I hear him laugh—like this is a game.
“Lucky…” His voice sings after me. “Don’t make me chase you.”
I sprint. My socks skid on the wood floor. I grab the first thing I can—a heavy ceramic vase from the console table—and whirl just as he rounds the corner.
I smash it across his arm.
It barely slows him.
He grabs my wrist—iron-tight—and slams me against the wall hard enough that spots burst behind my eyes.
“Stop running,” he hisses, breath hot, sour. “Why do you always run?”
“Because you’re INSANE!” I choke out, kicking, clawing, anything to break free.
He presses his body weight against me, trapping me. I can feel how excited he is. Not sexually—worse. Triumphant. Purposeful.
“You’re ruining it,” he warns, voice trembling. “This was supposed to be perfect.”
I drive my knee up.
Not high enough. Not hard enough. But it hits. He grunts—a sharp, startled sound—so I do it again, this time twisting, clawing at his face with my free hand.
My nails rake across his cheek.
He hisses, grabbing at my wrist—
I swing again, this time with a fist, wild and messy, catching his jaw.
For one second, he actually stumbles.
Hope flares—bright, impossible.
I try to run.
He recovers too fast.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking me backward so hard my vision blanks white. I hit the wall with my shoulder, pain detonating down my arm.
“BITCH—” he snarls, and his backhand cracks across my mouth.
Blood floods my tongue. Stars burst. The room tilts sideways.
But I don’t fall. Iwon’tfall.
I slam my elbow back—into his ribs. He wheezes, grip loosens—
I try to bolt again.
He grabs me around the waist, lifts me clean off my feet like I weigh nothing.
My nails dig into the doorframe, splintering wood. He rips me free.
“Your boyfriend won’t save you,” he whispers into my hair, breath shaking with excitement. “I made sure of that.”
Cold shoots through me.
What did he do to Ethan?
