Page 21 of His to Burn

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Terror so acute, I’d never felt anything like it, held me in its grip.

This moment made being in the elevator feel like celestial paradise.

If given the choice, I would have secreted myself in the elevator and never come out.

But that wasn’t an option.

I was here now, and as the moment stretched, I realized I was on a precipice.

I didn’t have a name for what those things were.

But they were getting closer.

And they meant death.

Mine.

Jackson’s.

Everyone’s.

No.

I’d told myself I wouldn’t die here.

I would keep my word.

The fear that had frozen me in place cracked and then shattered when the lights switched off.

Before I could stop, before I could think, I screamed.

And then his hand was on my throat.

The weight of it pressing against my skin was an unspoken promise.

I didn’t need a reminder of what he could do to me.

The way he paused there for those long seconds gave one anyway.

Then we moved again.

The hallway felt narrower than before.

Every breath ripped through me as I struggled to match his pace.

His fingers bit into my wrist, grip so tight I worried my bones would splinter.

He wanted me to understand I was breakable.

And the most vile part?

The way my stomach flipped at his touch.

The traitorous heat coiling between my thighs.

I wanted to scrape that feeling from my skin.

Hated him for planting it there.

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