Page 778 of Filthy Elites

“I’m free.”

“So that’s it?” He shakes his head. “Not good enough.”

“But—”

“Try again.”

This time, his hands are a little closer to my throat.

I do the move again, hesitate once I’m free, and then opt to punch him in the nose.

“No. Never punch the nose. If you’re going to aim for the nose, use a palm strike.”

“Why?”

“You could seriously injure your hand with a punch there. A palm strike, if delivered with enough force and at the proper angle, will cause the guy’s nose to go into his brain.”

“I don’t want to kill…”

“If not a palm strike, then figure something else out, Doll Face, because I don’t have all day.”

Ugh, he can be such an ass sometimes!

“Not getting any younger here,” he chants.

“Again.” I pat my shoulders.

He places his hands almost on my throat, and I do through the move, but this time, once I’m free, I grab his shoulders, bring him down slightly, and knee him in the groin.

Only my knee hits against something hard.

And I don’t mean his cock.

“What the hell?” I snap.

“Knee, meet cup.” He smirks at me. “I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I think I just did. How’s the knee?”

“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth even though it does hurt a bit.

“What else you got?”

“One more time,” I insist.

And this time, he places his hands directly on my throat like he really is trying to choke me. Not with a lot of force but enough to feel pressure.

His fingers are warm. They’re nothing like the cold barrel of a gun.

“Come on, Brooke,” he snaps, but there’s something different in his tone.

I stare up at him, hating this fear welling inside of me.

“Fight me,” he says just before tightening his grip ever so slightly.

And I just react. I move my arms fast and hard, but I can’t break his grip, not this time.

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