Page 89 of Riff

It didn’t matter.

So long as it gave me a chance of getting away.

Stomach twisting, I held myself still as Marshall lowered down over me, wanting to get close enough to whisper in my ear what he was going to do to me.

I fought back the sick in my throat, waiting until his hand started to creep under my shirt, knowing he was holding his weight up with his knees and one arm now, so he would be more unsteady.

I’d only ever practiced this move with Nyx, who was bigger than me, but much smaller than Marshall.

But it wasn’t supposed to matter.

Sucking in a breath, I threw my shoulder until it was against the center of Marshall’s chest. Then, as quickly as possible, I used both of my legs to hook his one thigh as I pushed up and over.

And, like magic, he was suddenly beneath me.

It was right then, though, that the whole van jolted hard toward one side.

Confused, I glanced up.

To find the driver being pulled out of the truck.

Help, it seemed, had arrived.

But this wasn’t over.

Not until I never had to worry about this evil man again.

Right then, taking advantage of my momentary distraction, Marshall threw his weight, knocking me off of him.

I rolled further, mind on the wrench he’d thrown away from me before. My hand just closed around it when his hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking savagely.

My eyes flooded with involuntary tears as the pain seared across my scalp.

But I had to pull harder against his hold until, at last, my fingers closed around the cold metal wrench again.

I didn’t hesitate.

I whipped around, swinging out, catching his hand with the wrench. I watched in satisfaction as he howled and cradled his hand as the van rocked wildly when something seemed to be slammed against it.

Or someone, I reminded myself.

There was someone out there with the driver.

I needed to get out there too.

Out of the cramped confines of this van full of awful memories.

I rose to my feet, having to throw out a hand to brace on the back of the front passenger seat as the van continued to rock, then swung out again, this time catching him on the jaw.

Both his hands went there, cradling it as his face contorted in pain.

Maybe a better person would have mercy right then.

But why the hell would I ever need to show him something he never showed me?

All those months of pain and starvation and humiliation. He had to pay for that.

Fueled with my memories and the rage I now attached to them, I swung out again, watching the blood spurt from his nose, a river of red that trailed down his face to wet his shirt.

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