Bianca
I’ve been meticulously erasing my reason for fleeing Vaughn from my memory, hiding it as deep as possible.
Whenever my mind wanders, I pivot, refusing to offer the vile man a shred of my time. Too bad I can’t control my dreams as easily. Vaughn’s in them every night. Either sitting in his wheelchair and staring, or telling me how beautiful I am. How much I remind him of his wife.
Four restless nights since I escaped him have drained my energy, but I twist and turn in bed for hours on end. Sleep eludes me. The sheets tangle around my legs like restraints. Every one of my breaths louder than it should be. My room is quiet. The whole apartment’s quiet. I can’t hear Arthur or Ryder, just my heavy breathing and the faint ticking of the clock.
It’s three in the morning. Then quarter past, half past, quarter to four, and I’m wide awake, my eyes shut tight as if that’ll help me nod off. As if it’ll block the memories bombarding my exhausted head...
It wasnotokay to sleep.
After what feels like five minutes of dreamless sleep, I’m roused awake. My mind’s foggy while the bliss holds me in its claws, refusing to let go, but my body wakes much faster.
I’m not sure why I’m perfectly still, as if frozen, my heart drumming against my ribs at an alarming pace.
Sounds assault my senses first.
A grunt. Heavy, labored breathing, a rustling of sorts. Rhythmical... wet sounding. Another grunt. Guttural. Close. Too close. Almost in my ear.
My mind clears further. My senses sharpen as my eyes adjust to the darkness. I’m facing the wall, but the way the mattress dips tells me I’m not alone here. Vaughn’s beside me.
The bed’s rocking gently and his... his hand is under the comforter, under my blouse... fondling my breast.
Fear explodes behind my ribs as reality solidifies around me.
He’s... he’s... oh God.
His labored breathing grows faster. As do the wet sounds and the gentle rocking. He pinches my nipple, a shudder shaking him so hard his arm twitches against my back.
Instinct springs me into action, every muscle in my back tensing as I bolt upright. Vaughn’s hand falls away, a pained gasp tearing through the room. I turn to face him. Our eyes lock in the faint blue light from the TV.
His eyes are hooded, the look in them completely uncaring and... feral. He hasn’t stopped jerking off, his fingers clenched around his dick, ramming up and down.
Bile churns in my stomach, survival instinct kicking in as my fists shoot forth, connecting with his face, chest, shoulder. I shove at him, making him rock sideways and release his dick.
My vocal cords are tied, words stuck in my throat. Only pained, petrified sobs tear from my lips when I topple the fucker off my bed.
“Bianca, wait...”he slurs, the words just about decipherable.“I can explain, please, I—”
I jump out of bed. He’s on the floor, on his back, pants down, wrinkled dick on display, the upper half of his body struggling to get up. He’s absolutely wasted.
One glance around the room tells me he must have woken up from his nap a while ago. The half-empty bottle that sat on the coffee table before I fell asleep is empty now. Two identical brothers are beside it, equally empty.
How the fuck is he still conscious? How is his dick hard?
Another wave of nausea turns my stomach as I kick him straight in the nuts, the fabric of my t-shirt shifting, brushing against my bare breasts.
It stings. He pinched my nipple so hard itstings.
My mouth opens, a myriad of words piling on the tip of my tongue. I want to give him a piece of my mind, yell, scream, cry, but nothing comes out.
Nothing but choked sobs...
I bolt upright, adjusting to the darkness of my own apartment. My chest heaves, the air too thick, too sharp, like shards of glass slicing my lungs. I grab my boob, still feeling the phantom sting from Vaughn’s fingertips. My skin is clammy with sweat, heart racing so fast it feels like it might burst.
The door slams open, bouncing off the wall. I jump, yelp, and watch as Ryder storms in, gun in hand, eyes scanning the room with a sniper’s precision. His hair’s a mess, like he jumped out of bed without a second thought. Arthur’s hot on his tail, knuckles whitening around the hilt of a long knife.
“What’s wrong, Winter?” Ryder sweeps the room, pausing in every corner, searching for an intruder. “Are you hurt?”
