Page 82 of Heartless Vows

He yells the name as he hurries toward the bathroom. I open my map app and step out into the hall.

Arms wrap around me from behind. My phone clatters to the floor and skids under the decorative table near my mother’s door. I open my mouth to scream, but a masculine hand covers the bottom half of my face, blocking my nose and mouth.

Otello Tempe’s cloying cologne clogs my sinuses.

I jab my heel backward into his shin. He hisses and lifts me off my feet. With my arms plastered to my sides and his hand over my mouth, I can’t break free or warn Tristan.

“Hush, Aurora. Open your bedroom door for me. I’ll be quick. Unless you’d like your brother to join us?”

I shake my head. My lungs burn.

“Open the door,” he snarls into my ear.

His breath sends waves of disgust down my spine, but I twist the handle on my bedroom door. He pushes us inside and flings me onto the bed before turning and pulling a key out of his pocket.

A key. To my room. He has a key to my room.

Panic pounds through me, but I shove it away and gulp down oxygen as I scramble to my feet.

I cannot let him lock that door.

“Lie back down, little whore, or I’ll rescind my offer of being quick,” he snarls.

His hand lowers the key toward the lock.

I throw my purse at the back of his head before grabbing the nearest book off my shelf.

My ring catches the light.

I press the hidden emergency button and throw the book. Otello’s curses ring in my ears.

He locks the door and turns toward me. Blood trickles down his nape.

I throw a second book. My vision wavers and head spins, but I grab two more books—one in each hand—and throw as I turn back toward him.

He blocks the first book, but the second bounces off his upper chest and nicks his throat. I scramble backward and grab more as he stalks toward me. He pulls a pistol from inside his suit coat.

My stomach sours as he lets it hang at his side.

“Put the books down, Aurora. I like your spunk, but don’t take it too far.”

When I don’t move, he shifts his thumb and pulls the hammer back with a metallic click. The books slip from my fingers and thump onto the floor. He steps within reach. I cringe as he lifts his empty hand and cups my chin.

Tristan calls my name from the hallway. Otello smirks.

“Tell him your stomach hurts, but you’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Bile rises in my throat as he brushes his thumb over my lips. His features twist in anger when I don’t respond fast enough.

“I don’t care if he’s my son; his holes still work the same as every other little boy’s. Tell him you’ll be out in a few minutes, or I’ll lock him in here with us and fuck you both.”

I stammer out what I hope is an acceptable excuse.

Tristan pauses before asking through the door, “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound good.”

“I’ll be fine, Tristan. Just go back to your room until I come get you.”

After another stressful moment of silence, Tristan says okay and heads down the hall. His door opens and closes.

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