Page 68 of Heart of a Villain

The mattress depressed as he climbed over her, his knees planted on either side of her waist. She was breathing so hard that dizziness was beginning to set in, but he needed to keep going.

His fingers closed around her neck and tightened. Her air slowly dwindled. Although it was dark, a shadowed circle appeared as if dancing in the middle of her vision.

Real panic set in.

She tried to say his name, but barely any air came. If she didn’t get out now, he would kill her.

She sent her head backward into his face. He grunted and stumbled off the bed, his feet pounding on the hard floor. A small part of her tried to remind her who this was; she probably should have asked him if he was okay. If he was bleeding. But now that she had a power position, she snatched a knife from underneath her pillow. Mo had said there was no shame in weapons or fighting dirty, especially where life and death were concerned.

She hopped off the bed.

This man was a few inches north of six feet and ripped with muscle, yet aside from when he landed, she didn’t hear him move.

He grabbed the back of her head.

Right before her face would have crashed into the wall, she braced herself on her forearms. Using the momentum from both their bodies, she pushed off, spun, and swung the knife.

Nothing.

No grunt, no hiss.

The silence returned.

Then his forearm brushed her chin, headed for her neck, and she moved out of the way before he could pin her again. The movement placed him behind her, so she slashed.

This time, there was a hiss.

A curse.

Next, he grabbed her shoulders and lifted her clear off her feet. Mo had told her to prepare for something like this—male opponents, whether she wanted to admit it to herself, came with a different kind of strength. Most of the time, she wouldn’t be able to overpower them with hers, including the ones who looked like they shouldn’t be able to pick her up.

She went flying through the air and landed on her back on the mattress. His movements grew more aggressive, his large hands swallowing her hips. The movement felt as if his fingers slipped into the waistband of her panties, so she fought harder.

She scratched at his fingers, his face.

“Get the fuck off me. Get the fuck off me! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The touch disappeared.

A lamp turned on.

Adrían climbed over her again and looked down into her face, some of his hair stuck to his forehead and other strands dangling. The concern she saw on his face brought her all the way back. Then, he called her name.

Sayeda.

Not Acoisa.

Not “the thing.”

A red spot had bloomed on his sleeve. She tried to get up to check on it, but his body prevented her from rising. The knot in his throat bobbed relentlessly, and his chest pitched as fast as hers, but this was neither fear nor fatigue.

Then he whispered a quiet, “Shit…”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s too soon.” He pushed away. “I’ll be right back.”

Rafael appeared in the doorway, soiled and enraged, duct tape dangling from his wrist. Instinct once again took over, and her lungs felt as if they’d collapsed. From where she was, she couldn’t make out a weapon, but her body didn’t care.

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