Page 55 of Corrupt Vows

@studio. Bring food.

I hesitate before hitting send.

The message sits alone on the screen. I gnaw on my bottom lip for a moment and watch in worry, but when my message remains unread, I stick my phone in my pocket and turn my attention to my desk.

Right, I need more clay.

I head to the back of the classroom and into the supply closet. As I flick on the light, my phone buzzes. With my heart in my throat, I pull it out of my pocket and turn the corner toward the back section with the shelf of clays.

The door clicks shut. The light goes out. Heavy footsteps rush toward me. I catch Nico’s name on the screen as I look over my shoulder, and in a panic, I blindly mash what I hope is the answer button and scream.

A hand closes over the entire bottom half of my face, cutting off my scream and blocking both my nose and mouth, and a humongous tank of a body crushes me against the wall.

My phone skitters across the floor and disappears under a shelf.

Ralf. No one in the school is this big except for him.

I kick and claw, but he pins me with his bulk and whispers in my ear.

“You should have stayed away from Nico Russo, little one.”

His accent, much thicker than before, makes it hard to understand him.

I scratch his hand, desperate for oxygen, but he grinds his enormous body against mine and growls. Vomit climbs up my throat as his hard cock rubs against my stomach.

“I wanted first fuck, but no matter. Sloppy seconds will do,” he murmurs in my ear.

I buck and fight. He chuckles and leans more of his weight onto me, stealing the last of the oxygen from my lungs and crushing me so hard my bones ache. Dark spots dance along my vision and my hearing goes fuzzy.

Ralf says something in Russian and pets my head like a wayward dog. Gravity magnifies and my arms drop to my sides despite my mind screaming for them to gouge his eyes out.

He waits until my lashes become too heavy for me to keep my eyes open before he shifts his hand and unblocks my nostrils. I suck down a breath, but with his palm sealed over my mouth, it feels like I’m breathing underwater through a straw.

I lift my hands, but there’s no strength in my arms.

“Shut the fuck up,shlyukha. I will be quick.” He yanks the front of my jeans open, snapping the button off and unzipping it in one motion. “This will hurt, but is so much better.” His breath wafting over my temple will forever haunt me. “For me, of course,” he says.

I try to bite him. He laughs and pushes my jaw up with the heel of his palm so hard I fear my teeth will crack. He pulls back. I twist my hips and drop my weight, but he just laughs and tugs my pants down.

When he leans down to push my jeans to my ankles, I jerk my knee up, aiming for between his legs, but hit his thigh instead.

He curses and tightens his grip on my face, but I drop my leg and strike again. His hiss of pain is my only warning before he throws me to the ground.

Pain blasts through my hip and head. I can’t breathe, but I need to get away, so I roll onto my stomach and scramble for the door.

His weight pins me to the concrete. I scream and buck. He pulls my head back by my hair and snarls what must be a warning in my ear. Agony lances up my fingers as I scratch at the floor in my desperation to escape.

He wedges his thick forearm under my hips and lifts my ass into the air. I scream and fight as he pulls my panties down my thighs.

The door bursts open and light blinds me for a moment. Nico’s eyes, pitch black in his fury, meet mine. Ralf curses and jumps off me.

I roll fast and hard until my shoulder whacks against the shelves. Sounds of violence ring through my ears. I grab my jeans, but my stiff, uncoordinated hands make pulling them up difficult, and my panties become a frustrating obstacle, but the moment fabric covers my ass, I scramble upright and use the shelves for balance as my head swims.

Afraid to look but needing to see, I glance over my shoulder and find Ralf flat on his back with Nico straddling him. My fiancé lands vicious blow after vicious blow to his unprotected face.

“N-Nico,” I try to call out, but my voice doesn’t work. Bile clogs my throat. My hip throbs. Pain streaks through my head. My vision blips a startling white before the supply closet comes back into focus.

“Nico,” I try again.

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