Page 29 of Follow Her Down
My pulse is a steady alarm between my ears.I need my gun, yes, but I still have teeth.Let him cut me open if I’m grinning around his severed cock.
I open wide, blood trickling from the corners of my mouth from when he hit me.He immediately pushes in, his cock now rigid and thick.He gets off on physical violence, the sick, twisted fuck.
With a loud groan, he pulls out and then starts to thrust back in again, but his movements are awkward, clumsy.His dick slides against my cheek and pokes into my ear.
I open even wider, holding perfectly still so he can get it fucking right next time before I use my teeth against him.
Then the front door bell rings.
The sound is jarringly loud in the tense silence of the back room.Rick freezes.His grip on the back of my head slackens, and he laughs.
“Be right back, sweetheart.”He pats my head like I’m a dog.
Like this is all a joke.
Like I’ll stay on my fucking knees in here and wait.
He pockets my knife, tucks himself back into his jeans, and leaves.
I’m on my feet in the next second, dashing for the door and the gun in my locker at the back of the store.I don’t fucking care if a customer sees what I’m about to do to him.
Footsteps sound, not the hesitant shuffle of a late-night customer looking for chips.These are fast, deliberate, heavy boots pounding on the linoleum.
Reaching for the break room door, I turn my head toward the rest of the store.
“What...?”Down aisle three, Rick’s smile vanishes as he faces the storm of footsteps.
He fumbles in his pocket just as James launches at him.
My James.
My stalker.
James’s face is a mask of fury, twisted into a terrifying smile.His blue eyes are bright, feverish, fixed solely on Rick.There’s no trace of the charming, boyish Scot.This is pure predator.
“That head’s nae fucking yours to touch,” James snarls at him.
His voice is low, guttural, thick with an accent turned jagged by rage.
He moves like lightning.His hand shoots out, grabbing Rick by the collar of his stained work shirt, and he hauls Rick off his feet like he weighs nothing.Rick yelps, flailing, but James doesn’t hesitate.He drags him, stumbling and choking, out of the main store and toward the bathroom hallway.
“Hey!Wait!What the fuck!”Rick protests.
James kicks open the door to the men’s bathroom.
The door slams shut behind them.
Then the sounds start.
A sickeningcrunch, like fist meeting bone.A muffled scream, abruptly cut off.Another punch, wetter this time.A gurgling groan.The sound of something heavy hitting the tiled floor.
I stand frozen by the break room, listening.My breath comes in shallow gasps, and my scalp stings where Rick pulled my hair.
A cool, clean wash of relief spreads through my veins like ice water.Someone is doing what I couldn’t do, what I didn’t have time to do.Someone is making him pay.Someone is translating my silent, screaming fury into action.
I float toward the bathroom door and push it open.
The scene inside is a brutal still life under the harsh fluorescent light.Rick is slumped against the wall beneath the sink.His face is a ruin of blood and swelling.One eye is already swollen shut, and the other stares dazedly, unfocused.Blood pours from his broken nose and split lips, soaking the front of his shirt.His breath rattles wetly in his chest.One arm hangs at an unnatural angle.
