Page 138 of Moth to a Flame

If he had his cock still, if he didn’t need his two hands to sodomize me, he would’ve raped me by now. No question about it.

“Stop it!”

“You should’ve thought about it sooner.”

Pain splinters my body in half as Lester bends my fingernail, then plucks it out. I feel blood dampening my finger. Tears wetting my cheeks.

I’m doing my best not to scream, not to let him enjoy this. I bite the inside of my cheek. Go deep somewhere else in my head.

Landon kissing me. Landon hugging me. Landon’s lips as he tells me everything will be okay.

That helps with holding back the screams. The tears, though, I can’t do anything about those.

Lester pulls back to watch me suffer. To grin and wave my bloodied fingernail at me.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him Landon will kill him for this. That he’ll stretch out his torture over decades for doing this to me.

The words never come out. They never will.

My survival instincts kick in and I know what I have to do.

My nail. That’ll be my breadcrumb. Has to be.

Counting on Landon to find it is a long shot. The chances of the stars aligning in my favor are slim to none.

And yet.

And. Yet.

Landon might track down Lester’s van from the CCTV cameras we have at home. He could drive through this road. His headlights might shine a light on my discarded nail.

It’s totally possible.

Hope.

I can’t let it show on my face, or Lester will suspect I’m up to something.

So I snap my mouth shut, staring at him with a look I hope he reads as pitiful.

“I’ll stop again soon. Maybe pull out another nail. Maybe hold it out for tomorrow. You’ll never see me coming, and it’ll kill you on the inside.”

Leaning in, he kisses my closed mouth, licking my jaw, then my cheek. He doesn’t miss a spot, that fucker, spitting on my eyelids too.

I’m going to be sick.

Eventually, he stands up, taking his damned pliers with him. Kicking me in the ribs before he leaves.

I’ve been through worse.

I’ve been through so much worse.

Stupid, conceited Lester descends from the van to the road, flinging my fingernail behind his back before slamming the doors in my face.

“Got you, fucker,” I whisper. “I fucking got you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Landon

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