Page 52 of Protector

The street lights were one thing, but there would be no hiding who I was if he flipped that switch. His hand shot up and tightened around my jaw, and I realized I’d made a mistake. If I wanted to make it out of this alive, I had to think like he did.

“Let’s get one thing straight, bitch. I make the rules. We clear?”

I nodded as the overhead light kicked on. “I under—”

He spit into my open mouth and grinned. “You do now.”

Adrenaline flooded my body, and I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand to fight it.

His eyes narrowed on my face, and he cocked his head to the side. “Wait a minute, I know you—”

“I don’t think so.” My heart hammered against my ribs, but I refused to take my eyes off of him. I’d been sucker-punched once before. This time, I was going to be ready for him.

His lip ring clicked against his teeth as he exclaimed, “I got it! You work at that bar over in the District. Shit, what’s it called?The Sink?The Tub?Man, I can’t remember. All I know is that my buddy, Fernando, fucked you in the bathroom, yeah?”

“Oh my god,” I sighed with relief. “Yes.”

“I knew it, Ma.”

It was surreal.

It didn’t matter that he’d gone out of his way to threaten my daughter and taunt me through car windows; the same man who’d beaten and brutalized my body four years ago didn’t seem to recognize me when I was standing right in front of him wearing a cheap wig.

Maybe I was the only one who was forced to relive the events of that night every time I closed my eyes.

The same fists that had broken my nose and split my lip now fell open in trust as I slipped the straps of my dress down over my arms.

I carefully watched him from under my lashes as he stumbled back into the armchair beside the bed before I worked the thin material over my breasts.

A part of me tried to pretend it was Jamie, while the other fought to remind me of why I was here.

This wasn’t about gratification.

It was penance.

The mouth that had once left marks on my flesh fell open in awe as I tugged the dress down to my hips. He impatiently unzipped his jeans and began moving his hand up and down his already hard shaft.

Ignoring the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach at the sight, I shimmied out of the dress and stood before him in nothing more than heels and lingerie.

Manny’s gaze trailed over my body appreciatively, and my mind descended into hell, replaying every agonizing moment in slow motion.

He’d done this; turned me into someone I no longer recognized.

I kicked off the heels and strode toward him, and he looked up with a drowsy grin, mistaking my rage for lust. “Right here, Ma.” He thrust his hips in the air. “Let’s see if that cunt is as tight as Fernando says it was.”

Fuck me, doll. I’d be inside this cunt every day if I could.

The acid in my stomach moved up, burning my throat, and filling my mouth with a bitter taste. I swallowed past it and forced my body down onto the chair, knowing as I straddled his lap that the only thing separating us was a thin scrap of lace.

I exhaled loudly through my nose when his hand moved beneath the waistband to cup me. My skin was in flames under the weight of his palm, but before I could pull away, his other hand came down like a weight against the back of my neck, guiding my mouth down over his.

His tongue began its brutal assault on my mouth, rough and unyielding against my lips. My resolve crumbled and I sagged against his chest in defeat. Coming after him had been a mistake; I was too far gone.

Cry.

The word echoed so loudly in my head that I could’ve sworn it was being screamed at me through a loudspeaker.

Cry, and let him break you again.

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