Page 60 of Wrecked for Love
I kept my back straight and chin high, even as my pulse roared in my ears. I turned, desperate to make it to the kitchen where I’d left my phone. I needed to call Elia—someone, anyone.
But Armand was quicker. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Before I knew it, he had me cornered right back where I’d started—near the empty drawer.
“Not so fast, sweetheart.” He leaned in close. “You know what happens when a pretty little thing like you crosses the wrong people?”
“Get. Out.” My voice trembled despite myself, but I wouldn’t back down. Not to him.
He smirked. “Who’s gonna hear you, huh? No one around for miles. You know, you’re just like any other girl…like that slut Tessa Lucas.”
Tessa? What had he got to do with Elia’s sister?
“Don’t you dare speak her name,” I spat.
His lips curled into a sneer. “Did you know she was with me? Here…begging like some cheap prostitute.” He nodded at my study door with chilling cruelty. Then, he leaned in, deliveringa confession. “I tasted her, oh hell yeah, I did. And surprise, surprise—she couldn’t handle it.”
I felt sick. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing much.” He shrugged, his tone casual. “That woman didn’t have the guts. And I’d bet good money you wouldn’t fare much better. You’re just another pretty face, Claire.”
Fear carved through my chest like a chisel, but I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to show weakness. “Stay away from me!” Inside, I was screaming for Elia, but I knew I was on my own.
Armand chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Official cause of death? Overdose.” He dragged out the words as if they were some kind of sick joke. “But you know…” He shrugged again.
“You…you did it, didn’t you?” My voice wavered, but I didn’t care. “You killed Elia’s sister!”
His grin stretched wider, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “That’s what happens when you cross me. I’d share all the juicy details, but let’s be real…you won’t be sticking around long enough to spread the word.”
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against him in a crushing bear hug. His strength was overwhelming, nearly suffocating, but I wasn’t about to give up. I thrashed, trying to break free, but it was like fighting against a brick wall. I kicked his shin—hard—but it only seemed to amuse him.
“Come on, doll, is that all you’ve got?” He tightened his grip.
Panic threatened to take hold, but I forced it down, feeding him what he wanted—my submission. I slumped in his arms, letting out a whimper that I knew would stroke his ego. “Please…let me go,” I begged, my voice shaking just enough to sound convincing.
He grinned. “Oh, you’re begging now? Thought you were tougher than that.” He loosened his grip, his arrogance taking over as he undid his jeans.
Something sparked in my memory—something I’d left nearby. I crawled backward toward the front wall. He was too distracted with his zipper, maybe convinced no retaliation was possible, so he didn’t try to stop me. But two crawls were everything. Just within reach, by the leg of the display cabinet, was the hammer I’d left on the floor after hanging a picture days ago.
I calculated my move. I inched my hand toward the handle, keeping my body relaxed and playing along with his game as he removed his T-shirt.
“Please…don’t hurt me. I won’t fight,” I begged further, suppressing my revulsion at his exposed stomach.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, pulling down his unfastened jeans.
With my fingers stretched wide, I locked onto the hammer, tightened my grip, and swung with all the strength I could muster. The dull thud echoed through the room as the metal connected with his temple. He let out a scream—high-pitched and childlike, completely out of place with his thuggish façade. His grip on me loosened, and I shoved him off.
He stumbled back, clutching his head, blood trickling between his fingers. “You bitch!” he snarled. The power had shifted, but it didn’t stop him from pouncing at me again.
I rolled away just in time, and he missed, crashing face-first. And I made sure he stayed that way as I continued swinging the hammer. The sight of him blurred under each blow, then disappeared altogether as I closed my eyes. I lost track of the number of times I hit him. I couldn’t even feel the impact anymore, my hands numb from the force.
Then I stopped. He didn’t move. I kicked his leg. He stayed still.
Shit…
His jeans were loose, but I had stopped him from unleashing the worst. I reached into the pocket and took his car keys. I rushed out, and my eyes scanned his vehicle until I found my Ruger stashed inside the glove compartment. The weight of it in my hand steadied me, but my mind was still spinning. I slipped into my own car, my hands trembling as I turned the ignition. My head felt disconnected, like I was floating through a nightmare that was almost worse than New York.
For a few moments, I drove aimlessly.
Still, a part of me stayed alert as I crossed the town border. Just like that, I was out of Buffaloberry Hill. I pressed down on the gas, refusing to look back—not even in the mirrors.
