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He slips his fingers under the slit, touching my hips.
He whistles. “No panties? You’re really asking for it.”
Rage rises from under the pain of grief and fear, curling around my lungs. I can’t breathe—but not because of his weight, or his words. My anger surrounds me, taking my air and turning it into fuel.
Marco dips his head, mouth hot against my neck, and I stretch further. My fingers brush the edge of the piece, relief surging through my veins.
Just a little further.
“That O’Brien boy will be the furthest thing from your mind when we’re done,” he vows. “You won’t remember him, bimba. I guarantee it.”
I grip the piece and exhale. Slow my breathing. Concentrate on my body. I press myself back, grounding to the bed. I can’t let go, or float away.
As his fingers dive for the apex of my thighs, I react. Plunging the sharp tip into his shoulder blade, I miss the bone, but stab it directly into the muscle. Marco screams, and I gasp as he falls away.
Rolling off the bed, I drop to my feet and stumble toward the door. Before I get there, he crashes into me, lifting me away from the exit with one arm. Glancing down, blood splatters into the carpet, smearing the middle of my torso.
“You insolent cunt,” he growls.
He tosses me against the bar, and I fall, crumpled. Glancing up, kneeling on the floor, my hope shatters around me. The poison isn’t working, and he’s still standing. The glass wasn’t enough—I’m trapped, again.
My eyes fall to the decanter of liquor.
“If you die, I’ll die with you.”
Briar was right. It’s too cruel to be alone, without him. I’d much rather leave this world than submit to Marco and his son’s evil.
As he struggles to remove the dagger, I rush for the liquor. Uncorking the bottle, I hold it to my mouth, only for him to pluck it out of my hands. Bloody fingers stain the sides, and he throws it at the wall.
The shards fall, much like my last chance to be rid of him.
“Nice try,” he says, plucking the dagger from his shoulder. “In fact, I applaud you. Few women have tried to kill me on the night they prove their loyalty.”
“This is not loyalty; it’s rape.” My eyes narrow. A calmness washes over me, the resolution of what’s coming. “You’ll take my body, but I’ve already given it away. You’ll never have that piece of me.”
I fought. I didn’t back down. I wanted to get out—and tried like hell to do so.
This wasn’t my choice, and I fought. I can be proud of that—no matter what happens next.
He scowls, growling, “I was going to be nice, but you don’t deserve—”
He coughs, words cut off.
Looking back at me, he glowers. “You don’t deserve—”
Another cough. This time, blood wets his lower lip.
Hope flares dangerously high, like a dimly lit match, fighting against the chilly breeze. Is he—is the poison—
Marco turns, patting his chest. More coughs wrack his body, blood spilling from his mouth. It turns into a hacking fit, and he drops to his knees, nails cutting into the thin carpet below.
There’s commotion outside the door, and my eyes lift. The door kicks in, Briar stepping through. He’s covered in blood, sweatshirt ripped. My legs buckle as he shouts, “Valentina!”
He scoops me into his arms, and I succumb to his warmth. Tears spill down my cheeks as he crushes me into his chest. This is a dream—a harsh nightmare. Marco must have me; I must be hallucinating to ignore what he’s doing—
Maeve walks in behind him, eyes wide and frantic. She sees me, the broken bottle, and Marco gasping on the floor. Blood covers his front, as if he’s been shot. She plants a heeled boot on his neck, pinning him still.
Briar pulls me back, holding my face in his hands. His touch burns me. “Are you hurt? What did he do?” His fingers shake too much to sign.
