Page 64 of Deviant Illusions

“You’ll fucking pay for Harkin thinking he can go against the agreement. Does he think he’s more powerful than us? Than Rowan?”

The name makes my blood run cold. The last thing Ruby said was a warning about a man named Rowan. She made escape routes and taught Scarlet and me how to get out of zip ties and car trunks in case we were kidnapped. I didn’t have a fictitious monster under the bed when I was growing up; I had whispers about how to escape Rowan. She never said what he’d do, only that we had to run.

Asher lets go of my hair and his fist hits my cheek with full force. Pain dizzies me, pushing me back, but he tightens his hold on my face. My vision blurs to skin-colored blobs as his belt buckle rattles. The sound of his zipper being pulled down mixes with the metallic clapping. Blood drips from my cheek, racing under his fingers as he removes his hand from my face.

He holds my nose closed and my vision becomes even blurrier, little dots dancing as an alien instinct to survive forces my mouth to open.

Burning hot liquid touches my cheek.

The smell is next.

One that I’ve woken up to many times when I’ve tried to escape him.

I flinch, choking down air while attempting to avoid the stream.

My nose aches as I pull his wrist and push my full body weight back. But the psychotic cunt stands with his dick in his hand and fucking pisses on me. Something snaps. After everything he’s done, that act enrages me because I see it now. I’m not waking up to a wet patch in my room or a smell. I canseehim pissing on me. It reaches a fever pitch when he throws his head back and laughs, “Open wide, little doggy.”

I grab the closest thing to me. The bottle of vodka I bought to make this trip bearable is cool against my heated fingers. I throw it, aiming for his fucking head, and it makes a loud thunk as it hits his jaw. It doesn’t shatter until it meets the floor at his feet. He steps forward, still trying to fucking piss on me.

Pushing myself up to stand, I keep screaming. Every single pain I’ve been forced to endure over the years is pushed into this one moment while he laughs. He tilts his head to the side and forces a pout while nodding. “Would it be easier if you pretend I’m your precious Kane?”

I copy him and laugh at how pathetic he is.

“Is that what you have to do because you know he’s better than you? You know that no one would choose you because he only has toexistto be better.”

Asher’s humor dies and he kicks up the vodka-piss mix as he lunges forward. I jump back, falling over the arm of the sofa. It gives him an advantage, and I twist as he grabs my ankle. Kicking back, I grab the edge of the coffee table and attempt to pull myself forward. It only places me on my stomach, and he flattens his full weight over my back.

His wet dick brushes the back of my thigh as he pulls my dress up, exposing my ass.

“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” I kick back, trying to push him off me.

“Scream his name while I fuck you,” he pants, pushing his thigh between mine. “I’ll sew you the fuck up so no one else can get in. Really make sure you’re closed for fucking business or get them to pay to cut you open.”

The crystal vase I gave his parents for their anniversary falls onto my fingers from my tugging on the table. I don’t feel the ache against my knuckles as I stretch, reaching for it. As soon as I feel the cool edge, I wrap my fingers over it.

Asher roughly flips me onto my back.

It’s part of his sadistic game to see my pain while he invades my body.

Bringing the vase up with both hands, I use my full force and any reserve I have to hit him in the head to get him off me. He stills when the edge splinters off his temple. Little chunks of sharp crystal scratch my inner thighs, but I do it again, harder. He stumbles back and I kick into his nasty fucking dick.

I don’t run.

I jump off the sofa as he sways, and my rage blinds me. Glass shatters and pain travels from my hand to my shoulders. The pain intensifies and I blink in time to see him fall to a heap on the floor. His eyes are half-lidded as he weakly brings his arms up.

I laugh.

It’s dark and bitter.

But I laugh and lift my foot. The sole of my shoe leaves an imprint on his dick as I slam down. I do it again as he murmurs in pain. I don’t stop. I want it to be bloody and mangled by the time I’m finished. Cocking my leg back, I kick his jaw, but he doesn’t slide as much as I do when he kicks me in the stomach. He only shuffles back into the soot from the fire we lit in the hearth last night. So, I do it again and scream, “I hate you!”

And again.

“I hate that I ever fucking knew you!”

And again.

“That I let you fucking trick me!”

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