Page 105 of Their Dark Rose

No way in hell am I giving up. I’ll die before Thorn’s think hard, get hard meets mama’s boy mentality wins over my resilience.

I’ve survived eight solid years of being bullied, ignored, and roughened up by Mason, Falk, and Finn. Three men who are far more intimidating, ruthless, and superior in every way possible over this rapist dickhead.

I’ve come out stronger and better for them. A fierce woman.

One who doesn’t hesitate to wage war on anyone, so she has what she wants.

In my case, at this very minute, it’s my life.

I’m not just fighting to escape Thorn’s and Mallie’s claws. I’m fighting to make it back to my loved ones, and to the family I do want to create.

Mason’s somber determination pummels through my veins. Falk’s ever-present rage injects itself into my muscles. Finn’s joy of violence prepares my brain for what I’m about to do.

And then there’s me. My heart, my love, and my desire to live my life to the fullest with my loved ones.

I. Have. This.

As fast as I possibly can, I slip my hand out of the unfastened rope the same moment I open my eyes.

Thorn’s blue ones are shut, thank fuck.

Darting my gaze to the right, I find Mallie with her back to us, as suspected.

I stare back at Thorn, disgusted at this ugly-looking man who kidnapped me into this gross motel. The white paint on the ceiling peels off. The cheap sheets below my back scratch my skin repeatedly.

And the smell, my God, the smell.

If I don’t act now, I never will. I have to use the fingers of my free hand and just go for his eye. Claw the fucker out.

But not without a contingency plan. What else does this dump have to offer that I can use to my advantage?

My gaze roams the room for something, anything, to help me. The closest thing that’s within reach is the lamp on the nightstand to my left. If I fail, I could grab the lamp real quick and bash it on my sick step-cousin’s head.

It should be good enough.

It will be good enough.

Has to be.

Quoting Aragorn from Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King in my head, I inwardly shout to myself, “This day we fight!”

And I stick my thumb in one of Thorn’s shut eyes with everything I have in me.

“Fuuuck!” he yells, his mouth a gaping black hole.

My smirk is psychotic as I shove my finger deeper. Fortunately, Thorn must be in some state of shock because he’s not moving anymore or fighting me on it. So shocked, in fact, that he doesn’t even open his other eye to check what the hell is going on.

“No need to get so vocal about your orgasm,” Mallie chides. “I’m still in the room, you know.”

Taking advantage of Thorn’s state of stupor and Mallie’s misguided notion that her stepson is orgasming, I go harder on my step-cousin.

His eyeball, soft yet firm, slowly but surely succumbs to the pressure of my thumb.

Come on, come on, pop the fuck out already.

I need it to happen. Eager to feel the gush of blood on my fingers. To watch crimson, sticky fluid running down my hand, painting my skin in victory colors.

“Mallie!” the coward screams.

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