Page 153 of My Ruthless Opponent

Shame fills me as my body trembles. He is going to hit me. Again.

Caleb turns to me, his face red with anger. His fingers ball in fists, his stance wide.

This is one of those times when I wish I had parents.

Unlike Summer, who was rescued from her abusive alcoholic father, I was abandoned by someone.

I don’t know who my birth parents are. I don’t how they look, but during this moment, I pray to God for them to show up. I pray for someone to show up and protect me.

But no one does.

Caleb orders his friends to bring me to him.

As if in slow motion, I live this horror. His friends reach me. One on either side of me, they begin dragging me and I numbly let them. I don’t fight. I don’t kick or scream when that’s what I want to do.

Every fiber of my being is pushing me to dig my heels in. To do something but I don’t. I’ll wait. I’ll wait to be stronger and then I’ll face them.

“You stole my sharpie? How dare you touch my bag pack?” He smacks me again. My head swings to the side.

“What should we do with him?” His friend with sandy hair asks.

“Why not tell your mom? She’ll lock him up in the basement.” Red t-shirt snickers.

“He dared to touch my things. And ruined my house window,” Caleb reaches down and wrenches my hands up, “with these dirty hands.”

Reluctantly, I look up at him.

“I have decided his punishment.” His grin is sinister.

He force closes my fingers in fists and lifts them. he rears back and punches the glass window.

A guttural scream emits from my mouth. It’s a scream of a soul dying. Mine.

He repeats it again and the window cracks. I thrash and try to fight him off me, but others join to immobile me.

They keep hitting on the window with my fists until it shatters and the shards are cutting my skin open. They don’t stop even after my knuckles are bloodied, the skin mangled.

“No! Stop!” I shout and shout until darkness covers my vision and my world goes black.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Amuffled grunt followed by a loud thud jerks me awake. My eyes snap open. I sit up.

The moonlight spilling inside the dark bedroom reveals Raleigh sleeping on his back.

The covers pushed down to his leg, his arm dangling off the edge of the bed. The bedside lamp is shattered on the floor.

He must’ve hit the lamp in his sleep.

I stretch over him and lift his arm and rest it on the bed beside him. He is in boxers and it is chilly in here. I reach down for the covers.

I am lifting it back up when his body jerks again on a choked scream.

I hit the switch of the bedside lamp, my heart beating hard.

“Raleigh!” I try to touch him but he is thrashing and twisting his head side to side. A sheen of sweat covers his bare chest and face, his fingers clenched tight in fists.

“Raleigh! Wake up!” I speak loudly and cup his jaw. He doesn’t rouse. And I helplessly watch him thrash and squirm, his face contorting as if he is wincing in pain.

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