Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
No. Not helpless. Not ever again.
I bring my knee up hard between his legs. It doesn’t connect as solidly as I’d hoped, but it’s enough to make him loosen his grip and curse.
“Fucking cunt!”
I try to run, but he recovers quickly, grabbing my hair and yanking me back so hard strands rip from my scalp. The pain explodes through my head, disorienting me. Before I can react, he slams me face-first into the hedge.
Something cracks in my nose, and hot blood gushes down my face, filling my mouth with copper. He spins me around again, and this time when he pins me, he holds my wrists above my head with one of his hands.
“Now you’ll get it rough,” he spits, using his free hand to push my dress up over my hips. “Could’ve been fun if you’d played along.”
I twist my body, trying to knee him again, to find some leverage, but he’s got me completely immobilized. His weight crushes me against the hedge, branches scratching my exposed skin, drawing blood in dozens of tiny cuts.
He moves his hand between my legs again, fingers bruising, invasive, cruel. I feel something vile inside me, a sharp pain that makes me scream out despite the hand now clamped over my mouth.
“Shut your mouth,” he hisses. “No one’s coming to save you.”
I bite down on his hand as hard as I can and take the moment to scream again. He jerks back with a yell, and I use the moment to slam my forehead against his nose. It’s a move my dad’s security guy taught me years ago. Never thought I’d actually have to use it.
Blood sprays from Liam’s nose, but the blow costs me, too. My vision swims, darkness creeping in from the edges. But the pain in his face has loosened his grip enough for me to squirm partway free.
He recovers faster than I can escape, grabbing me by the shoulders and throwing me to the ground. The impact knocks every bit of air from my shitty lungs. I try to crawl away, but he’s on top of me in an instant, flipping me onto my back, his weight pinning me to the cold gravel.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he snarls, blood dripping from his nose onto my face. “But not before I get what I came for.”
His hands are at his belt now, unfastening it with quick, practiced movements. I thrash beneath him, but each movement costs me oxygen I don’t have. Black spots float across my vision. My strength is fading fast.
Using my hand, I desperately search the gravel around me for anything I can use. My fingers close around something solid, a decorative garden stake that’s come loose from the path. About eight inches long, metal, with a sharp point for planting.
Liam doesn’t notice, too focused on getting his pants open. “Stop fighting,” he says with a grunt. “You’ll like it once I’m inside you.”
“Fuck you,” I gasp, gathering the last of my strength.
When he leans down, positioning himself between my legs, I bring the stake up with every ounce of force I can muster, aiming for his shoulder to disable him.
But he shifts at the last second, and the stake plunges into his neck instead.
There’s a moment of perfect stillness. His eyes widen, shock replacing the lust and anger. Then the blood comes, so much fucking blood, pulsing out in rhythmic spurts that coat my hands, my chest, my face.
So. Much. Blood.
It’s hot against my cold skin, almost burning, and the metallic smell fills my nose instantly, making me gag.
The stake must have hit a major blood vessel in his neck. Each heartbeat forces a fresh jet of crimson through the wound, spraying in an arc that catches the dim light. His white shirt turns dark in seconds, saturated and clinging to his chest.
He makes this wet, choking sound, hands grabbing at his neck, trying to pull out the stake. But the movement only seems to make it worse. Blood bubbles from his mouth now too, seeping between his teeth and dribbling down his chin. His eyes lock with mine, filled with disbelief and rage and then, slowly, fear.
He knows he’s dying.
Dying…
I push him off me, scrambling backward until my spine hits the hedge wall. My hands slip in his blood, leaving smeared red handprints on the gravel. He collapses face-first, then rolls onto his back, body convulsing violently. His heels drum against the ground, sending gravel flying. A terrible gurgling comes from his throat as he tries to breathe through the blood. His hands still clutch uselessly at his neck, fingers slippery and failing to get purchase on the stake, leaving streaks across his skin with each attempt. Piss soaks through his pants as his body loses control. The convulsions grow more frantic, then gradually weaker, his back arching one final time before he goes limp.