Page 107 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“I’m not a whore,” I said sharply, taking a step back at the flash of anger in his eyes at my disrespectful tone.

Michael smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his dress shirt. “If you don’t want him and everyone else to think that…you’d better get me that money. Five thousand dollars a month should do it. It’s really not that much at all.”

He smiled, laughing to himself, because he knew that much money might as well have been a million dollars to me.

I gasped. “I—I don’t have that money. I have no way to get that for you.”

Michael grinned. “Figure it out, Ana, because I can picture it now…your sweet pussy all over the internet.” He cocked his head, like a lightbulb was going off in his brain. “Or you can just come with me right now. We could take new pictures…or do something else—something even more fun.” He licked his lips suggestively.

I glanced frantically back at the studio doors, wishing there was at least someone to hear me scream if he tried to grab me. That’s where this was headed eventually—I was sure of it.

He’d gotten off my screams throughout my teenage years...I’m sure he’d missed it.

The bastard probably couldn’t even get his dick up without them anymore.

I couldn’t help but think of that one time…

“Little bunny, little bunny, let me come in,” he called through the door. His parents were gone for the weekend, and I’d barricaded myself in my bedroom, the door locked and a chair pulled in front.

Even though I knew it was all useless.

I didn’t answer him, I just kept my finger on my phone. I would do it this time. I’d call 9-1-1 if he came in here. I wasn’t going to let him hurt me again.

“The wolf huffed, and he puffed and he…”

I waited for the final words, bone-deep shivers wracking my body as tears slid down my face.

Someone, please help me.

The seconds turned into minutes...and the minutes went on.

Until it was hours.

Where was he? Why had he stopped? Had he gotten a phone call? Was that all he was going to do to me today?

Please, God, let that be all.

I crept to the door after two hours. He had to be gone right? I could grab something from the kitchen, enough to feed me for the rest of the day—I’d used the bathroom—and then I’d come back.

As quietly as possible, I undid the lock and slowly turned the doorknob. This was it. I’d open this door and be back in five minutes.

Or two.

Opening the door a crack, I peeked out into the hallway, listening for any sound.

It was silent.

Okay, he’d definitely left.

I slipped through the crack, stepping into the hallway.

“Hello, little bunny.”

Michael touched my shoulder, bringing me back from our horror-filled past to the present—the same terror threaded through my veins. “So what’s it going to be, Ana?” he was asking.

“Leave me alone,” I told him harshly. Backing away, I held up my phone threateningly. “If you don’t get away from me, I’ll call the police.”

“That’s a fancy phone, Ana,” he sneered. “Guess you haven’t changed, still using any man you can. An NHL star isn’t an upgrade for you, though. He’ll drop you the second he realizes that you’re trash. I’m the only one willing to accept where you came from.”

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