Page 91 of Savage Seduction

“I’m sorry…” Ben’s voice comes through clearly, but then quickly fades.

“Ben,” I say, still trying to focus my attention. “What happened?”

“I should have told you…” Ben says.

“What?” I shake my head. None of this is making any sense. Suddenly, movement draws my attention toward the bathroom. I swallow hard as everything comes instantly into focus. I reach for the knife next to Ben but there’s my attackeris standing in the way rushing toward me with his own knife in hand.

I manage to stagger back two steps in time to avoid the blade. The attacker cackles as he twirls around, lunging toward me again with the knife. Unarmed, I turn and run for the door. If I can put enough space between us, maybe I can find a weapon of my own, call for help, or even turn the tables.

My left toe clips my right heel as I am running backward out of the room, arms raised in self-defense. I go reeling backward onto the hardwood floor. The wind rushes out of my lungs on impact. Gasping for breath, I struggle to stand but fail. Viktor Fedorov himself emerges from the room, knife raised high overhead. The man of my nightmares, the man who’s been hunting me… The Butcher is here to kill us himself.

I crab-crawl backward toward the stairs, but not fast enough. Within seconds, Viktor is atop me, straddling my chest. I grab for the knife but can only manage to claw at the man’s shirt.

Viktor’s face is covered in blood, his hair matted across his forehead in a real-life horror movie effect. He throws his head back and laughs, but rather than mirth, it is as if the Devil himself had emerged.

I bend my knees and buck my hips up from the floor, which shifts Viktor forward. I slam both my fists into his face with a satisfying force. The counterattack gives me enough room to further destabilize him as I slam Viktor’s head into the wall. The drywall crunches in the shape of his skull, but we’d missed the wall stud. It isn’t a knockout blow.

I scramble to my feet and rush for the stairs, but Viktor is faster. He grabs for my foot and sends me sprawled out face-first down the stairs. I tumble over and over, the corners of each step digging into my shoulder, back, hip, and stomach. Icome to a stop on the first floor, head in the living room, feet still resting on the bottom step.

I moan and try to sit up, but my head throbs, and the room spins, preventing me from moving. I close my eyes as I try to regain my breath. A footfall to my left and then right forces my eyes open. The Butcher kneels next to me and whispers in my ear. “Dr. Ben lied to you.”

I shake my head.

“He didn’t tell you who he really is, did he?”

I don’t speak, still trying to clear my head enough to get up and continue to fight.

“After I had my fun with you… the only one who ever got away…” Viktor uses his untrimmed, blood-stained finger to trace along the side of my cheek and down to my chest. “The good doctor was your surgeon… he saved you… sewed up the pretty little gifts I’d left you with—to remember me by.”

I try to sit but am pulled back down flat on the floor.

Viktor licks the blood from my cheek. “How could you ever think it would work between the two of you? Do you think he would ever be able to find you attractive after he’d held your liver in his hands? After he’d saved your weak, pathetic life?”

I try to speak, but the madman covers my mouth with a gory hand. “Listen to me good. You will never be free of me. I will always be watching from the shadows. And when I decide to take your life or the lives of those dear to you… I will.” He shrugs. “And there won’t be a damn thing you can do about it. You were the one who got away, and for that, I’m going to make you suffer.”

Panic rises inside me. The thought of being pursued by such a man, constantly looking over my shoulder, living in fear, it is too much. I unleash a thick, primal scream. The sound is loud and foreign, even to me. Viktorflinches. I reach up with both hands and take hold of his throat, digging my thumbs into his windpipe.

Predator becomes prey. His eyes go wide, and he tries to escape my grip. As he moves, I follow, never letting up. My thumbnails pierce Viktor’s skin, and I watch as the monster’s blood mixes with my own and the blood of Ben.

Viktor falls backward, and I shove with all my might to slam his head onto the tiled floor. The sickening crack of skull against tile is loud, and whatever air is left inside his lungs is forced out at once. Desperation takes hold as Viktor begins clawing at my face and neck, anything to get me to release my grip. I squeeze harder, watching his eyes bulge from their sockets. My arms tremble under the strain as I choke the life from this madman. Despite the surge of adrenaline, my body is giving way to fatigue. If I give up now, I will die and so will Ben—there’d be no one to save us; I am all we have now.

For one brief second, the man smiles. I have let go of his neck with one hand, and air rushes into Viktor’s lungs with a wheeze and bloody gurgle. Without a second to waste, I slam my fist down onto his throat. The cartilage protecting his airway gives way with a crunch. I repeatedly slam my left fist down, each slam crushing the killer’s throat further. I don’t stop, I can’t stop. Blow after blow. Tears fill my eyes, sobs echoing through the house as I continue to pummel my enemy.

Finally, unable to bring my arm up again, I fall to the side. Pure exhaustion takes hold as the last bit of adrenaline drains from my veins. My eyes flutter shut, and I feel myself rising from the floor as I lose consciousness. Am I dying? I try one last time to open my eyes, but as I do my vision tunnels and darkness consumes me.

A muffled cry stirs me back to consciousness. I don’t open my eyes, not at first, still assessing my current situation. Concentrating on my feet and hands, I'm surprised to feel I’ve not been hog-tied or taken anywhere to be tortured and killed. Peeking through slit eyes, I see a pair of black boots step through the front door. Without a second thought, I scramble to my feet and put up my hands, but instead of the killer, it's Bretton there, gun raised.

“Max.” He rushes to my side. “Are you okay?”

I look down at my blood-covered form and nod weakly. I then look over to the lifeless body of Viktor Federov, and my shoulders sag. It's finally over.

“Do you remember where you are? Max? Talk to me,” Bretton urges.

Ben. Shit. “He’s still up there,” I say, pointing to the second floor.

“Who?”

I shake my head. How did Bretton know where to find me? “Ben.”

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