My hands left Chris’s face and patted along the floor. Chris was too busy kissing my neck to notice. It was my window of opportunity, and it was closing by the minute. My fingers brushed along the tube, inching closer to getting a grip on it. That window was creeping closed as Chris’s rough hands gripped my throat and started squeezing.
“If I can’t have you, no one else will.” His spiteful words frightened me. He was going to kill me. His grand delusional plan was the biggest nightmare I had.
They say your life starts to flash before your eyes in the moment of unexpected death. My hopes and dreams started to flash instead of memories. And all of them had Shooter in it. And I was happy, I was smiling, I was loved. I wanted that so much. It had to happen in life draining from my body that I knew what I wanted.
I wanted to Shooter. I needed him like I needed air.
My hand grasped the syringe, flicked the top off, and I jabbed the needle into his thigh. He yelped as I administered a strongsedative that would work within seconds. But he fought every moment, squeezing my throat. I had to hold on until it kicked in.
As my vision started to fade into a deep abyss, the pressure lightened. His body started to go limp, ultimately loosening his hold on me, dropping to the side.
He had dropped some of his weight still on me. I gasped for air, coughing from the hold. I sobbed as I struggled to get out from under Chris’s unconscious body.
As much as I wanted to, I didn’t kill him. He would sleep for a long time, especially long enough until I could get to safety. My feet kicked, finally being free from his weight. I scrambled to the side, my back hitting the cabinets, the handles plunging into my skin. I didn’t care.
I escaped death. But for how long?
I caressed my neck, trying to ease the pain from his hold. I saw his body there, the monster from my dreams come alive. Tears kept streaming down my cheek, mixing in with blood from when he struck my face. I knew I would have bruises, just like other times before. My clothes were ripped. My knees drew up to my chest, I hugged them tight. I needed him.
Amelia.
I knew one of the only places I could escape to, to be with the person that I needed to stop running from. A dark soul that was willing to protect me.
I mustered the strength, even with all the pain and aches that radiated through me. I ran into my room and grabbed the emergency bag with extra clothes and my anxiety and ADHD meds. I grabbed a few extra personal items, a couple rings, a few photos, and a few of the books that were special. I knew I’d be back one day, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.
A few days, that was all I needed.
My mind and feet took over, getting me back on the road through the evening storm. I had made the path more thanenough times for it to be engrained in my mind. Thoughts were still spinning, replaying every scared thought, every movement that was made, playing the “what if” moments. Tears started to run down my face again.
Why couldn’t I have just left him a long time ago? What didn’t I have enough strength to start over? Why did I let this go on for as long as I did, thinking that I could get through it?
Shameful. Weak. That’s what I feel like. Everyone who ever told me that it wasn’t worth it, they were right.
The rain poured heavier when I arrived at a well-lit guarded entrance. I stopped, rolled down my window to let whoever was at the gate know that I was a safe person. A friendly face came to the window.
“Nurse Mia?” a young Waylan inquired.
I tried to smile, as if to say that I was okay. But when he stepped closer, the horror in his face wasn’t pity. It was worrisome.
My voice hurt, I didn’t realize that my voice was rough from Chris choking me. “Can someone help me to the main house?”
“Oh. Mia.” Waylan’s voice trembled. A sweet kid.
Before I knew it, Waylan had turned around, reached for his pockets and pulled out a phone.
“Twitty… No, stop, man. Twitty. You need to go get Shooter,” he mumbled into the phone. I couldn’t hear the rest. A little piece of my heartbeat again, they knew I needed him. Shooter.
Waylan waved me on, telling me that some of the brothers were there waiting for me. I simply nodded and made my way to the main house. The compound looked like it’s own mini city. It was almost full of houses and different buildings. It sort of felt like a home. The main house was where the majority lived. Some of the small houses were for some seniority or couples from what Melody had said.
My truck squeaked to a stop and my driver’s side door was ripped open. A caramel skinned man, with a short fade and the lightest brown almost golden eyes looked at me. I think it was Otis, but my mind was so fuzzy, my body and mind just knew it wasn’t Shooter.
“Ohmami,fucking hell. He’s going to go ballistic,” he said.
He pulled me out of my truck and scooped me into his arms, as the rain washed and cooled my body. It wasn’t long until I was rushed into the house. I almost slipped into sleep. I had to stay awake, if only to know that Shooter would come for me.
“You’re okay. He’s coming. We were looking for him.”
Where was he?
