Page 30 of Lucky's Trouble

“You’re lying to me, and you know how much I hate liars,” he growls out.

“I just went to see Myla. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” He releases me with a shove, sending my face into the handle of the freezer and dazing me. I groan, feeling a goose egg form in the middle of my forehead. That’ll be a bitch to cover. “If you’re so interested in whoring yourself out, maybe it’s time for a promotion.”

“I’m not. I swear. Myla was worried about me, and she wasn’t going to stop unless she saw me in person.”

He grips me by the throat, pushing me against the shitty laminate kitchen counter. The sharp edge digs into my back as he continues to push until the back of my head slams into the upper cabinet. His grip tightens, cutting off my air supply.

“You think I give a shit about how your bitch of a sister feels?” His narrow face screws up in disgust.

I shake my head as much as I can with his hold on me. Pressure builds in my head like a balloon threatening to burst, and my lungs burn with the need for oxygen. I claw at his hands, but it’s only an instinctual reaction. I have no hope of getting him off me.

“You’re mine. You know that, right? And if I ever”—he pulls me forward, only to slam my head back into the particle board—“hear about you going anywhere without clearing it with me”—again, my head is knocked against the cabinet, but this time it makes an indent in the material—“I swear to all things holy, you’ll be out on those streets earning me money the only way a lying bitch like you knows how.”

My vision darkens, unsure whether it’s from lack of oxygen or the blows to my head. Probably both. He releases me, and I lean forward, drawing in a long and painful breath.

It’s over.

I’m still alive.

I survived.

I repeat those thoughts as I hack and wheeze, uncontrollably drooling onto the stained tile floor.

But I celebrated too early.

“You’re making a mess, you dumb bitch.” He moves to my side and shoves my head. I’m too weak to give any resistance, and I careen forward. My face collides with the tile, and everything goes black. It’s more of a blessing than anything. At least now I have a reprieve from the pain.

Sometime later, my eyes flutter open and then immediately shut tight. Red-hot pain burns through my head and neck as I roll onto my back. I cry out, a pathetic and sad sound that I have no control over. It’s then I realize I’m not on the hard kitchen floor any longer. Patting my side, I feel the fuzzy pillows I bought to spruce the drab room up.

Why would he move me to the bed?

I suddenly feel the cool breeze of the air conditioning on places that should be covered. With shaky hands, I skim my hands down my body and immediately regret it when I meet something cold and wet on my stomach. At least he pulled out this time.

Tears trail from my eyes, wetting my hair and pooling in my ears. Everything in me screams that this is enough. I should leave because next time, he might kill me, which would leave Myla unprotected.

Then again, I can’t even protect myself. Just look at me.

This is such a contrast compared to my morning and afternoon. Why did I give Lucky so much shit about taking me to breakfast and his parents’ house? I’m so fucking stupid. I’d give anything to be at either of those places right now, safe next to a man nobody in their right mind would fuck with, eating good food, and far away from this hell hole. This never would happen with Lucky around.

What if I call him right now? Would he come here and rescue me? Or would he tell me this isn’t his fight and not get involved?

I reach between my breasts, breathing a sigh of relief when my hand meets hard plastic. Thank god Neal didn’t take off my shirt. Flipping the phone open, I navigate to the contacts and see that, just as he promised, his number is the only one stored.

I shouldn’t call him. He doesn’t deserve to be brought into the mess that is my life. I’m not his problem, and I’m no one to him. But Myla is, and if Myla knew the truth, she’d want me to get help.

Closing my eyes, I swallow hard, the swelling in my throat making it damn near impossible. I don’t know what the right answer is. All I know is that I don’t want to die like this, beaten and bruised, covered in my enemy’s cum. I bark out a laugh; Mom and Dad would feel so justified if they received a call to come pick up their dead daughter’s raped and abused body.

This is exactly how they pictured my future, and nothing stokes the flames of my defiance like that thought. I refuse to give them that satisfaction.

So then, what do I do?

CHAPTER NINE

LUCKY

I wake up early, thoughts of Tinleigh the last thing on my mind last night and the first thing running through my head today. Nothing is more confusing than spending your life knowing how it’ll end and then being thunderstruck when a tornado of a woman changes everything.

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