“Shut your fucking mouth.”
He pushes me, forcing me forward and into the women’s bathroom. We walk into the fancy powder room area right before the room with the stalls and my heart sinks into my shoes. Here there are fancy, antique couches with carefully embroidered upholstery and gold-painted framing. The opposite wall has a large, full length mirror, perfect for checking to see if your panty line is showing.
He pauses and looks around. “Nice,” he says, then he tries to force me onto the couch. I see my attacker for the first time. Dark hair, dead, black eyes, and holding a knife in one hand. I struggle against him, grabbing his wrist holding the knife and stomping his foot. He yelps and lets me go long enough for me to try to get to the door. I’m grabbed by my hair from behind and yanked back.
“Fucking bitch,” he swears as he slams me against the wall. He holds me there, pressing his arm across my back while he starts lifting my dress.
I scream. “No! Stop!”
“Shut your fuck?—”
Suddenly, the door flies open and Viktor’s here, his face twisted with rage.
