Page 7 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“Who the hell are you?”

Air whistles through his teeth. He rushes forward. The closet door bangs as he pushes me up against it so hard, the air knocks out of my lungs.

“How dare you blaspheme in the House of the Lord, you little slut?” he hisses.

I open my mouth to scream but yelling for help isn’t an option once his fingers wrap around my throat. He presses so hard my face flushes hot with trapped blood.

He leans close enough for his breath to caress my lips, his voice a dangerously quiet growl. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Please,” I squeak, grabbing his wrists and digging my fingernails into his skin.

He doesn’t seem to notice. “Maybe you’re not a girl,” he murmurs, his mouth so close to my ear that his lips brush my skin.

“That would explain why they sent you here, and not to Sisters of Mercy.” His free hand skims across my stomach and latches onto the top of my jeans. With a twist of his wrist, the button pops open.

I struggle frantically, but I can’t let go of his wrist in case he strangles me to death, and wriggling my hips around doesn’t stop him.

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” he murmurs. His fingertips slide behind the elastic band of my underwear.

My body goes stiff. Nothing exists but the feel of his fingers inching down, down,down.

A gong sounds.

It’s not exceptionally loud, but it’s so unexpected I jerk in surprise. He jerks his hand out of my underwear and steps back, releasing my throat.

I cough, sagging against the closet as cool air rushes down my throat, one hand pressed to my throat as if to feel if it’s still in the same shape it was before.

“Saved by the bell,” he says through a laugh. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes as he studies me trying to catch my breath.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” I grate out, the effort making me cough again.

His face transforms into a hard, unfriendly mask. “Next time I hear you cussing, it’s going on your record.”

He stalks out of the room on long, slender legs, leaving behind dread and a lingering scent of something spicy, like cinnamon.

I count ten thundering heartbeats before I dare go over to the door and check if he’s gone. The hallway outside is empty.Slamming closed the door, I back up into the room until the bed knocks into the back of my knees. I sit on automatic, staring at the door through wide eyes.

Who was that guy?

Why on earth did he?—

I flinch at a knock on the door. My heart pitter-patters anxiously in my chest.

Oh God, he’s back.

But then logic intervenes.

Of course it’s not him.

He’d never knock.

So what fresh hell is this then?

“Trinity?”

Another knock.

I jump to my feet and race to throw open the door.

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