I’d prefer a gun, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and dating finance bros had told me insecure assholesneverliked being laughed at.
So I laughed.
And it worked—I only wanted to distract him from locking the door and he didn’t.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?”
My lips burned, the cuts tugging and pulling as I smirked. “You.”
Snarling, Mr. Cavity stomped over like an oversized toddler and used my hair as a leash to drag me forcibly backward just so he could slap me again.
When the brute force on my hair ripped some strands from the root, my shriek morphed into a scream that he shut up with a punch.
Dazed, my head hung as pain ricocheted through my skull from that abrupt hit.
When he spat on me, I had enough wherewithal to shudder with disgust.
He noticed too.
That earned me a couple kicks and another punch, this time to the gut.
Panting, I sagged in my bindings, tilting my aching head to scope out my new locale.
The luck of the Irish was on my side because his momentum had pushed me into a better position—closer to the nightstand.
Now or never.
Preparing myself for the punishment to come, I gathered as much strength as my weak body contained and shoved up on my toes until my chair tipped backward. Gravity and momentum performed the bulk of the task for me, which came as a relief.
Recoiling as I collided with the floor, I bit my tongue when my skull slammed into it.
I will not die tonight, goddammit.
Once he started growling more Slavic nonsense and grabbed the back of the chair to haul me upright, I sucked in a breath stained with his stench.
The buzzing in my ears and the strange spots in my eyes hinted I was likely concussed as well as drugged, but sheer obstinacy allowed me to focus on my next step.
I used his distraction and the forward momentum of him picking me and the chair up to snatch the lamp from the nightstand.
Somehow, my fingers circled the body and I managed to bring it with me. Heavier than expected, the base a solid weight that tugged at my weakening reserves, it nevertheless gave me hope that I had a weapon on my side.
He spat something at me as he straightened, but I didn’t let him stand.
With the base of the lamp, I whacked him in the temple.
He snarled again, a wicked light of rage gleaming in his eyes as he reached for the makeshift weapon, but I didn’t stop.Couldn’t. In a fight for life or death, I refused to fucking die tonight. My forward movement was hindered, but it didn’t stop me from hitting out at his hands and his stomach. Thrusting and stabbing, anywhere and everywhere—I’d take anything so long as it hurt him.
He laughed, the sound wild with a kind of delight that declared for the world to hear how much he loved it when a woman struggled.
As he snatched at the light, it knocked my aim off course. The hefty base glanced off his knuckles and landed on his cock.
Talk about more Irish luck!
He howled like a baby.
Groaning, moaning,whimpering,he cupped himself, wobbling on his feet. I watched him fight the urge to drop to his knees. Desperate to encourage that urge, I pushed the base at him again, managing to get him in the nose. Wrenching upward drowned me of every ounce of energy I had, but it was worth it when blood cascaded from the tender tissues.
Celebrating as he flopped over, uncertain if I’d pushed hard enough to send his nose shuttling through his brain, I came to a decision.
