“Here we are,” the woman says, scanning the key card and opening the door. “There are drinks in the mini fridge. Feel free to get comfortable.”
I glance around the room and find that, instead of it looking elegant or sexy, it’s kind of bland. There’s a queen-size bed in the middle of the room with a floral comforter neatly tucked into it. There’s a white wicker dresser and two nightstands and a TV hanging in the corner.
On the floor is a blush-colored rug, and on the bed is …
“Oh my God,” I gasp.
There are textbooks and pajamas.
Kane is re-creating the scene.
This is supposed to be a teenage girl’s room.
She told me to get comfortable.
I run my fingers along the pajamas and then take a deep breath.
I can do this.
I change out of my outfit and into the pajamas and then have a seat on the bed. When nothing happens and Kane doesn’t show up, I grab one of the books, curious if he picked them out or if he told an employee to randomly place a few textbooks on the bed to set the scene.
The first one is an accounting textbook. There’s no way that can be a coincidence.
I flip through it, remembering all the nights I spent studying. Suddenly, the door clicks open. I glance up, prepared for what’s to come. Only nobody enters.
And then I’m grabbed from behind.
I was so focused on the decor that I didn’t notice there was another door.
“You fucking bitch,” a masculine voice growls, throwing me onto the bed. “You’re a fucking tease and a slut!”
He pins my arms to the bed, and my heart pounds in my chest.
This feels too real.
Too raw.
And for a moment, I’m taken back to my college apartment, and instead of Kane holding me down, it’s Anthony.
Only this time, I refuse to cry.
I can’t change what happened to me back then, but I’m in control now.
“Fuck you!” I bark, pushing against his chest and kneeing him in the balls. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”
He rolls to the side, groaning, but then he quickly recovers and grabs me by my hips, flipping me onto my stomach.
He’s not giving up. And if I don’t fight harder, I’m going to be raped again.
I think about what I was taught in the self-defense classes I took, and I lift onto my hands and knees and push back with my butt, getting him away. Then I sit up and fling my head back, hitting him in the face.
He drops onto the floor, and I scramble off the bed, ready to run out of the room, when my eyes land on the man sitting on the floor with blood dripping from his nose.
It’s not Anthony.
It’s Kane. My husband.
My body sags, and despite the crimson leaking from his nostrils, he catches me, pulling me into his arms.
