Page 170 of Unorthodox
My eyes fly open. “What is wrong with you?” The words are so quiet,Ican barely hear them. “You think you’re the only who ever got hurt—”
He moves his hand from my pants, clamps it over my mouth, fingers digging into my cheek. “Get on the fucking floor, Addison. You taste yourself? You’re still so wet.” He forces his finger into my mouth, but not past my teeth. “I think I should fuck you againbeforeI kill you.”
“No.” The word is muffled under his hand, so I say it one more time.Just in case he didn’t hear me the first time. “No.”
He laughs. “It wasn’t a question.” He grabs my arm, pulls me away from the wall.
I spin around, shoving him back.
“Oh, you want me to make you hate it again?” he asks me, his voice cold as his grip tightens on my arm.
“You’re sick,”I tell him, trying to shove him back again, but he doesn’t budge. I don’t care anymore. I might die here, but I want him to know that as brutal as he is, he’s also a fucking coward. “And more than that, more than being fucked up, you’re broken,and you can’t stand the idea that someone might see your fucking cracks.”
As the last words leave my lips, I catch sight of the gauze over his shoulder, just under his shirt.
And I don’t hesitate when I slam my fist down on it.
He releases me, gritting his teeth as his hand comes to the wound.
I nearly stumble backward, but I find my footing, turning toward the table and the couch, the gun lying next to the empty decanter. I run toward it, hand outstretched, blood pumping in my ears, chest heaving.
But just as I nearly collide with the table, he grabs my wrist, spins me back around.
“As much as I like to hurt you, Addison, I think you’re taking this a little too far. It doesn’t have to be so fuckingviolent.”
I curl my hand into a fist and launch it at his shoulder again, but he’s faster, his hand catching around my wrist before I can touch him.
“You could just enjoy it,” he snarls. He forces me backward, hooks his leg around mine to throw me off balance as he pushes me down against the table, the corner of the marble digging into my back.
He kneels down over me and I try to get my hands free from his grip, but he’s stronger, holding me still.
“Stop fighting me.” He yanks me down to the floor, and I watch as he grabs the gun, smiling as he turns back to me, pinning me down with one hand.
I try to sit up, to yank his hand off of me, but he just climbs on top of me, trapping me beneath him, the gun to my head.
I freeze.
“Shh,” he says softly against my ear, running his thumb down the side of my neck as he holds the gun to my temple. “I’m just going to fuck you one more time, Addison. One more time before you’re gone.”
I still beneath him, barely breathing with his weight against my chest, my hands pinned to my side.
“Do you want me to make it good for you? Or do you want me to make it hell, Addison?”
I take a deep breath. “Please don’t, Max.” I’m reduced to begging again, and I hate us both for it.
“You know I’m going to. You fucked me over.”
“You’re going to—”
“Sell you, yes, I know. You’ve told me about a hundred times.” His voice is calm against my skin, and his scent, along with his body over mine and the smell of alcohol reminding me he’s more fucked up than usual, is overwhelming.
I want him off.
I want out of this nightmare.
“We’ve already done this a few times.” He laughs, digging the gun in harder against my temple. “Andthis. Don’t you think we should try just once more?”
I close my eyes tight, my chest heaving beneath him. “Max, no.” I choke on my own jagged sob, tears welling behind my eyes. “Don’t do this.”
