Page 101 of Savage

I decide then and there that I’m going to ask Hunter for a chance to get my GED. Even if I can’t do anything with it, I would still be proud to say that I have it despite everything that’s happened. I don’t know if he’ll be happy with me being more educated, or if he likes that I’m so ignorant, but it’s worth a try.

I skim through a few pages, grimacing when it just gets more difficult to understand. I should’ve grabbed one of the introductory books. I hop off the couch to put this one away and grab another, but halfway to the shelf, somebody knocks on the door.

I freeze.

It’s not Hunter. It can’t be Hunter. He wouldn’t knock on his own door.

If he was expecting one of his friends to come over, he would’ve warned me, wouldn’t he? He’d told me he wasn’t going to share me.

Maybe it’s Bethany again.

If it wasn’t for the tide of loneliness that washed over me then, the way I was feeling down on myself, I probably would’ve ignored it outright.

I want to call Hunter and ask what I should do, but chances are, it’s just a marketer or the building manager or something.

Does this building even have managers?

While I hesitate, trying to decide whether to open it, somebody knocks again and again, more insistently. I head for the kitchen to grab the phone, but to my shock, I hear something break, then the door opens.

Fuck.

My heart races—then sinks when I see that the phone isn’t on the kitchen island where it normally is. Of course it’s not there. I had to move it to the bedroom to charge it the previous night.

I instantly grab the apron to cover myself up as much as possible. Maybe someone is here to rob Hunter, knowing he’s wealthy and successful and thinking no one would be here.

My heart nearly seizes when I see who saunters in the front door, though, and terror grips me.

Dylan.

He looks the same as I remember, with his disheveled brown hair and wearing jeans with far too many holes. He’s got the same scruffy beard.

He’s wearing the same dumb baseball cap too, which he always wears in order to conceal his face from cameras.

I try to duck behind the kitchen counter, but it’s too late. He’s already spotted me.

“Hey, Bela!” Dylan shouts, walking over to me. “Nice fancy digs you’ve got here. You really moved up in the world.”

Fuck. Fuck!

I try to edge around the room, skirting the island and trying to keep it between us. “You need to get out,” I say, trying for firm, but god, I’m shaking so bad my teeth damn near chatter. “Hunter has cameras everywhere. He’ll see that you’re here and call the police.”

“Pff, sure. Not before I trash the place though.” Dylan starts opening kitchen cabinets, and I notice that he’s wearing gloves. “Where does that rich prick keep the knives?”

Like I’d really tell him that.

As soon as he’s fully turned away from me, I dart for the large doorway leading to the living room. I just need to get into the bedroom. That’s all. I can lock myself in there and call Hunter.

And the police. But mostly, I need to hear Hunter’s voice right now.

I get halfway to the bedroom before Dylan slams into me, hard. I cry out and stumble to the floor, Dylan on top of me. He straddles my body and wraps a hand around my neck.

“Are you thinking of doing something stupid, Bela? I don’t recommend it.”

“N-no,” I wheeze. “Please, Dylan, you need to leave. Seriously. He’ll… He’ll really fuck you up for messing with his stuff.”

“I’m not afraid of some sissy rich boy.” Dylan sneers at me, gripping my throat more tightly. “And what’s with your attitude? You should be thanking me. You’re living in the lap of luxury now.”

“Why would I thank you, Dylan?” I ask, going still. “You sold me to Giulio Pavone! He whored me out to anyone who would pay a few dollars. At least here…”

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