Page 12 of Reaper
There’s something in her eyes that puts me on edge. Is it because she’s in trouble? Does she even need help or am I overreacting?
As Nikita’s men rush away, he pushes her hard in the back. She loses her balance as she stumbles inside the room. Before he enters his eyes turn to me one more time, and just to piss him off even more, I wink before disappearing inside the locker room to get ready for my fight. I only have thirty minutes before I need to be in the cage. Pissing Petrov off is fun, but it’s not why I’m here. I’m here to silence the noise inside my head. I’m here to silence my demons.
Paris
Asaresultofwearing these ridiculously high heel shoes, I stumble when the jerk pushes me into the empty room. Fury radiates off him. His chest is heaving, and his skin is flushed a deep red. All because he’s pissed off some gorgeous stranger stared at me. Ignoring the fact he’s the asshole who picked this outfit for me to wear tonight so people would stare at me.
I hate short tight clothing, and over the top shit like this fucking mink coat. These ridiculous high heels. This obscenely short dress. Who the hell still wears mink? But it’s all he wants me to wear. Short, tight, and flamboyant. He wants me to look like a whore. Now he’s angry someone looks at me like they want to fuck me like I’m a whore.
Stupid idiot.
“You… stupid, bitch!”
I brace myself as best I can for the backhand I know is coming. He never uses his fists on my face. I don’t know why because he still leaves bruises for the world to see.
“Ahh!” I scream, stumbling from the impact.
The sting to the side of my face radiates from my cheek up the side of my head.
Fuck! That hurt like hell.
I touch the sensitive spot and hiss from the pain. My head is pounding now, and my vision is blurry, too. No doubt another bruise is quickly blooming, maybe a concussion, too.
“You did that shit on purpose!” he screams, pointing at me.
He stalks toward me, and I move back with each step he takes, putting some distance between us while also trying to regain my senses. I’ve seen him angry, but not like this. This is going to be a fight for my life.
“You want to fuck him, you whore!”
“No!” I hold up my hands, curling into myself, hoping to stop the impending strikes. “I didn’t do anything, Nikita!”
“I didn’t do anything, Nikita,” he mocks, his face turning a deeper shade of red. “According to you, you never do anything, Paris! But I’m not stupid. I know what I see with my own two fucking eyes. And you know exactly what you did. You want to flaunt what’s mine in front of other motherfuckers? Maybe I should fuck you right now and have every one of my men come in here and watch, then give them each a turn in that tight pussy of yours.”
A sinister smile crosses his face like he’s just had the best idea in the world. I have no doubt he’ll do it if he knows it’ll hurt me and cause me to suffer more than I already am. I need to hurt so he feels like he’s in control. So, he feels like a man.
He grips my hair, yanking my head back. I scream from the quick and painful motion. It wouldn’t shock me if he’s pulled some of my hair out.
“How about that, you cunt?” His dark laugh sends a shiver down my spine as fear takes over me. “You’d probably like that shit. You’re nothing but a fucking whore, anyway. I should starttreating you like one instead of a queen like I’ve been since you’re taking my kindness for granted.”
He’s fucking delusional.
“I give you every fucking thing!” He spits in my face, and I swipe at it to wipe it off, disgusted to have any of his bodily fluids on me. “Clothes, jewelry, shoes, my fucking dick. Everything!”
Only inches from me, his vodka-tinged breath fills my nostrils almost making me vomit. Without alerting him, I reach inside the pocket of the mink coat and grab the small paring knife I lifted from the lunch tray the maid left in my room this afternoon.
I didn’t think the opportunity to deal with him would come so soon. I thought later tonight when he’s too plastered to fight back will be my best chance. But I guess there’s no time like now. We’re alone in a room. His men are off doing God knows what for him. And it’s not often we’re alone in public like this. This may be the only chance I have to be free of him and the Petrovs. All I have to do is kill him then run.
Sounds like a solid plan.
I carefully pull the paring knife from my coat. His eyes widen in surprise when the small blade enters his flesh. I’m shocked and relieved I did it, as I watch him stumble away from me, clutching his stomach. The red stain on his white shirt is spreading quickly and I feel nothing but pure relief. However, my moment of relief quickly crumbles when the shock falls from his face and rage takes its place.
“You stupid, bitch!” He staggers toward me faster than I expect for someone who has just been stabbed in the stomach. The blood staining his white dress shirt now covers his hands, too. “You stabbed me! I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
What’s that famous quote?Give me liberty or give me death? That’s where I’m at now. It’s now or never. It’s my freedom or my death and at this point either is fine with me as long as I’mdone with him. I’m tired. I’m tired of living this life and under no circumstance will I ever go back.
When he gets close enough to me, I stab him again. And again. And again. His bloody hands grip the black mink coat I’m wearing. He pushes me back against the wall with strength he shouldn’t even possess, causing my head to collide with the concrete blocks. But I don’t stop stabbing him when he keeps coming. I can’t because if I do, I’m dead.
I’m painted in his blood now. It’s on my face, in my hair, and on my clothes. I can only imagine what I look like, but I don’t care. It’s my life or his.
