Nausea and humiliation combined like acid in my stomach.
Tristan’s fingers tugged at the front of my pants.
I tried again to kick him. It landed, not as hard as the last one.
He grunted in my ear. “Enough, or I’ll make it worse.”
The button popped open.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I swung my arm back blindly. The howl he let out told me I’d hit his busted nose. He stumbled back, just enough for me to pull to the side, going for escape rather than a fight.
I made it a few steps before he caught the collar of my shirt, yanking on it hard enough to pull me back into him. His arms circled my waist and then my feet were lifting off the ground.
“Let go of me!” I yelled as loud as I could.
“Scream if you want to. There are only businesses around here, and they’re all closed. No one is going to hear you.”
“I’m going to fucking end you,” I seethed, kicking the heel of my foot into his shin.
His body twisted. His arms released me with too much force. I cried out as my shoulder and hip slammed into the ground.
Pain radiated over my entire right side. I had no time to feel it, though. Not if I was going to escape.
I rolled onto my hands to push myself up.
Tristan’s foot collided with my side.
My side and back scraped against the asphalt. My lungs burned as my diaphragm spasmed. I couldn’t breathe.
“You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be,” Tristan panted. Blood streamed from his nose, over his lips and chin, before he wiped it on the back of his hand. He looked unhinged. Deranged. Manic.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, my own body betraying me.
He chuckled. “That all you had?” He pulled off his coat. Tossed it to the side. “You did better than I thought, though.”
Fingers worked his belt open, and I looked frantically around me for something,anything, I could use as a weapon.
There was a dumpster further down the alley.
Please. Please let there be something.
I groaned as I rolled over, my chest easing just enough for me to suck in a little air. Not enough. I dragged myself toward it as Tristan laughed behind me.
“Where are you hoping to go, Harpy?”
Don’t call me that.
“Gonna fight me with some garbage?” he teased. “Go on, then. See what you can find. The more you struggle, the better it’ll be for me.”
There was a glass bottle on the ground next to the dumpster. Tristan let me drag myself until it was just within reach before he kicked it away. Glass rattled against asphalt, echoing off the brick walls.
Fuck.
“Good try, though,” he mocked. “Shall we get on with it?”
“Don’t touch me,” I rasped.
