Page 88 of Aria

“No.”

The word finally passed through my lips, but it only made him laugh. “You know that only gets me more excited.”

“No,” I repeated, louder, braver. I wasn’t the same girl I was back then—I’d evolved. I was not the frail, lilting flower from years ago. I was a survivor, and survivors never gave up. “I saidno,” I hissed through my teeth.

My body began to resist him. A primal need to protect myself took over, and I lashed out at my attacker in every way I could. My legs thrashed about, trying to connect with some part of his body. And when my knee lifted and connected with his groin with more force than I’d expected, I yanked my wrists free from his punishing grip.

Ian growled in pain as I rolled onto my stomach and began to crawl away.

I was pulling myself to my feet when a hand wrapped around my ankle, sending me back to the ground. Another scream pierced the air, and I prayed someone would hear it.

Sluiced with horror, I eyed a decorative vase sitting on a shelf as Ian tried to mount me again. I only had a fleeting second, so I gathered every ounce of strength I had and careened my body toward the shelving display.

I just missed it.

Ian flipped me onto my back for a second time, wrapping his icy fingers around my throat. “You’re going to pay for that, you stupid bitch.”

I saw evil in his dark eyes as I gasped and choked, clawing at his arms while his hands tightened around my neck.

Was this it? Was I going to die here on Devon’s living room floor? Was he going to rape and violate me before or after he squeezed the air from my lungs?

The thought was too much to bear.

I had built a new life for myself. I had too much to live for now.

Noah.

Noah’s face flashed through my mind as my lungs burned, begging for reprieve. I pictured him barreling through the front door and saving my life.

Not Devon.

Noah was the hero in my story.

Ian kissed me hard, forcing my mouth open with his teeth and shoving his tongue in and out. His vile, disgusting tongue.

I gagged.

Then I bit down as hard as I could.

“Arrrgh!” Ian released his hands from around my neck as blood pooled down his chin.

I sucked in a giant gulp of air, sputtering on Ian’s blood. I knew I only had moments before he struck again, so I lunged toward the vase, successfully wrapping my fingers around the glass neck. Without thought, I whirled around and smashed it against his face with a sickeningthunk.

Ian cried out in pain, collapsing backward. “You’re fuckingdead.”

Fear bubbled inside my gut at the realization that I hadn’t knocked him unconscious—I hadn’t even broken the glass.

The battle wasn’t over.

Racing toward the guest bedroom, I looked over my shoulder to see Ian climbing to his feet. I threw open the door and ran to the bedside table, frantic, yanking out the drawer and snatching the pistol tucked inside. Terror consumed me when Ian’s footsteps closed in.

“Boo.”

I whipped around to face him, pointing the gun square at his chest.

Ian faltered.

Then he laughed with ice, as if to erase the fear that had flashed across his face. “You actually think I believe you know how to use that thing?” He wiped at his mouth with his shirt sleeve, leaving a bloody streak across his cheek.

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