Page 27 of Ruthless Deliverance

Keeping my eyes on the two closest to me while giving a few quick glances over my shoulder, I move away, my back to one of the many mirrored walls. Fuck these mirrors that give the impression of more than the actual number of assholes in the room. From what I can see, there’re three in total, all hovering until one charges at me.

Fight.

That’s the only choice I have. And that’s what I do. Planting my feet, I wait until he’s on me. Thrusting my hand up, my palm connects with the mask where I’m guessing the asshat’s nose is. The yelp combined with him grabbing his face and hitting the floor tells me I nailed the intended target. But another has moved behind me and gets his arms around me. His hold is strong as he swings me back and forth. Tightening my body, I tuck my left foot behind his leg as he struggles to get the advantage to manage me back. Shifting as much as I can to the left, I swing my right leg back, connecting with his crotch or leg or something. I don’t give a fuck what I hit because his grip releases me, and I drop back to my feet, off balance for a few steps before I regain my footing, but as I move away, I look back to him. Yep. Crotch shot because he’s on his knees currently holding it.

Shifting back, I eye the third motherfucker who advances towards me. “I said stay away from me.”

But he doesn’t listen. Just like his buddies on the floor didn’t. When he charges, I shift to the side, ducking as his fist swipes out and misses. What the actual fuck is wrong with these punks?

I hear a few angry curses, and I swear I recognize the voice but don’t have time to place it as he charges me again. He’s definitely using strength, but as Gus drilled into my head, my speed will always be a great asset. No matter how strong my opponent is, if they can’t land a punch, they lose their greatest strength. And this fuckhead does that, going in for another swing. He’s not a fighter, not a trained one. But I am. Pivoting to miss the slower, tired third punch, I bring my fist up with all the strength I have as it pummels into his gut. When his arms move to grab where pain is radiating through his body, I throw another punch, landing directly on the dingy red nose of the mask.

Hurrying back towards the door, I stop when I spot yet another. Fuck. There’re four of them. Only this one, even wearing a mask, I recognize his stance. I’ve stared at his body enough to know the arrogant posture when I see it. And right now, it’s on full display with a leg propped up on the door, his arms casually folded across his chest. Creed. It has to be. But I still pray it’s not.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

“Are you not the least bit scared?” It’s not his taunting words that steal my breath; it’s the confirmation. Creed. Which means the other asshats are his buddies. This was planned. And Creed was the mastermind.

“What do you want?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He pushes off the door, eerily stepping to the side but doesn’t advance on me. “You’re surrounded by what you fear most, all closing in on you. And you don’t have the slightest clue what we’re after.”

“This is your doing. What the fuck do you want?” A swift kick to the dick is about the only thing I want to give him, but my fear does kick in as I hear the asshats behind me shuffling around. I can fight one at a time, but I can’t take them all on at once. Will he make me? Is this some sick mindfuck or is he here to do some real damage?

He lifts his hand, pulling the mask over his head, revealing the face I loathe more by the second as he speaks, “I could want your body, I could want to toy with you, or maybe just to drown you in your fear. Or all of the above.”

Hands harshly grip my wrist as I swing with the other, another blow to whoever is under the mask as he clutches his face and bends over. “Fuck, man. Control your bitch.”

Beau. It really was all a carefully planned setup. He pulls off his mask, blood pouring from his previously (and probably yet again) broken nose.

Shifting back, I bring my fists up as he advances a step but stops in front of me. His blinking eyes look to my fists as he throws his hand in front of him, his other clutching his nose. “I’m done with this crazy bitch.” He trudges off, stepping through a door at the back of the room. Following him isn’t appealing, but if he’s done, he’s leaving. It’s a way out.

“I’m with him,” a muffled groan comes from under a mask as some other lug follows him. Then the one from the groin shot, still looks in a bit of pain, follows after him. That’s when I spot the tribal tattoo up his arm. Sebastian.

“It was all a trick from the minute I arrived.” They didn’t just corral me. He made sure to get me alone and away from the field party. And I know he has a reason. What is it? “Why? Why did you do this? Why do you hate me so much?”

“Hate is a strong word.”

He’s gloating. He knows he tricked me, and I bought it without question. Now, he’s rubbing it in a bit more. Sauntering around, but not making a move to get closer to me. Teasing me, like a cat playing with a mouse it’s got cornered. He’s hovering, lurking just on the edge, keeping me on guard and braced for his attack—whenever he decides that may be. Another play of power.

“I’m done with this shit. And you.” I head towards the door but he counters my step, moving in front of me. He’s only about two feet away. It’d take nothing for him to move. But I will be ready, and I won’t hold back. I don’t care who he is.

“I’m not done with you.” He lifts his hand that’s holding the hideous clown face mask, which is pointed at me. “Because you failed the test. You’re not afraid at all. Clowns. Another lie.”

“Yeah, I lied to get your stupid ass off the roof.” And I’d do it again. Only I can’t help but think of all the lies I told him. “And it’s a good thing since you tried to use the very thing I’m afraid of to taunt me.”

“And what about you? What are you gonna use against me, Ava?”

The shock of him saying my real name catches me off guard. He surges forward, his hand clasping over my mouth as he spins me around. My back hits hard against his chest as he holds me to him. Not that I’d planned to scream. No. I was too busy trying to figure out how he knows the truth and realizing he’s not mad about one lie. He knows about them all. But how?

“What are you gonna use on me? What truth do you think you know, that can break me?” He leans forward as I watch in the mirror, his eyes closing as his mouth moves next to my ear. “Let me give you a little truth. There’s nothing you can do to break me. So, remember that when you report to your boss tonight. You know, the one you’re living with who’s playing Daddy.” His grip on my mouth tightens as he asks, “Are you fucking him to deal with your daddy issues? Because I know that part wasn’t a lie. Your mouth didn’t tell me that detail, your eyes did.”

I attempt to answer, but his hand remains in place.

“Is that it, baby, or should I call you ma’am? Is that why your eyes beg me to fuck you? Yet you fight me at every turn. At least I know for sure now, I really am the forbidden one you’re not supposed to touch while you sleaze your way around the garden, lying, hiding, prying, and condemning. I bet you’re having a good time, Miss Saunders.”

Him knowing my true last name doesn’t shock me. If he knew my first name, I’m pretty certain there’s not much else he doesn’t know. But I really want to know what the hell he plans on doing. Because this isn’t about him. He’s protected. My dad isn’t. Neither is my career. Although it’s pretty much fucked now.

“Does it make you want it more? Is it harder knowing you’re not only not supposed to touch, but you’re not supposed to play with me either?”