“Stop, Charlie.”
“No stopping me now, Firefly.”
Everything slows around me. And it’s just like Victor told me. I’m trapped in a cage with Charlie. Two people who have two choices—fight or tap out.
Victor’s voice sounds in my mind.The fight is more mental than physical.I need to use my brain.
I scan the room for items I can use as a weapon. A stapler? A lamp? It’ll have to be my bare hand.
Charlie is in front of me, his hands reaching for my throat. I’m suddenly aware of time in a state of alert consciousness. With the first touch of danger, time seems to slow down.
He grabs my neck and shoulders. My mind is focused. I place my arms around his strong arms and push them down while kicking him in his lower body. He stumbles a few steps back. Charlie holds his groin, crouched over.
Is now the time to flee? Instead, I lift my fists, ready to fight with whatever I’ve got.
“Don’t come near me,” I shout.
“Feisty. I like the game you’re playing.” Charlie drops his hands to his sides and advances toward me.Again.
“It’s not a game,” I yell.
Charlie reaches me, circles his arms around my upper body, and traps my hands in his tight grip. He presses his body into mine, and for a moment I’m trapped.
One second. Two. Three.
I stomp on his foot with my heel, and with a jerking motion I headbutt him. A sharp pain radiates from the back of my head down to my neck. This just felt natural. No prior training.
Charlie’s grip is loosened and I move away from him. When I turn to face my attacker, I’m met by flaring nostrils, pressed lips, narrowed eyes.
“Now you’ve really pissed me off,” Charlie spits out.
Suddenly, the office door swings open and Alek stands there.
“Alek, no—”
But before I can finish, Charlie launches himself at Alek. Charlie’s uppercut connects with Alek’s jaw and my brother’s body drops with a loud thud. I watch in horror, frozen. Alek is unconscious.
Charlie makes a tsking sound with his tongue. He straightens his posture.
“I told you not to tell anyone where you went, Firefly. You disobeyed meagain.” He shakes his head. “And that was a nice kick, but it was the wrong move.”
Charlie reaches for his boot and takes out a familiar knife.
Think, Tia. Think.
His hand wraps around the wooden handle and holds it as if he’s about to carve up his prey. He swings toward Alek’s unmoving body, and images of young Alek pouncing on the playground bully surface in my mind. Alek jumps on the boy’s back, falling on the ground with him. Then he pushes the boy’s head into the sand, yelling to never touch me again. Alek protected me—and now it’s my turn.
“Stop!” I shout, all air exiting my lungs.
Charlie freezes in place, startled. He may be physically stronger, but I can fight him in other ways—with my words. All this time I refrained from engaging with him. Stayed away from him and didn’t say anything after his text messages, the flowers, the letter.
And I get an idea.
“Was everything you said in your letter to me true?” I say in low voice.
He straightens his back and stares at me in unnerving way. I have his attention.
“You wrote: ‘All I wanted to do was to make you mine.’ So touch me, then.” I try to keep my voice steady.
