Page 112 of Unorthodox
Then I move.
I shift in Zeke’s arms, trying to jerk out of his grip as I open my mouth to scream again. But his hand is like a vice against my lips, and when I try to fight, his other hand comes up to the one against my mouth, and he quickly transfers a pill from one hand to the other.
“Stop fighting, or I’ll push you down every last one of these fucking stairs.” It sounds like a threat Max would utter, but it’s not cold.
Instead, it sounds as if…he’d enjoy it.
I freeze, and I can’t help it, memories from the last time Ben pushed me flooding through my brain. Free falling, darkness. Waking up bruised. Agony.
I start to whimper, my breaths coming faster and faster through my nose, my heart skipping beats in my chest.
“Shh, baby,” Zeke whispers. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you, I promise you. I’m getting you out of here.”
Promises mean nothing from men who want to drug you.
And if he’s going to drug me, and if Max didn’t orchestrate this and my father didn’t do this…I’ll be out of this house before anyone knows where I am. I’ll be put in the trunk of a car, on a plane. I’ll be taken out of the country. No one will find me.
That was my fate all along, but not like this.
Not like this.
Someone will come for me.
But no one is coming now.
No one is coming.
No one can save me but me.
The realization is like a slap in the face.
Zeke is solid muscle behind me, and he’s far taller than me, too.
Still.
If he puts me under, I might not wake up again.
“I’m going to move my hand, and I’m going to place this pill in your pretty little mouth.” One hand goes to my throat, caressing me gently. “And all you have to do, pretty girl, isswallow.”There’s a smirk in that word, and I feel my rage breaking past my fear.
I nod my head.
And when he moves his hand from my mouth to angle his fingers to place the white, fat pill on my tongue, I bite his finger.
Hard.
Like I would an apple. A carrot. Something that deserves to be torn to pieces.
He groans, dropping the pill to the floor beneath our feet on instinct, and I make to jerk away from him.
He reaches for my hair and my neck is arched backward, the pain burning my scalp. Blindly, I throw an elbow behind me, striking him in the chest. He only laughs, ripping hair from my head as he pulls me toward him, closer to the top of the stairs.
I twist in his grip and see his lips curve into a devilish smile. He reaches for my throat. I see a glimpse of blood on his fingers even though I don’t register the iron taste on my mouth.
Still, I grab at his fingers, dig my nails into his skin before he can wrap his hand around my neck.
“Fuckingbitch,” he hisses, jerking his hand from my grip. But he’s still fisting my hair, still pulling painfully. His back is still against the wall, and I can’t push him like this, with the leverage he has. He could throw me down before I did that.
But if I don’t get out of here, separate from him, I won’t last very long.
