored wall before he shoves me into a corner, making me grind my teeth at the sharp edge biting into my skin.
His hands frantically try to reach behind him to grab at me, but all he gets is a few loose strands of my hair every now and then, yanking pieces from my scalp.
“How does it feel to choke, you bastard?” I grind out, refusing to let go no matter how much my right hand hurts.
His legs give out and he falls to his knees, and still I hang on for dear life. If I let go, I’m dead. I won’t get an advantage over him again, and I don’t have a gun or knife on me. This is it.
He falls face-first onto the floor just as the door opens. Kashton steps inside and comes to a stop.
“About fucking time. Where the fuck have you been?” I bark.
KASHTON
“What—” I look out at the bar across the parking lot and then back at her. “What the fuck are you doing?” I step inside, shutting the door behind me. The bed is disheveled, the TV broken and on the floor.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” She gets up on shaky legs and falls back into the dresser, running the back of her hand across her drool-covered chin while she tries to catch her breath.
