“You’re going to learn how to behave and give me what I want.” Stars dance in front of my eyes moments before he loosens his hold so I can get air in my lungs.
He sneaks his hand in between my legs and squeezes me, causing me to whimper in pain—but it only seems to spur him on.
“Fuck, you’re a tight one. The tightest one I’ve felt in a long time,” he grunts as he shoves a finger inside me. I’m bone dry, and it fucking hurts. My hands press against his chest as I push, but he doesn’t budge.
If I can manage to get away from him, I have a small chance of getting the hell out of here. There’s no other guard around. All I have to do is get away and try to knock him out.
The monster growing inside me begs for his death, and deep down I know I want to give in and kill this bastard.
Anger washes over me, and I manage to bring my fist up to collide with his nose with the last of my strength. When he pulls his hand away to cup his face, I don’t waste any time. I grab his gun from his belt, and hold it up and take aim. The only time I’ve shot a gun was back at the hotel, and I didn’t have much of a good aim, but this is different—this is my one chance at freedom.
“Okay, let’s calm down. Give me the gun,” he says, trying to reason with me, but I don’t hear anything else out of his mouth.
He touched me without my permission, and he deserves to die. Not just for me, but for whoever came before me. I focus on my breathing, and ghost my finger to the trigger.
The sound of a door slamming close by breaks my concentration for a split second, and the guard takes that chance to lunge for me. I don’t think. My hand grips the gun harder, and I press the trigger. The bullet pierces through his stomach, andseconds later, blood leaks from his mouth as he crashes to his knees.
I-I shot him.
Oh god.
My hands shake, my eyes watching the blood pool all over the floor, mixing with the shower water. My stomach rolls, and I run to a toilet on the other side of the bathroom, barely making it before everything comes up.
All the blood.
I’ll never be able to erase that from my mind. But I can’t stop now. I have to get out of here, or it’ll have been for no reason.
I stand on shaky legs and run to the door, trying not to look at the guard who’s dying on the shower floor. I didn’t realize the tears leaking down my face as I pull open the door.
The hallway is dark, not a soul in sight, which is concerning since I fired a gun.
It’s either no one is down here, or enough guns go off they don’t think anything of it. The floor is cold against my feet, and the wall is rough as I keep a hand on it as I make my way farther down the hall. I have no idea where I am, but there are no windows, so I think it’s safe to assume we are still underground—meaning I need to find the stairs without being seen.
I pass a few doors but don’t bother with them, not knowing what might be on the other side—women who are chained or men who won’t be happy with me trying to escape.
After a few minutes of creeping down the hall, I find the stairs. I can see a light shining through the small window, and my chest fills with excitement.
I’m getting the fuck out of here.
I race up each step. Freedom is right there.
When the door is open, I run right into something hard.
No. Someone.
“Oh,” Peter says, gripping my shoulders. “Well, you shouldn’t be up here.” He looks confused for a second as he takes in my body, blood splattered on it from the guard.
“Did you do something bad, Brielle?” Peter studies me, a glint in his eyes as if he hopes I did. My mouth goes dry, and I attempt to take a step back, but he keeps a tight grip on me.
“Bad girls need to face the consequences of their actions if so.” I try my hardest to get out of his hold, but he doesn’t budge.
“Troy. Come here, please,” Peter yells, and seconds later Troy’s face comes into view.
“Please go check the bathroom. The girls being sold at the auction tonight should’ve been bathed and prepared, but this one is all alone.”
Troy walks past us, but not without smiling down at me. I wish it were him I killed instead. Peter doesn’t say anything as we stand there waiting for Troy.
Peter won’t be happy, and now I’m outnumbered. I should have taken the gun. The gun could’ve saved me. Why did I drop it?
