I have to get away from here. From him. And from the water.
I slammed into the door, the sound of my body crashing against metal echoing loudly all around me. Fumbling for the handle, I pulled it down and was about to pull it open when a hand landed heavy and hard on my shoulder, clamping down.
Screaming, I swung around, fists clenched, teeth snapping, swinging and biting at whatever I could find. I couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think clearly. I just knew I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t have his hands on me, couldn’t have him wash me clean again, couldn’t be here inside these gates.
“Let me go!” I screamed as I slammed my fists against his hard chest. “Let me go! The biters!”
My punches were no match for him, nothing more than an irritant he easily swatted away, much like one would a bug. But I wouldn’t relent—I couldn’t—and continued to try to break free, no matter how futile my efforts.
Unfazed, his expression hard and cruel, he gripped both my shoulders roughly and proceeded to drag me across the room. “They’re gone!” he shouted. “The biters are gone, and now you’re just an idiot covered in shit for no damn reason!”
His words gave me pause, but only for a moment once the realization of where he was taking me came into sight. He was still hauling me across the room, the large plastic tub full of water now only a few feet away, when I resumed my struggling and started to scream, shrieking so hard it felt as though I split my throat open.
His hand came down hard across my face in an attempt to stifle my scream, but as it clamped over my mouth, I used my teeth and bit down on his hand so hard he jerked back in surprise, giving me the opportunity to twist out of his grip.
“Fuck!” he roared, and I took off running.
The sound of his angry footfalls followed right after me, unnerving me, causing me to run faster and promptly trip over my own feet. My hands broke my fall as I went down face-first to the floor. But just as quickly as I’d fallen, his body fell on top of mine, crushing me to the floor and forcing the air from my lungs in one breathlesswhoosh.
Grabbing a handful of my hair, he rolled off me and forced me upright. I let out a startled squeak as he dragged me off, my hair pulling painfully at my scalp. Once we reached the tub, I tried to fight him again, flailing and twisting in his hold, but nothing I did mattered. No matter how hard I fought him, no matter how much I cried, he was unrelenting. My pitiful strength was no match for his brute force.
“Like a goddamn rabid squirrel,” he muttered, and tossed me carelessly into the tub.
Water sloshed out of the bath on both sides as I sank below the cold depths, my hands clawing at the rough plastic container, clawing at his arms. I thrashed violently until I breached the surface, gulping down lungfuls of air, and once I could breathe, I screamed again and resumed clawing at him with vigor, digging my nails into his skin, scoring it until he hissed in pain.
Snarling angrily, he straddled the tub, trapping me inside it and leaving me little room to move. Still holding my hair in one hand, he gripped my neck with his other, using it to force me down and beneath the water. We had both gone feral now, back to our most primal states, fight or flight, and lost inside our dueling emotions.
I continued to scream and thrash beneath the water, choking on it until he made the decision to pull me up. I coughed and sputtered, glaring up at him, ready to fight once again until I caught sight of the knife in his hand. As he brought the blade forward, pressing the tip of it to the hollow of my throat, I froze in place, staring up at him.
“Are you done?” he asked, his tone shockingly even. Even and calm. Far too calm.
I tried to speak, but my throat was on fire. Screaming and swallowing water had rendered me verbally useless.
“Are you done?” he shouted, twisting his fist in my hair, the pain causing my eyes to water.
Although I couldn’t speak, I nodded vigorously.
Yes, I was done. I was as good as dead.
Chapter Thirteen
Eagle
Sheathing my blade, I stared down at her with her head between my knees, just barely above the now filthy water, trying to gauge whether she was telling me the truth. Flat and sad, her gray eyes stared back at me.
“You keep fighting me,” I continued, “and you’re going to end up forcing me to do some really nasty shit to you. Not that I mind, but I’m damn sure you won’t like it. That what you want?”
I was lying through my teeth. I wasn’t going to hurt her, but she didn’t need to know that. If I’d wanted to hurt her, I’d have done so ten times over by now. Instead, I kept saving her from herself, but for what reason? I still didn’t know.
But I wouldn’t shy away from a fight with her either. And if I had to backhand her a few times to beat some sense into her, I’d have no problem with that.
She seemed to realize this—that I would do whatever it took to clean the shit off her—and after several seconds ticked by, the two of us staring at each other, she shook her head in defeat.
Releasing her hair, I reached into the tub, through the layers of grime that had come free from her body and risen to the surface, and grabbed hold of the shirt she was wearing. As I attempted to pull it off over her head, she made a distressed sound in her throat and stopped me, quickly yanking the material back down.
I grabbed her wrists and pried her arms from her chest. “Take your fucking clothes off,” I demanded, gripping her until she cried out in pain.
She refused to budge and stared at me, her body tense and her eyes wide, wild with indecision.
