Page 39 of Power Term

Shawn’s dark chuckle at the man’s response chills my blood and churns my stomach. “Sounds like your boyfriend has made a bloodthirsty enemy.” He sighs and dusts off his hands. “That bastard leaving saved me a million dollars. Too bad for you it didn’t save you from shit. The others will be here soon. Then we’ll start the real fun.”

My heart races, thundering in my chest as he steps closer. The vileness in his eyes, malice in his smile, and genuine hate in his dark aura have me flinching back, doing anything to put distance between me and the sinister man, but there’s nowhere to go.

With far too much enjoyment, Shawn slips on one blue latex glove before tugging one on the opposite hand. The legs of the chair he once occupied scrape along the rough floor as he drags it close. His gaze never leaves mine as he folds into his seat, our knees brushing.

“All you have to do is make the call to Pierce,” he mutters. Those dark eyes dip to my lips before tracing lower, leaving a dirty feel in their wake. “I can’t say I wasn’t hoping it would come to this. I’ll find my own enjoyment watching them break you.”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip in an attempt to keep my terror-filled tears at bay.

A barely there touch ghosts across my road-rashed knee, eliciting a pathetic whimper even with my jaw locked and lips sealed. The countless scrapes along both legs, from the wreck, fighting my captors, and rolling around like a rag doll in a trunk, snag the soft latex glove as the tip of a single finger tracks higher. At the edge of my bloodied jean shorts, two fingers dance along the hem, dipping beneath before retreating just as quickly.

A scream builds in my chest, desperate to be let loose, making my revulsion known. But I clamp it down, sealing my lips even tighter and breathing hard through the one nostril that’s not clogged with tacky blood. I will not give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream, of hearing exactly what his touch does to me.

Those same two fucking fingers fiddle with the top button of my shorts where it still hangs open from my earlier bathroom break.

“Convenient,” he mutters. “Did you two start the fun before I got here, hmm?”

The tendons and muscles along my neck protest as I twitch my head left and right.

“Good. That’s good.” The hem of my shirt rises just enough for him to dip beneath. “I want to hear all your screams,” Shawn whispers in my ear. Nothing in the world could hold back the desperate cry of agony that erupts from my soul and pours past my parted lips. “Make. The fucking. Call.”

Make the call.

Make the call.

It could all end. Right here, right now. I wouldn’t have to endure another second with him too close. Wouldn’t have to temper the revulsion rolling in my stomach or the dark thoughts that are racing through my mind. All I have to do is make a simple call. A difficult decision, a simple act.

But … then what?

It doesn’t feel right. Something is keeping me from folding, from giving in despite my body begging me. Maybe not something. Maybe a someone. Trey. I know he’s out there searching for me, and he will come. He will always come for me. I just have to stay strong a little longer to give him time.

I have to believe in him.

“No.” The word is a hiss as it passes through my clenched teeth.

With a rage-filled yell, he wraps a gloved hand around my throat and squeezes. The pressure triggers my instinct to fight back, both arms twitching in earnest, desperate for release. But still I don’t scream, don’t make a sound as I glare right back at Shawn, pouring as much hate and loathing and disgust into our stare-down as I can muster.

“You fucking cunt,” he screams in my face. Spit sprinkles across my cheek, but still I don’t look away. “You’re nothing—nothing—compared to me. You do not deserve the role that was handed to you by that fucker Birmingham.”

I’m sorry. What?

Okay, so now I know my line.

Call me a cunt, talk about raping me, beat me to shit. But tell me something washandedto me? To Randi fucking trailer trash Sawyer?

Hell. To. The. No.

“You listen and you listen good, you pompous piece of shit.” My voice is strong, my words like a damn whip. “I’ve worked my ass off my entire life. Scraping by, doing whatever I could to make a better life for myself and my daughter. Nothing, and I meannothing, has been handed to me. So get your pink panties out of your ass and realize you fucking lost your shot to a hell of a woman who is twice the man you are and will ever be.”

My nostrils flare as heated blood pumps through my veins, warming my skin and causing sweat to build along my neck and forehead once again.

Two seconds. That’s what it takes for him to process my declaration.

Three seconds. That’s what it takes for him to shove against my neck so hard that my windpipe almost snaps from the pressure and the chair rocks backward on the two back legs.

My eyes widen as the sensation of falling flips my stomach and steals the little air left in my lungs. Shoulders tucked in tight, I lean forward as far as I can with my hands tied behind me to prepare for the impact I know is coming. The chair slams to the floor, my back smacking the metal immediately after. The force snaps my neck, whacking the back of my head against the unforgiving dusty floor. All the air whooshes from my lungs and stars spark behind my open eyes even as the darkness of unconsciousness creeps in.

My head lolls to the side in time to see a tan loafer sailing toward my side. A scream crackles through the stale air, scratching and tearing out of my throat at the impact of his kick against my already battered ribs.

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