He nods at the bed. “Lie on the bed. On your back. I’m going to tie you to the bed.”
A cold shiver runs through me. Tie me to the bed? If he does that, he’s going to kill me for sure. I’ve got no doubt about that in my mind.
“Why?”
He gestures with the gun. “You wouldn’t be askingwhyif you really wanted this,” he growls. “You’d be sayingyes, sir.”
“Don’t you…” I lick my lips. I don’t want to say it, but it’s like I need the proof that he’s going to hurt me. Kill me. “Do you want me to keep my clothes on?”
“Why?” He snarls. “Do you want to take them off?Lie down.”
I shudder as I move toward the bed. Something in his face has changed. It’s like he’s made a decision and now he’s going to follow it through no matter what. Somehow, I know it’s not about lust or romance… or whatever passes for those in his fucked-up psyche.
“Okay.”
I sit on the bed, then lie back. Shame and panic threaten to drown me as I move up the bed, then sit up so I can watch him. He looks around the room, goes to the dresser, the gun never leaving me. He starts rooting through the clothes I didn’t take to Rhett’s house.
He carries a bunch of clothes to the bed one-handed, then tosses them down.
“Some of these should do,” he murmurs under his breath. “Be a good bitch and stay still while I tie your ankle.”
“Of course,” I say. “I trust you.”
He looks at me with dead eyes. “Sure.”
I wait for my moment. I know there’s only going to be one. When he grabs my leg, I try not to flinch or show my disgust. He places the gun on the bed, then moves to pick up a sweater. Maybe he’s going to fasten one arm or my ankle to the bedposts.
I don’t wait to find out.
I kick him in the face as hard as I can.
He screams and stumbles back. I twist sideways, feet hitting the floor, so that I can reach for the gun. He leaps toward the bed when he realizes what I’m doing. I gasp and swipe for the gun, accidentally knocking it off the bed.
Crap.
I dive onto the floor, my fingers curling around the grip of the gun. He snarls, grips my arm and flips me onto my back. I end up lyingonthe gun. The metal digging painfully into my back.
“Is this what you want?” He screams, climbing on top of me. He pushes his weight down against me. “Dirty whore. Is this what you’ve beenwaitingfor?”
I feel like I’m drowning under his bulk, unable to move, unable to breathe. Panic constricts my lungs, but somewhere deep in my mind, I remember Rhett’s lesson.
Off balance, wriggle, create space.
My hands go to Lucian’s hips and buck my hips as hard as I possibly can. He gasps and lurches forward, then lets out a roar as his head collides with the wall.
I wriggle out from underneath him, climb to my feet, and turn for the gun. Too late. He’s already scrambling on the floor for it.
I duck my head and run from the room, sprint through the cabin, and burst out the front.
A gunshot goes off behind me, whizzing past my ear.
Pure panic sets in now, and all I can do is run as fast as my legs will carry me as he fires shot after shot. Concrete flies as a bullet strikes the concrete inches from my feet.
I don’t even know where I’m running. Just anywhere. Away from him. Away from my past. Away from the bullets.
A car careens around the corner, headlights shining brightly on me.
Lucian fires another shot, hitting the car. I can’t see the man behind the wheel, but he must have the window open because I hear him bellow.
