Page 114 of Taken Off Camera
I lunge across the space between us, fingers closing around the heavy base of the desk lamp. The metal feels cold and solid in my palm, and before my brain can process what my body has decided, I swing with every ounce of strength born of fear.
The lamp connects with the back of Travis’s skull with a sickening crack, and time slows as his knees buckle.
Travis crumples forward with a surprised grunt, his body folding at the waist as he catches himself on the edge of the desk. Blood blooms along his hairline, trickling down his temple in a thin crimson line.
His expression twists with shock, then fury, pupils dilating as he turns toward me. “You little?—”
I don’t give him time to finish. The lamp comes down again, my arms vibrating with the impact as metal strikes bone. This time, Travis drops to one knee, a guttural sound escaping his throat. Themetallic tang of blood fills the air, mingling with the scent of my sweat and fear.
My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my fingertips, each pulse threatening to loosen my grip on the lamp. The blue satin of the lingerie clings to my skin, wet with perspiration, a reminder of what might still happen if I hesitate.
Travis shakes his head, blood spattering onto the floor. His hand fumbles for the gun on the desk, fingers inching toward the grip.
“No!” The word tears from my throat as I swing a third time.
The lamp slips in my sweat-slick palms, the angle wrong. It glances off his shoulder instead of his head, the force of the blow sending the gun clattering to the floor beneath the desk. The sound of metal skidding across the hollow stage echoes through the warehouse.
Travis lunges toward me, his face a mask of primal fury. Blood streams down one side, painting half his features in wet crimson. His hands find my waist, fingers digging into flesh with bruising force as he tackles me backward.
My spine slams into the edge of the bed, breath exploding from my lungs in a painful rush. Stars burst behind my eyelids as my head snaps back, skull connecting with the metal frame. The lamp falls frommy numb fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow clang.
The ring light sways, throwing dizzying shadows across the walls. The rug bunches beneath my heels as I struggle to plant my feet.
“You think you can fight me?” Travis snarls, his weight crushing me against the bed, his breath hot on my face. “After everything I’ve done for you?”
My vision blurs, reality smearing at the edges. One of his hands wraps around my throat, squeezing until spots dance in my vision. The pressure builds, blood pounding in my ears as my airway constricts.
“I’m gonna fix you,” he promises, dropping into a whisper. “Break you proper before delivery.”
Panic surges through me, a chemical flood that clears my vision and sharpens my focus. With all my force, I drive my knee up between his legs. The impact isn’t perfect, but it’s enough to loosen his grip.
Air rushes back into my lungs, and I gasp as I twist beneath him, leveraging my hip to throw him off-balance. We topple sideways, bodies tangled together as we hit the floor.
The rough boards of the stage scrape my exposed skin, the lingerie offering no protection, and pain flares along my shoulder and hip, hot and immediate.Travis rolls with me, his greater weight threatening to pin me beneath him again.
The ring light crashes beside us, flickering out, and the edge of the desk is inches from my face as I twist, avoiding another blow.
His hands grasp for purchase, catching in the fabric of the tank top and tearing it. The sound of ripping satin fills me with fresh terror. If he regains control now, after I’ve fought back, whatever he had originally planned will become infinitely worse.
My palm slides across the floor, searching for the lamp, the gun, anything that might save me. Instead, my fingers tangle in a power cable for the ring light, now yanked free from the socket.
Travis’s knee digs into my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs a second time. His hand returns to my throat, thumb digging in to my windpipe. My vision tunnels, darkness creeping inward from the edges.
The cord wraps around my fingers, solid and real.
A lifeline.
With strength born of desperation, I twist my body beneath him, creating enough space to loop the cord around his neck. The black rubber slides across his sweat-slick skin as I cross the ends behind his head.
The moment of realization hits Travis, his fingers loosening at my throat as he lunges for the cord.
Too late.
I pull with everything I have, arms shaking with effort. The cord bites into his neck, and his mouth opens in a silent gasp. His weight shifts as he tries to break free, giving me the leverage to roll us again.
Now I straddle him, thighs clamping around his torso as I maintain pressure on the cord. His face darkens, blood vessels bursting beneath the skin, turning his ordinary features into a grotesque mask.
“This is for Saint,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “And for every Omega you’ve stalked and planned to sell.”
