Page 120 of Coach
George roared, hands going for my throat, looking insane enough to actually try to choke me to death.
“Why was it my name she was crying out as she came?”
Using the guy’s own momentum against him, I slammed him back against the wall, landing blow after blow to his body.
It wasn’t hard to find fuel for the flames licking at my mind.
Trix lay on the floor.
Este leaned over her beloved dog.
Hands on her, grabbing her, dragging her, maybe drugging her to make her more compliant. Then leading her down to the basement, chaining her up, putting his hands on her.
A roar erupted through me as my fists slammed into the bastard’s face over and over.
As I reared back once again, he dropped to the floor, dead weight.
It was then I heard Slash behind me, telling me to stop, to get ahold of myself, to focus on Este, that there was time for this bastard later.
Este.
Her name was water on the flames of my rage, making me tear through the house, looking for the steps.
It took me two tours to realize that the weird, horizontal door on the ground wasn’t just a quirky feature; it was hiding a staircase leading down.
Yanking it up, I secured it to the wall, then ran down the narrow steps. “Este!”
I almost couldn’t fucking believe my eyes.
If I hadn’t already pieced together what was going on, I probably would have thought I was hallucinating.
But the bastard had created a whole mini house in the basement: a kitchen, dining, bed, and bathroom space. All of the walls and ceiling were covered in soundproofing tiles.
Had Este screamed?
For me?
Had she been crying out while I’d been in her house, right above her, completely fucking unaware?
“Saul?” Este cried out, making me zero in on where she was over in the wall-less bathroom area.
Her entire body was shaking.
Her eyes were huge and round.
A nasty bruise was forming across her cheek and up her temple.
“Saul?” she cried again, looking seconds away from collapse, swaying back and forth on her feet.
I closed the distance in a few strides, my arm going around her, tightening to try to brace her.
But the touch made her cry out.
What the fuck had he done to her?
Reaching down, I yanked up her shirt, finding a nasty band of bruising around her midsection, mottling up over her ribs.
“Motherfucker,” I snapped, wanting to charge back upstairs and pound on him some more.
