“My boyfriend was supposed to meet me here tonight,” I say, letting my voice waver slightly. “We planned this whole weekend in the city, but he cancelled last minute. We've been fighting a lot lately…”
“His loss,” Abbott says, his eyes lingering on the hemline of my dress. “Any man who'd stand up a woman like you clearly doesn't deserve her.”
My stomach churns at his obvious leering, but I force myself to smile. “That's kind of you to say. I just… I don't know. Sometimes I think relationships are harder these days because people expect everything to be handed to them. He just doesn’t want to work for it.”
His eyes light up at the familiar talking point, just like I knew they would. “That’s exactly how I feel. Nobody wants to work for anything these days, and it’s a shame your boyfriend doesn’t work as hard as he should for your attention.”
I nod fervently. “You’re right. I don’t deserve that. What did you say your name was again?” I ask, as if I haven’t been researching him for a week.
He hesitates, clearly debating on whether he should use his prestige to his advantage or not risk giving away who he is.
“Ed,” he finally answers. “And I happen to be free for the rest of the night if you’d like to continue this conversation over a drink. I’m in the suite at the end of the hall here,” he adds, gesturing to his left.
I pretend to hesitate, then answer with feigned resolve, “You know what? That would be nice. It's better than sitting alone in my room feeling sorry for myself.”
He smiles, and my stomach churns at the idea of being alone with him, even for a moment.
He leads the way down the hallway, yammering on about this generation and their lack of family values, and I pretend to care.
At his door, he swipes the key card and gestures for me to enter first. “After you.”
I step into the silence of his suite, my mind racing as I take in the space and contemplate the best way to put my plan in action.
I’m in control, even if he doesn’t know it yet, and I’m determined to drag this out with painful precision. He deserves to suffer.
CHAPTER 32
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”
–Friedrich Nietzsche
“Would you like a drink?” Senator Abbott asks as he leads me toward the kitchenette area. The suite is massive, with a living room, a small dining table, a kitchenette, and a separate bedroom.
“Not yet, but thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and pours himself a glass of whiskey before gesturing to the couch in the living room.
I take a deep breath and follow his lead, still nodding politely and pretending to care about the stupid shit he’s saying while shoving down the revulsion floodingthrough me.
When I perch on the far end of the couch, he sits too close for comfort, and his thick, heavy cologne nearly chokes me.
“You're even more beautiful up close,” he says with a slimy smile as he places a hand on my knee. It’s a test to see how much I’ll let him get away with, and I swallow my pride and manage not to flinch.
My skin crawls at his touch, but I force myself to smile back. “Thank you.”
His hand inches further up my thigh as he asks me questions about who I am, what I do for work, and where I’m from. I lie easily, but my mind is on the knife in my purse.
This time, I have a real plan. I’m just not sure if it will work.
Panic flutters in my chest as I realize just how much larger he is than me, how easily he could overpower me if he chose to. For a moment, I'm back in my house with Joel, overwhelmed by the same helpless terror.
But I'm not that girl anymore.
I'm the hunter now, not the prey.
When his fingers slip under the hem of my dress, I laugh nervously and scoot back. He takes it as a challenge, closing the small gap I’ve put between us and becoming more aggressive with his movements, grabbing the hem of my dress to yank it up and groping my hips and thighs. His hot breath hits my face, and I hold back a gag.
“Wait,” I say. I’m breathless, but with fear rather than the eagerness he probably assumes from me.
